Now I’m nodding, even though the idea of moving on still feels impossible. Even my father thinks my chances are slim as long as I’m here in Hyde Creek, surrounded by reminders.
Dr. Lemke is right about one thing, though. I’m here to face what happened. I’m here to look into my friends’ eyes, into my family’s eyes, and see the impact of my mistake and the effect it had on those I care about. I’m here to take all their sadness and anger and blame.
I’m here for Aubrey.
The school scheduled me for a weekly appointment with Mrs. Dover, every Thursday morning before class. A check-in, they call it. Double the therapy, double the fun.
Afterward, I head for my locker, eyes sweeping the crowd for Ethan. I’ve only seen him that one time, but I’ve been on guard ever since, waiting for some kind of confrontation. Part of me wishes he’d yelled at me by the music room the other day, just so I’d know exactly where he stands. Where we stand. Right now, I’m still clueless.
When I swing open my locker, a piece of white paper, folded once like a greeting card, falls out and lands at my feet. It’s not mine. It wasn’t there yesterday after school. Slowly, I crouch down and grab it, unfolding it as I rise back to standing.
It’s a childish pencil sketch depicting two stick figures, a tall one with straight hair and a smaller one with curls. The small one is flying through the air, mouth gaping open in a silent scream. Beside her is a pickup truck with oversized wheels. This truck is going to hit her and she knows it. The tall figure’s stick arms are outstretched, like she just finished pushing the small one, and she has a great big smile on her face.
A smile. She’s smiling. As if she’s happy about what she did. As if she’d set out to do it from the very start.
My eyes prickle with tears, and I crumple the paper into a tight ball. I don’t want to put it back into my locker. I want it away from me, so I shut my locker and carry the ball to the end of the hallway, where there’s a trash can. My skin feels hot and cold at the same time. The moisture in my eyes blurs my vision, causing me to miss the opening of the trash can. I pick up the paper ball and toss it again, carefully this time. It goes in.
The hallway is starting to fill up, and people are looking at me like they’re waiting for me to lose it. Did one of them put the picture in my locker? Is there someone nearby who’s reveling in my tears and humiliation right now?
The bell is going to ring soon, but I don’t move. I stay by the garbage because I’m not sure I can concentrate in class with that image in my head. The tall figure—me—smiling. Happy about what I’d done.
The sketch just confirms what I already know—there are people in this school who believe I’m a murderer.
A rush of dizziness makes my head swim. I need air.
Instead of turning left, back to my locker, I turn right and sprint down the stairs. At the bottom, there’s a door leading to the back parking lot. I burst through it and into the sunshine, gulping fresh air like I’d just emerged from underwater. When the dizziness starts to fade, I press my back against the cool brick of the building, close my eyes, and try to pull myself together.
Several minutes pass before I feel calm enough to open my eyes. When I do, I see two boys in the parking lot a few yards away, sitting on the hood of a dusty black car. One of them is Hunter Finley, a senior. The other is Ethan.
I squint at them for a moment, trying to work out why they’re hanging out together. All I know about Hunter is that he plays drums and is apparently really good. We travel in different circles, so I’ve never spoken to him before. Most guys like him, with his longish hair and beat-up leather jacket, act like they’re too cool to associate with the rest of us conformists. Hunter is a hard-core rocker.
Ethan, on the other hand, is a band geek. Or at least he used to be. I’m not quite sure who this Ethan is.
They’re talking to each other, too busy with their conversation to notice me by the door. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I’m close enough to see them pretty clearly. Hunter is smoking a cigarette, every so often turning his head to exhale away from Ethan. I wonder if smoke still aggravates his asthma or if he can handle it better now. I wonder what’s changed about him that he can sit next to one of the most badass guys in school and look like he belongs there.
An image of the younger Ethan springs to mind and it hits me again how much he’s grown. Everything is different, from the shadow of stubble on his jaw right down to the way he fills out his jeans. There’s a quiet confidence in the way he’s sitting—back straight, palms pressed to the hood behind him, one foot on the bumper and one on the ground—that he’s never shown before. The transformation is equal parts shocking, disturbing, and fascinating.
I’m so dumbstruck, it takes me a few seconds to realize the bell is ringing and Ethan and Hunter are now off the car and walking toward the door. Toward me. My first instinct is to panic and bolt for the door, but I resist it and stay put. It’s time to face him head-on and take whatever he decides to throw at me.
I don’t move or breathe as they approach. The dizziness returns full force, and my mouth feels like the desert. Suddenly I regret coming back here and subjecting myself to this. I must be out of my mind. This is worse than the stupid drawing in my locker. Worse than the staring and whispering and snickering. Worse than the guilt that still feeds on me like a parasite.
Ethan nods to Hunter, who nods back and disappears inside the school. It’s just us now, alone for the first time in over a year. The first time since Aubrey died. He looks at me without expression, like he knows I’ve been standing here all along, watching him.
He takes a step toward me and I brace myself for what’s coming. Because if there’s anyone in this world who has the right to scream at me and call me names, it’s Ethan.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he moves closer and leans against the wall next to me. A subtle woodsy scent that’s both familiar and new hits my nostrils. Silence fills the space between us, and just as I decide to swallow my fear and say something, anything, he beats me to it.
“I’m glad you’re back.”
The words sound strange in his new deep voice, and they’re the complete opposite of what I was expecting to hear. I wait for him to add a punch line or a disclaimer, something to let me know he didn’t really mean what he said, but he doesn’t do that either. I turn my head to speak, to say thank you or I’m sorry or both, but the bell rings before I can squeeze the words past my throat. Ethan nods like I said them anyway and goes inside, leaving me alone under the bright sun.
six
Sophomore Year