He edges a little closer. “Sure.”
“Not here,” I say when I notice a few people watching us. Seeing Ethan and me in the same space is clearly noteworthy for those who know the details, and I really don’t want anyone listening in on this.
I turn and walk away, hoping he’ll follow. He does, and I lead us to an out-of-the-way alcove near a supply closet. The old Dara would take his arm and pull him into the alcove after me, but I don’t touch people anymore. Instead, I wait until he steps in and leans against the wall opposite me.
“So,” he says. “You’re back.”
“Yeah.” I wonder if he knows where I’ve been, and why. My parents didn’t tell many people, but gossip spreads like a flu outbreak here. But I don’t want to talk about my homecoming right now. “What you said the other day, when we were outside . . . ,” I begin. “How do you . . . how do you do that?”
His forehead creases, and I notice a tiny scar right below his left eyebrow that hadn’t been there the last time I stood this close. “How do I do what?”
I swallow and lower my gaze to the front of his hoodie, which is gray and worn and gives off the familiar scent of the laundry soap his mother always used. Still uses, apparently. “How can you be glad to see me?”
He’s silent for a long time. So long I’m afraid to look up again, in case I catch a glimpse of the same fire that was in Travis’s eyes. Maybe Ethan didn’t mean what he said. Maybe he really wishes I’d stayed away forever and he’s going to tell me so right now.
“I just am,” he says finally. “I know we haven’t really talked since you got back, but it’s not because I’m avoiding you or anything. It was just a little harder at first than I thought it would be. Seeing you again, I mean.”
I nod. I know the feeling.
“I don’t hate you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he goes on. “What happened was an accident. A horrible accident that could’ve happened to anybody. How can I hate you for it?”
The same way I do, I want to say, but I don’t. I raise my eyes to meet his again. He holds my gaze. He really believes what he said. Ethan’s always been dependably honest—a pure, intrinsic kind of honest that doesn’t just disappear overnight.
An accident. The words swirl around in my brain for a moment before slowly sinking in. Ethan is not like the people who wrote those Facebook posts. He’s not like the person who put that horrible sketch in my locker. He’s not like the people who think the worst of me.
He doesn’t believe I purposely killed Aubrey because of jealousy over a boy. He doesn’t believe I am a murderer.
I feel myself starting to lose it again, but I force the emotions back. At least I try to. In my struggle to remain calm and still, I almost miss what Ethan says next.
“You loved her as much as I did, Dara. You’d hurt yourself before you’d ever hurt her. I witnessed that firsthand, remember?”
A cloud passes over his face and I know exactly what he’s remembering. He’s thinking about Aubrey’s last few days with us and everything we should have done differently. He’s thinking about Justin Gates and how he almost tore all three of us apart. He’s thinking about the pointless what-ifs, torturing himself with them just like I torture myself with mine almost every single day.
“Look,” Ethan says, snapping us both back to the present. “I don’t know your reasons for coming back here or why you’d willingly subject yourself to the ignorant assholes in this school, but if you’re expecting the same treatment from me, I can tell you right now you’re not going to get it. Okay?”
I’m so surprised by the forcefulness of his tone that I nod automatically. He nods back and leaves the alcove, glaring at a handful of nosy gawkers as he strides down the hallway. They quickly look away from him, like they’re scared of what he might do.
I don’t look away, though. I watch him go and remember how I used to think of him, like a lamb in a den of lions. But he’s not that weak little lamb anymore. At some point over the past year, while I wasn’t around to see it happen, he became one of the lions.
eight
Sophomore Year
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
I jumped and almost dropped my phone on the floor. “Nothing.” Aubrey had snuck up on me as I stood waiting for her at her locker. “Just researching something.”
She dumped her backpack in her locker before leaning in to look at the screen. I watched as she took in the title of the page I’d been reading.
“‘Training programs for public policing,’” she read. She glanced up at me, dark brows raised. “Why are you reading about police academies?”
“Because I want to be a police officer.” I grinned and gestured dramatically at her. “Mother-hen face—activate!”
She stared at me, her features smooth. “Really? That’s . . . great, Dara.”
“You think?”
“I mean, yeah, I’ll worry about you getting shot in the street or whatever, but it doesn’t surprise me that you’re interested in doing something dangerous.” She nudged me and smiled, but something about her demeanor seemed off. Maybe she thought it was a horrible idea but didn’t want to dampen my excitement.
“There’s more to it than that,” I said, sliding my phone into my pocket. “I’ve been researching it all week. Being a cop takes a lot of work and commitment. It’s not all nonstop action like it is in the movies.”
She nodded approvingly at my realistic attitude. “Makes sense. What do your parents think?”
“Well, they didn’t exactly jump for joy when I mentioned it to them, but they said they’ll support me.” I closed and locked my locker. “Honestly, I think they were a tiny bit relieved too. My grades aren’t good enough to get me into a decent college, and they’d never be able to afford four years of tuition anyway.”
“My parents can’t afford it either,” Aubrey said, turning back to her locker. “But Ethan and I are both going to college. That’s what scholarships and student loans are for.”
I almost laughed at the idea of me getting a scholarship. And Aubrey and Ethan’s parents had probably been saving up for years to send their kids to college. Their father worked in human resources for an IT company and their mother ran a catering business. They definitely made more money than my parents. Tobias and I would be lucky if Mom and Dad scraped up enough cash for one year of community college (or six months at a police academy).
So I’d never be a doctor. Or a civil rights lawyer, like Aubrey wanted to be. That was fine by me. I’d wear a shiny badge and serve the community in different ways.
“Are you okay, Aubs?” I asked. She was still standing in front of her open locker, swinging the door back and forth like she’d forgotten how to close it. “The thought of me carrying a loaded gun isn’t that horrifying, is it?”