“Please. Pretty please. Tell me,” I say. “I just want to know.”
My tone reminds me of the kind of girl I’ve never been: needling, faux cutesy, hyperflirty. I came here for one reason and one reason only, and I will not leave until I’ve fixed this for David. I feel like I owe him one, maybe because I abandoned him in the snow with his tape measure. Or maybe because I understand just how much this whole thing will suck for him. I know what it’s like to walk down halls with your back the target of a million eyeballs. Hearing the ripple of echoes you leave in your wake: Did you hear? Her dad died her dad died her dad died.
“Darling, we don’t know what you’re talking about,” Justin says, and Jessica laughs, maybe at his condescending darling. I want to smack them both across the face. Hard.
“Come on. I know you guys stole his notebook.” My tone shifts again. Back to anger. I consider standing up one more time.
“Seriously, chillax, Kit,” Abby says. “It’s so not a big deal. We’re not saying you’re not pretty.”
“I’m going to Principal Hoch.” I barely even register Abby and her hybrid word and yet another unsolicited comment on my appearance. For a while there, when Justin and Jessica were hooking up, everyone called them Justica and I would think, every single time, I can’t wait to go to college. “I’ll tell her I saw you take it.”
I look to Violet and Annie for backup here, though I’m not sure if I’ll get it. They are not exactly on #teamdavid.
“Why would you do that?” Justin asks me. “We’re your friends.” He sounds both surprised and hurt. Like he’d never expect me to turn on him like that. I think back to what David said, about how the coincidence of landing in the same school at the same time wasn’t enough for him to fit in here. Did Justin used to be my friend? I mean, for real? He came to my father’s funeral, told me he was sorry afterward, just like everyone else, and then he and Gabriel hung around the parking lot for a little bit, doing their headlock-and-tripping-each-other thing. I have sat with them more times than I can count in this very booth, gossiping and watching YouTube videos on each other’s phones. But do we know each other at all? Have we ever had a real conversation? I don’t think so.
No one except David has asked me what I think about God, or an afterlife, whether I place my trust in science or religion. No one except David knows about the accident playing each night on my ceiling. I trusted him enough to tell him about my mother’s betrayal. It would never occur to me to be honest with Gabriel and Justin, to lift that muzzle of self-consciousness and share. To let them see me cry.
No, we are not friends. We are placeholders. But I was not as strong as David. I couldn’t go it alone. I probably still can’t.
“Because it’s cruel. Because he is a good person. Because,” I say.
“I wouldn’t risk it, guys. If you get caught that could really hurt your college applications,” Violet says, and stands up, as if to join me in my protest. I notice she’s untucked her shirt, which makes me ache.
“Kit’s right. Take it down, and if you don’t, I’m going to tell on you guys too,” Annie says, and I see she’s wearing a fitted denim jumpsuit over a tie-dyed peasant blouse and big seventies disco ball earrings. She looks ridiculous and so much like herself that I want to hug her. Now we are three strong. “That was his private journal, or whatever. Posting it wasn’t cool.”
“It was just a joke,” Justin says.
“Now,” I demand, and point to the computer.
“Seriously? It can’t wait till I get home? It’s not like taking it down does anything. Everyone’s seen it already.”
“Now,” I say again, and for once I actually sound tough. Maybe it’s because I know Violet and Annie have my back. That my squad hasn’t totally dissolved. Justin moves his fingers over the keyboard and poof, just like that, the link is disabled. Too bad he’s right. It doesn’t really matter. The harm has already been done, and no doubt there are a zillion screenshots everywhere. Nothing ever really gets deleted from the Internet. “And give me the notebook.”
Again, to my surprise, he does. It has a plain blue cover and a spiral edge and the name David Drucker written in small block print at the bottom. Charmingly retro, like something a fourth grader would carry. I’m tempted to flick it open and look at his drawings.
I love how he made my neck look like something worth looking at.
“Honestly, Kit, I can’t believe you’d pick shithead over us,” Justin says, leaning over for a high five from Gabriel.
“Oh man, that was classic,” Gabriel says. “Classic.”
—
A few minutes later, I’m standing outside with Violet and Annie.
“Thanks for defending me back there,” I say, staring at my feet. “You guys are the best.”
“Yeah, well, Gabe asked Willow to the prom. So screw him,” Annie says, and though she makes it sound like no big deal, I know it is.
“I’m sorry. That sucks.” I wish I were more surprised by this information. I wish we could all see each other more clearly.
“David’s right: He really does have a clown mouth,” Violet says, bumping her elbow against Annie’s. “You don’t really want to go to the prom with a guy who looks like the Joker.”
Annie doesn’t laugh. Just blinks a few times to suck back the water in her eyes.
“You don’t want to go to prom with a jerk,” I say. “What he and Justin did was really wrong.”
“Yeah, maybe. Still, there’s some weird shit in that notebook,” Annie says, fiddling with her giant earrings. “Be careful around that guy, Kit.”
“Come on, out of context everyone’s journal is weird,” I say, not sure why I feel the need to defend David, even to Violet and Annie. He’s not mine to defend. “But I didn’t read the whole thing. Just enough to get the gist.”
“Really?” Violet asks, her eyebrow cocked in surprise.
“It just didn’t seem right.”
“You should,” Annie says. I shrug. Before everything with my dad, I didn’t really understand the need for privacy, for the desire to be free of other people’s questions. Now I do.
“What’s the Accident Project?” Violet asks, in a voice that’s soft, tentative. Almost a lullaby. Like she’s asking something easy. Like what’s my favorite food or television show or if she can borrow my Spanish notes. “Is that why you keep skipping classes and didn’t go to the newspaper meeting? Because you are working on that?”
“What?”
“The Accident Project. What. Is. It?” Annie asks, with none of Violet’s gentleness. “We have almost all the same classes, so I know it’s not for school. What are you doing with David?”