She shrugs and smiles back. “So I’ve heard.”
From across the room comes a shout of “Suck on this, dick-bag!” followed by a chorus of laughter.
Leah sighs and raises her can of soda. “To our esteemed and brilliant peers, on the brink of our graduation.”
I raise my can as well. “To the times Principal Jeffers called the football championship sophomore year ‘the most important thing to ever be accomplished at this school.’”
“To the time we found not one, not two, but three used condoms on the bathroom floor during the homecoming dance.”
“To the time Emma Harris got hit with a tennis ball in gym class and cried.”
“To the time Bobby Jenner got his head stuck in a chair and had to go to the emergency room.”
We are both grinning now.
“To education at its finest,” I say.
Leah smiles. “To you and me.”
All of a sudden, I find myself blinking back tears. I swallow the lump in my throat and clink my can against Leah’s. “To you and me.”
Across the room, people are shuffling around and packing up. I sigh and stand reluctantly. “Only two and a half more hours of this place.”
Leah stands and gathers her trash. “It can’t go by fast enough.”
As I walk past her on my way to the trashcan, she reaches out and smacks my butt.
“Leah!” I glare at her over my shoulder.
“I wouldn’t have to do stuff like that if you would just admit that you’re sexy,” she calls.
I shake my head and keep walking.
“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave,” she calls again, even louder.
I laugh all the way to the trashcan.
I’m approaching Mitchell’s truck after school when I hear footsteps behind me. Running footsteps. I whip around in time to see a neon blur crash into me.
“Shit! I’m sorry!” The blur backs up a little bit, and now I see that it’s Cord. I haven’t spoken to him since the night of the party.
Behind him, Mitchell runs up. He reaches out and grabs Cord by the shoulder, pulling him back from me.
“Dude.” Mitchell’s out of breath. “What the hell?”
Cord is dressed in navy shorts with tiny lobsters printed all over them, along with a neon-green tank top and a blue tie. He leans forward, hands on his knees, chest heaving.
“Um.” I look from Cord to Mitchell. “Is everything okay?”
“Yep,” they say at the same time.
Mitchell glares at Cord. “Cord was just leaving.”
“No, I wasn’t.” Cord sticks out his hand to me. “I wanted to congratulate you.”
I slowly take his outstretched hand. “Congratulate me?”
Cord pumps my hand up and down in the world’s most enthusiastic handshake. Mitchell rolls his eyes, and Cord releases my hand and clamps his arm around Mitchell’s shoulder. “Many a girl has tried to land this fine specimen of man-meat, but none have succeeded. Young Mitchell was too noble for their childish pursuits.”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing, and Mitchell closes his eyes and groans.
“Ohpleasedeargod.” It comes out all one word. “Stop. Stop right now.”
Cord ignores this. “So, yes. Congratulations are in order.” He reaches out his other arm and pulls me in so that the three of us are standing in a sort of huddle that’s way too close for comfort. “You are one lucky lady.”
My face flushes, and I nod, and Mitchell looks like he wants to die. He untangles himself from Cord’s arms and shoves his shoulder. “Jesus, dude. Let the girl breathe.”
Cord cheerfully sticks his hands in his pockets. “Sorry, Mitchell. But it had to be said.”
“It absolutely did not have to be said.” But Mitchell’s definitely smiling a little. “And we’re heading home.”
Cord nods. “As am I.”
As Mitchell slides into the front seat, Cord reaches out and touches my arm.
“Yeah?” I’m a little concerned he’s going to tackle me again.
He just smiles at me. “In all seriousness, though. Mitchell’s a really awesome guy. And if he likes you this much, you must be a really awesome girl.”
I shake my head as the truck starts behind me. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think he’s having some kind of mental breakdown and I’m one of the side effects.”
“You’re not a side effect.” Cord shakes his head, his long hair flopping on his forehead. “The way he talks about you? If anything, you’re the cure.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. Thankfully, Mitchell leans his head out of the window.
“Josie?” When he sees the two of us still standing there, he groans again. “Oh man. Whatever he’s saying to you, I am so sorry.”
I laugh, and Cord grins. “Calm down, dude. Just doing a background check for you.” He looks me up and down. “Looks like she’s clean. So you’re welcome.” With that he holds up his hand to me. We high-five, and he saunters away.
“I’m sorry.” Mitchell watches me as I clamber into the passenger seat. “He gets a little . . . excited, sometimes.”
“It’s okay.” I shake my head. “I was just surprised he knew about you and me, that’s all.”
Mitchell frowns as he backs out of his spot. “Why wouldn’t I tell him about you?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I guess because . . .”
Because you’re leaving in a week. Because sometimes I think you’re just using me as a distraction. Because I worry I’m not good enough for you. Because we’ve known each other for twelve years and been together for less than two weeks, and it still doesn’t seem real.
He’s looking at me expectantly.
“Because I thought you wanted to keep us a secret,” I say.
“Only from people at Paintbrush.” He pulls out of the parking lot, and we begin making our way home. “Honestly, we probably shouldn’t even be seen together too much at home if we can help it.”
I nod. “They’re all so nosy. They’ll be able to sense something’s up.”
He grins. “Exactly.”
Four hours later, I find myself squished around a tiny table with Mitchell, Myra, and Ned. One of my knees is touching Mitchell’s knee. My other knee is pressed into Myra’s knee. Across the table, Ned keeps accidentally kicking me—and yelling about sheep.
“Don’t try to get me to take any more of your damn sheep, boy.” He glares at Mitchell. “I know when I’m being tricked.”
Mitchell slumps in frustration. “I’m not trying to trick you. I’m trying to trade with you. It’s part of the game.”
Myra accosted us as soon as we arrived back at Paintbrush this afternoon, roping us into a game of Settlers of Catan to “celebrate the end of life as we know it.” I never really thought of the end of high school as “the end of life as I know it,” but Myra seems to take it very seriously. She told us the end of high school classes is something to be proud of. And then she guilted us into a board game night with her and Ned.
Now Ned is upset, like he always gets when he plays board games. And Myra is losing, like always, because she thinks competition is unhealthy and mean-spirited. She’s always doing things like giving away her cards for free and letting other players have their way because “it’s the kind thing to do.” Which doesn’t make for a particularly exciting game.
And Mitchell and I are trying not to look at each other or make eye contact or touch each other because we don’t want to make Myra or Ned suspicious. All in all, these factors make this one of the least fun board game sessions I’ve ever had.
Mitchell trades in a few cards and builds a road, and Ned throws up his hands. “That’s it! I quit!”
“Ned.” Myra frowns at him.
Ned points at Mitchell. “He took all my wood, and now he blocked me, and I won’t have it.”
“That’s how you play the game, Ned,” Mitchell says. “I’m not cheating. I’m winning. There’s a difference.”
Ned crosse
s his arms. “Likely story.” He nods to the board. “Look! He blocked Josie, too.” He shakes his head. “It’s not polite to block a lady.”
I laugh. “I don’t want him to go easy on me. I can take it.”
“See?” Mitchell raises his eyebrows. “She wouldn’t hesitate to block me, I’m sure.”
“They have a point,” says Myra.
Ned grumbles. “Fine.” He picks his cards back up and looks at me. “But only because you remind me of Annie.”
We all freeze. Ned hardly ever talks about his wife.
“How does she remind you of Annie?” Myra asks gently. Classic Myra. She would never throw away a chance to talk about someone’s feelings.
Ned studies the board as he speaks. “She never wanted me to go easy on her, either. And she sure didn’t go easy on me.” He looks up. “That’s what made it so good, with us. We pushed each other forward.”
“That sounds exhausting,” Mitchell says.
“Oh, it was. Very exhausting. Very hard.” Ned shuffles the cards in his hand. “But all the best things are hard.”
“I wish I could have met her,” Myra says after a moment.
“You would have liked her. She smiled all the time, and she worked so hard, and she was funny.” He swallows before he speaks again, like there’s a lump in his throat. “She made me better.”
I glance at Mitchell, expecting to find him glancing toward the door, plotting his getaway from all this talk about feelings.
But he’s not. He’s leaning forward, hanging on to every word. “She sounds great, Ned.”
“Yeah, well.” He clears his throat. “No use getting all worked up over old things like that.” He surveys the board. “Now you all distracted me, and I’ll never win the game.”
I laugh. “That was our plan all along.”
He narrows his eyes at me and opens his mouth, but before he can grumble a retort at me, the door to the Sanctuary bursts open, and Mae comes tearing in.
“Josie.” She stops in the middle of the room, her chest heaving, her eyes wild.
“Mae?” I stand up quickly, knocking my cards to the floor. “What is it?”
“Mom just got a call from the hospital.” Her eyes water. “It’s Libby.”
Behind me I hear Myra’s muffled gasp, feel Mitchell’s hand on my shoulder, feel Ned’s eyes boring into my back. But I don’t pause to say anything, to ask any questions. I’m already following Mae out the door.
I’m pretty sure my mom hasn’t blinked for the past thirty minutes. Not as we piled into Myra’s car, Mae and I huddled in the back, Myra gripping the wheel with white knuckles, my mom staring ahead from the passenger seat. Not as the dark granite and faded-yellow lines sped by under our wheels. Not now, as Myra whips around the corner and screeches into a spot in the emergency room parking lot.
Scientifically, I know that this is very unlikely. People have to blink, and thirty minutes is a long time. But I’ve been staring at her almost the whole time—her face ghostly pale, her hair disheveled, her lips pressed together—and I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’m right.
The neon lights of the ER glow painfully bright in the dark as we scramble out of the vehicle. Even though my mom doesn’t have a car, she knows how to drive, and she could have just borrowed Myra’s. But Myra took one look at Mom’s face and offered to drive us here, down the mountain. Which was definitely a good idea. My mom hasn’t spoken a word, either. I think she’s in shock.
Mae, on the other hand, can’t stop talking. Her chatter has been nonstop since she ran into the Sanctuary and got me, her words filling every particle of space around us. Even now, as the four of us race down a fluorescent hallway, following the ER nurse’s directions to Libby’s room, Mae can’t stop.
“I’m sure it’s not a big deal.” Her voice sounds too loud in the near-empty hallway. “They’re probably making a bigger deal out of this than it actually is.”
No one answers her. The slap of our feet on linoleum mingles with the steady beeping and murmurs of conversation from a nearby room.
She keeps going. “Last year my math teacher was in a car accident. Remember? Mrs. Juma? And she said that even though she was totally fine, the ambulance guys still made her go to the ER. Just in case.”
She keeps snapping a black hairband on her wrist, each loud thwack echoing through the hallway. And through my head. And through Myra’s head too, apparently, because the next time Mae reaches for her wrist, Myra leans sideways and grabs Mae’s hand. Mae latches on, lacing her pale, smooth fingers through Myra’s tanned and wrinkled ones. She looks like a little girl.
“Do you think—?” Mae begins again as we round the corner. But then she stops. And we all stop. Because right in front of us is room 314A. And right inside the open door is Libby.
Myra gasps, my mom clutches her hand to her mouth, and Mae bursts into tears. Me, I don’t really know what to do.
A big chunk of Libby’s hair is matted with blood—practically the whole left side of her head. A large bruise is blooming on her right cheekbone, right under her eye, and her entire right arm, from wrist to shoulder, is wrapped in a cast. Her eyes flutter beneath her pale eyelids. When we walk into the room, they slowly open.
“Oh, sweetie.” My mom is at the bedside in an instant, blinking furiously, finally, as she fights back tears.
Mae perches on the bottom of the bed, cross-legged and tiny. Myra sits on a chair behind my mom. I stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, somewhere between the bed and the wall.
“We’re so glad you’re okay,” Myra murmurs.
My mom nods. Mae just stares at her twin’s face, tears sliding down her cheeks.
I expect Libby’s voice to be thin and weak, but it echoes surprisingly loud in the tiny room.
“I’m fine, guys. Really. I promise.”
I think she’s trying to sound reassuring, but it’s not quite working. If anything, she sounds slightly annoyed.
“It was just a little car accident,” she continues. “No big deal.”
“A little accident?” Mae’s voice is scratchy. “Your head is covered in blood.”
“Yeah, I could really use a shower,” Libby jokes, but nobody laughs. “It looks way worse than it is.”
My mom opens her mouth to say something, but a knock interrupts her. We all turn toward the door, where a policeman is poking his head in.
“Is this the room of Miss Elizabeth Sedgwick?”
Libby doesn’t answer, so my mom clears her throat. “Yes, it is.”
The officer steps inside the doorway, holding a clipboard, and his eyebrows are knotted together. “And are you her mother?”
My mom nods. Libby stares determinedly at her lap, fiddling with the sheets.
“Ma’am, would you mind stepping into the hallway with me for a moment?”
My mom’s gaze flicks to Libby, but Libby doesn’t look up. So my mom rises, slowly, and follows the officer out of the room.
We are at the hospital for almost four hours. We wait in the bare waiting room while the officer tells my mom the whole story—Libby was in the passenger seat when the driver, a seventeen-year-old who had way too many beers, ran a stop sign and crashed into another car. The other driver is fine, but his car is totaled. The driver of Libby’s car, and the boy and girl in the backseat, all escaped with minor cuts and bruises. I don’t know any of the kids; they’re all a year younger than me, and my high school is huge. All I know is the driver is now at the police station, the other two kids are at home, and Libby is here in the hospital, hurt much worse than any of them. She is now sporting five stitches in her head, as well as a broken arm and a broken collarbone. And a bad attitude.
I want to feel sorry for her. And I tried, I really did. I watched as she rolled her eyes at my mom when she asked if Libby was in pain. I listened as she gave the police officer snappy answers as he filled out his report. I watched as she refused the hospital food and as she stared off into space when Myra was talking, and when she repea
tedly told us all that it’s not a big deal. I watched all of this, and I listened to all of this, and I didn’t say anything.
But now, my mom is filling out discharge paperwork, and a nurse is instructing her on how to watch for signs of a concussion. And Libby is standing off to the side, texting. She doesn’t even say thank you as we walk out of the hospital. She doesn’t even glance up.
My chest tightens as we all slide into the car. Mae squishes in the middle seat in the back, me on her left side, Libby on her right. As Myra starts the car, Mae reaches for Libby’s hand. But Libby pulls it out of the way, and so Mae’s hand hangs awkwardly in the air before settling back in her lap. It’s dark in the car, but I can see the hurt flash across her face.
The ride back up to Paintbrush is a quiet one. Myra asks how Libby’s doing, and Libby says fine, and that’s about the extent of the conversation. I want to ask who the driver was, what she was doing with him, was she drinking too, and what the hell was she thinking.
But my mom speaks first. “I’m just happy you’re okay.” She swivels in her seat and pats Libby on the knee. “Nothing else matters.”
I snort. I can’t help it. We’re still a good fifteen minutes away from Paintbrush, and cars are terrible places for fights. But I can’t help it.
Everyone in the car seems content to ignore me. Everyone except for Libby.
She leans forward, glaring at me across Mae. “Is there something you’d like to say, Josie?” Libby’s voice is icy cold.
“I just think it’s a little ridiculous to say that nothing else matters, considering you could have killed a person tonight.”
Beside me, Mae inhales sharply and Libby rolls her eyes.
“Oh, please. That guy walked away without a single scratch. And besides, it’s not like I was the one drinking and driving.” She crosses her arms.
“You let a drunk driver behind the wheel. That’s just as bad.”
“Girls—” my mom begins, but Libby cuts her off.
“Josie. Look at me. I’m the one with the broken bones and the cut up head. I’m the victim here. You do not need to lecture me right now.”
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