Claude swallows. “No.”
Mom glares at her a moment. Then she nods. “Good. Come have a doughnut with me.”
As soon as she’s sure Mom’s gone, Claude hops into Janine and heads out of the neighborhood at a pulse-raising fifteen miles per hour. The snow has only thickened, turning the world gray upon gray until it’s hard to see which parts are road. Her windshield wipers pulse furiously, her fingers tap on the wheel.
The cheer team probably should’ve stayed home, but nothing makes parents fanatical like school sports and competitions. A top-heavy bus is somewhere out there, careening along mountain roads as the snow falls quicker, eliminating the world around them, blurring the distinction between mountain and air. Claude imagines it skidding around hairpin turns with a horde of shrieking cheerleaders and lacrosse players inside. Then she takes a deep breath, and focuses on the road, and tries not to imagine anything.
She pulls right up to Jamie’s house instead of stopping at the park like normal. Wind whistles down from the mountain and hammers against her car, making her fight to get out. She lets go of the car door and it slams shut. Snow sticks to her jacket as she hurries up the drive.
She pushes the bell before she can chicken out. Then she only has a few moments to worry about who’ll open the door before it cracks.
It’s him. “Claude?” Jamie cranes his neck, checking for his mom behind him. “Come in, but be quiet,” he hisses.
“I can’t come in.” There’s a hot thermos of coffee in her car, and someone in the woods who needs it. “I just . . .” And then Claude Vanderly’s floundering on a boy’s doorstep, trying to muster her courage. She never thought she’d be here.
His hair sticks up like he’s just washed it. Claude catches the faint trace of his shampoo, an orange-scented monstrosity she used to tease him about. Now the smell stirs memories of early mornings in the crook of an arm and stifled giggles in the shower as his mom knocks on the door. The electric feeling of sneaking up to his house after midnight, the look on his face when he’s thinking about kissing her.
He’s got that look on his face now. That mixed with confusion. And Claude shouldn’t do it, but an invisible hook pulls her forward and she presses her lips to his. Jamie tastes like hot cocoa and milk. He tastes like lazy mornings and the last days of school vacation. “You’re beautiful,” she says softly against him.
He pushes her gently away. Then he steps out and shuts the door. His eyes are a little glazed. He brings a hand to the corner of his mouth. “Are you okay?” he says.
She almost laughs. But it’s a fair question. “No.” Claude takes a deep breath. “If I were, maybe—” She lets the words hang, unsure of how to finish.
Jamie doesn’t think about maybe. He puts his hands on her arms, rubbing up and down as if to warm her. “What’s wrong?” She shakes her head. “You can tell me,” he persists.
Her eyes grow hot. “I can’t,” she says, and surprises them both with the anger in her voice. Jamie freezes. “It’s not—” Why is this so hard? She shakes him off to run a hand through her hair, dislodging snow. Jamie withdraws his arms. His hazel eyes are open and honest in their hurt. It was one of the things that drew Claude to him. It’s one of the things that make things worse now. And she knows she owes him some kind of explanation, even if she can’t tell him the whole truth.
“When all this blows over, maybe we could give it a shot.” Jamie looks at her blankly. “I mean, being together.” Those hazel eyes widen. “I just can’t right now, okay? There’s too much—” Happening. At stake. About to hit the fan. Something hot lands on her cheek, traces down to her chin.
“Claude, what’s going on?” Jamie looks like he doesn’t believe her. “What has to blow over? Is this about Emma?”
She can’t tell him. She’s too afraid that he wouldn’t believe the whole truth. She’s too generous with her body, isn’t she? She can hear the hissing in the halls. Asking for it. Never said no before. Serves her right.
“Claude.” He puts a hand on her shoulder and she can’t help leaning into it. “Do you know something? Should we go to the police?”
She shakes her head again. Tears spin from her eyelashes.
“Then . . . what do we do?”
“You don’t do anything. That’s the point. Just—steer clear of me, all right? And when it’s all over, maybe I’ll come find you.”
“No.” His hand tightens on her shoulder. “You said you didn’t want to be together, and if you don’t want it, I don’t want it. But now my friend’s unhappy, and I need to help.” He swallows. Claude dares to look up. There’s a crease between his brows, and his forehead is red from the effort of keeping tears of his own in. His hand slides down her shoulder to her bare hand, cold and half numb from the wind. She almost gasps at the warmth of him, and he squeezes her fingers. “I want to help you, Claude. Just tell me how.”
Claude swallows. She brushes away her tears with her free hand. “You don’t get it. You can’t help me.”
His jaw sets. “No, you don’t get it. I’m not going to let it go until you tell me what I can do.”
Claude makes a noise that’s half hiccup, half sob. Of all the not-so-shining knights she’s laid, this is the one who stuck around. “Okay. You want to help?”
He nods.
“Do you trust me?”
Another nod.
Claude takes a deep breath. “Lend me your shovel. And don’t follow me.”
By the time she reaches Anna’s tree, snow has leaked through the bags around her Doc Martens and her feet are soaked. She slicks along the bank, cursing under her breath. The river waits, hungry, just to the other side.
Claude nudges snow aside until she hits frozen dirt, then uses the tip of the shovel like a pick to break it. Bad idea. Bad idea. As she leans on the shovel and starts to sweat, the words build up to a mantra. The snow muffles all sounds, but nothing can truly silence Anna. Wind blows snow down the back of her coat and into her eyes, weaves through the forks and knives and shoes and bras, all the sacrifices tied to Anna’s tree. They knock together like they’re laughing. Claude mutters her favorite swear words and steps on the shovel. Part of her waits for shouts and the sound of boots on snow. But everyone else is smart enough to stay inside, and all she hears is the low voice of the wind and the click and clack of the detritus above her.
She cuts the dirt away in slivers until the skin on her palms is raw. She cuts until her breath comes in ragged gasps and she can’t swear anymore. She hacks until finally, finally, she hears the chink of metal on metal. She tosses the shovel aside and kneels, brushing at the dirt with shaking fingers until she finally wraps them around the barrel of a gun.
Diary Entry
Emma Baines—September 7, 2018
I wish I was dead.
I wish he’d just killed me. It would have been preferable. Preferable to living in this body and remembering every goddamn second of it.
I trusted you. I trusted all of you, and where did that get me? Praying that I’ll get hit by a bus in the morning. Because what’s the point, when this is what living gets you? I tried to be good, and honest, and full of integrity. And then this.
I wish I was dead.
I wish I was dead.
I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead I wish I was dead
25
The Cornered
Concentrating too much on her phone gives her a headache and makes her queasy, but Avery can’t help it. Every time the phone buzzes, she gets a tingle in her belly that has nothing to do with car sickness, or nerves about the competition. The bus lurches but she looks at her message again.
I’m sick of keeping up appearances. After this weekend I’m ready. Consequences be damned.
If ur sure, s
he writes back. My parents are gonna freak but we can talk them down. Just so u know.
Lyla pops up over her shoulder and she flips the phone down into her lap. “What’s up?” Lyla says. “You missed the last three cheers.”
“Sorry.” Avery taps the phone as it buzzes again. “I’m just, um . . .”
“Preoccupied?” Lyla hangs over the seat. “Anything going on? Anything I can help with, as, you know, your friend?”
Avery puts on her Happy Avery smile and shakes her head. “I’m fine.”
“’Cause Michael looks really pissed. At you.”
Avery risks a peek around her seat. Michael sits at the back of the bus with the lacrosse team, who are playing a game against the Greeley Steelers on Sunday. His arms are folded and he stares out the window at the blanket of white that flurries around them. As if he can feel her, he turns. Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second before she jerks back.
He could’ve driven himself up tomorrow. She doesn’t know why he came on the bus. Except because he said he would, and he likes to keep up appearances. He’s almost as concerned with them as the Cross family.
“Wow, Aves. Weird much?” Lyla says. When a freshman looks over she lowers her voice. “What happened?”
Avery swallows. “I’ll tell you later.” When Lyla’s accompanying scream of rage won’t alert the entire bus. “I’ll be in the right headspace when we get there. Promise.” She holds up a pinkie.
Lyla gives her an I know this is bullshit look but hooks her pinkie and they shake.
“Lyla, seat belt.” Mr. G leans over them with a sharp expression to match his voice. Lyla flops into her seat and buckles. “Avery?” Mr. Garson says. “Everything all right?
“I’m fine.” She turns her smile a little wobbly. “Just a little carsick.”
His mouth turns up. “Should I confiscate your phone? It might help if you stop looking at it.”
“No,” Avery snaps.
Half the bus turns to look at her. It’s all she can do to keep from clapping a hand over her mouth. Mr. G’s smile flattens. “There’s no need for that tone. Put your phone away.” He turns and goes up to the front of the bus as Avery’s stomach lurches.
“Jeez. Someone forgot his happy pill this morning,” Lyla mutters through the gap in the seats.
Avery watches Mr. G until he sits down again at the front of the bus, in his designated chaperone seat, and gets out his own phone while talking to Mrs. Halifax and Mr. Pendler. A moment later, Avery’s phone buzzes again. She checks to make sure no one’s looking before she flips the screen around.
It’s going to be such a relief. Don’t worry about your parents. Soon you’ll be 18 and they can’t boss you around anymore
Yeah right , Avery writes back. See you tonight?
Even in a world-class blizzard, Greeley smells like cow. The stench permeates everything—the snow, the wind, the bus as they get closer, and the Stadion Hotel that will serve as their base for the competition.
Shay and Lyla scream as the bus doors open and the first blast of cold wind streams inside. Mr. G claps for them to settle down. “Thank you, girls, for breaking my eardrums,” he says. Everyone giggles. “Grab your bags and get into the lobby.”
They start to file out. Avery can’t leave fast enough. She needs the fresh air, even if it smells like sewage. She needs the cold. She needs freedom. She thought getting out of Lorne would do it.
She was wrong.
The bus driver and Shay’s mom are working together to haul gym bags from the bus’s innards. Avery grabs hers and heads for the lobby, skipping around Michael and keeping her eyes on the ground.
“Hey, can we—” he says, but she doesn’t look up and she doesn’t stop. Let the other girls whisper about it. Let them wonder.
“Your ankle looks good,” he yells after her.
Her ankle. Crap. She feels the eyes of Michael and half the cheer team on her as she goes.
“We’re late.”
“Relax,” Lyla says as she tries their keycard for the third time. “Everything’s going to be fine. Not like the competition can start on time in this weather.” The lock finally beeps, and she opens the door to their room.
“You want the bed near the window or the door?” Lyla says as they enter. The beds are equally dismal singles that sag in the middle.
Avery dumps her bag on the nearest white comforter. “I don’t care. Let’s just get changed and get back downstairs.”
“Aves, calm down.” Lyla’s ponytail swings as she cocks her head, suspicion written across her features. “It’s going to be fine.”
Avery shucks her shirt and shimmies out of her jeans. “It’s not going to be fine. I’m captain. I have to be on time and ready.” She pulls on her shorts and shirt. Then she looks over to where Lyla peers into the mirror. “What are you doing?”
“Do I have a zit on my chin?” Lyla beckons, jutting out her chin.
“We don’t have time for this.” Fear makes Avery’s voice sharp. “No one’s going to see it anyway, so just get your uniform on.”
“So I do have one.”
“Lyla,” Avery explodes.
Lyla steps back. Avery realizes too late that she’s breathing hard and she can’t focus. “What the hell, girl?” Lyla says. “What’s gotten into you?” Her eyes flicker down to Avery’s ankle.
Avery focuses on the lie, bouncing on her toes. “I said we had to get ready. If we don’t show, we forfeit and lose our place in the competition.”
Lyla doesn’t buy it. “Is this about Michael? You said you’d have your A game ready to go by the time we got here. Don’t get pissy on me ’cause you guys have broken up or whatever.”
“That’s not what I’m pissy about,” Avery half shouts.
“Then what?” Lyla snaps.
The knock makes them both jump. “Girls?” Mr. G says through the door. “Past time to go.”
Avery gives Lyla her best I told you so glare. Lyla rolls her eyes. In less than twenty seconds, she’s dressed.
Avery opens the door just as Mr. G’s about to knock again. “It’s fine—we’re here,” she says a little breathlessly. Mr. G raises an eyebrow at her.
“Let’s go kick some ass—uh, sorry, Mr. G,” Lyla says as she closes the door behind them.
“After you, ladies,” Mr. G says. “I just need to run back for something.”
Avery doesn’t realize she left her phone in the room until they’ve reached the gym.
The first team in the competition heads to the floor, and the bass makes the lockers around Avery shake. Ford River High School has a newly lacquered floor, new bleachers for their parents to sit on, and a new sound system to deafen them. The smell of fresh paint and sweat is almost enough to knock Avery out. She takes a long drink of Gatorade and ushers the team in close. “This wasn’t an easy semester,” she says. “And maybe this is as far as we get this year. But we’re going to give it all we’ve got, for Emma. And because we want to be the best cheer squad in northern Colorado.”
“For Emma,” the others murmur.
Are you ready to go? Lyla mouths. Avery nods. She wants to throw up.
The door to the locker room opens and the previous team files in. “Good luck,” says their cheer captain with a clear lack of sincerity.
“The Jefferson-Lorne Wolf Pack!” calls an announcer, and out they go. Avery takes her place as the captain, front and center. Mr. Pendler’s eyes seem to pin her in place.
So Avery Cross does what she does best. She lifts her chin, looks right at him, and smiles her perfect smile. They launch into action.
Her team is good. Natalie’s a little too cautious with the lift, but they make up their quarter-beat delay and get into the rebound with perfect synchronization. Everyone’s smile is real, adrenaline fueled. Even Avery’s by now. They move in sharp, precise lines. And the reality is they’re better than they ever were when Emma was with them.
You only ever held us back, Avery thinks, and her smile flickers a li
ttle as they take their final pose. The crowd roars for them like a river, hungry for more. For a sacrifice of young girls who will dance and pose and parade for them.
They place second. Their execution was near perfect, but their choreography lacks originality, says a judge who looks like she eats trolls for breakfast. The rest of the squad screams. Shay jumps up and down. Natalie might be crying. Mrs. Halifax gives Avery a surprising bear hug, and Mr. Pendler and Mr. G both pat her on the shoulder. “Good job.” Mr. G squeezes as he hands her the second-place trophy and they all pose.
“Ohmygod,” Shay says. “I’ve never won anything so cool!” She does a back handspring and nearly kicks Mr. Pendler in the face.
And then Michael is there, behind Avery. He’s got flowers. Of course. “Congrats,” he says, and holds them out. Avery can feel the air crystallize around them, just as she can feel the stare of her team. All they need is a bucket of popcorn to pass around, she thinks bitterly.
“Thanks,” she says, taking the flowers without touching his hand.
He looks at her for a moment, then nods to himself. Then he turns away.
Mr. G claps three times. “All right, everyone. Hop on the bus. Dinner’s on JLH!”
Everyone except Avery cheers.
They jog to the bus, whooping and screeching along the way. Avery welcomes the blast of warm air as she clambers in. She leans up against the window and spreads her hoodie over her lap.
The seat shifts next to her as someone sits down. Avery turns. “I don’t really—”
“Did you cheat on him?” Lyla asks.
Avery stares at her, mouth open.
“It’s colder between you two than it is outside. And I know you weren’t with him on Wednesday night.”
“Shh,” Avery implores her. She looks toward the front of the bus, where their chaperones stand ticking names off a clipboard. Mr. G nods to the driver and the bus pulls out of the parking lot. “Can we talk about this later?” Avery asks.
“Will you tell me the truth?” Lyla retorts.
Avery pushes her forehead against the cold glass. “I didn’t realize you liked Michael so much,” she says, and her voice has a stony edge.
The Good Girls Page 18