by Donna Cooner
Luis is sitting on the bench by Miranda’s grave, looking at me.
“How did you know where I was?” I ask sleepily.
“Ross told me.”
“Ross?” I’m surprised. “You talked to Ross?”
“Yeah. Ross heard Blair and Mia talking and told me what they were planning. When I got to the funeral home, you were leaving and looked upset,” he explains. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “For leaving you at the party. For taking them inside. For everything.”
“I know.”
“I was stupid.” I blink away the tears.
He gets up slowly and walks toward me, sinking into the ground and gathering me up in his arms. We lie back down on the sleeping bag, my back tucked warmly against him and his solid arms wrapped tightly around me.
“You’re not stupid,” he whispers against my neck, his breath tickling down the inside of my collar. “Did you sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Did you dream?”
“Yes,” I say.
“You’re smiling.”
“How do you know?” I didn’t even realize it myself.
“I can feel it. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not yet.” I snuggle back into his body and he sighs deeply.
After a while I do start to talk. “I just wanted to make it all go away, but there is no magic cure for missing Miranda. I know that now.”
Luis twists a strand of my hair around one of his fingers.
“If I remember Miranda, then she will never really be gone,” I tell him.
“What do you remember?”
“I remember the snow day when we both kept getting stuck in the drifts in front of our house. I pulled her out and we laid flat on our stomachs on the top of the snow, breathing hard and laughing until we both had sore throats from the freezing air. She was” — I think — “ten or so?”
Luis is quiet, listening, and I keep talking. “I remember her first few steps. She was so little. I held her hand and her tiny fingers wrapped so tightly around mine I was amazed at her strength.
“I remember her first day of school, when she cried and cried because she loved school so much she didn’t want to come home. I remember her giggle, her games, and her songs.”
“Those all sound like good memories,” Luis says, and we lie there a little longer in the middle of all those tombstones, watching the sun grow stronger.
“I remember how opinionated and outspoken she was. She never backed down.”
“Sort of like you?” He taps a finger against my forehead.
I laugh in surprise. “No one’s ever compared us before.”
“You don’t agree?”
I think about it. “Maybe.”
“It’s one of the things I like about you. You put yourself out there. Even when you know you’ll be criticized.”
“You like me?” I say, even though I know the answer.
“Yeah,” he says, and I feel his lips move into a smile against my neck. “Did you figure out what to say in court?”
“More like what not to say.”
He pulls away and looks down at me, his eyebrows raised.
“There might be someone else who needs to speak more than me.”
He doesn’t ask who. Maybe he already knows. “What else did you think about?”
“I think I need to take a break,” I say firmly.
“From me?” he asks, and I laugh.
“No, silly.” I roll over to look into his eyes. “From my vlog.” I realize then that I don’t need to post the video I shot last night with Blair and Mia in my room. I don’t need to post anything anymore. “I want to spend more time in the real world. Face-to-face.”
“I like face-to-face,” he says. He slides his hand down my jawline, and then he kisses me gently. Once. Twice. Three times.
“I better get home,” I finally say. “I don’t want my parents to start looking for me.”
Luis tugs me to my feet. While he rolls up the sleeping bag and takes down the tarp, I walk over to the grave to collect the ofrendas, but then decide to leave them where they are. I don’t need them anymore.
But there is one missing. I search the dirt and the grass behind the grave, but it’s not there.
I smile.
I am completely sure.
Somehow.
Someway.
Wherever she is.
Miranda has the bracelet.
Hello, Beauty Stars. Long time, right?
I know a lot of you have wondered how I’m doing and I want to thank you for the kind words and thoughts after my sister’s death.
No makeup or beauty tips today. I’m taking a bit of a break from vlogging. Don’t worry. I still love makeup and fashion, but I need some time away from the spotlight. I hope you guys will understand.
Before I go, one final bit of advice. Maybe you’ll find it helpful. I hope so.
I want to encourage you to look away from the mirror and turn off your screens. Seek out beauty in unexpected, new places. Maybe you’ll find it in an exquisite new friendship. In your own family. And you might even find it hidden deep inside something indescribably ugly.
But you have to look away from your own image.
Or you might miss it altogether.
So that’s what I’m going to try to do. For now.
“Be unique to build your fanbase.” —Torrey Grey, Beautystarz15
“I want January!” Raylene is yelling so loudly into her phone I expect everyone on the football field can hear. “It will start everyone’s year out purrrfectly.” She laughs loudly into the receiver. “Get it?”
I guess the person from the Huntsville Item got it, because Raylene hangs up with a satisfied grin.
I gather my windblown hair up into a quick ponytail, then zip up my hoodie and sit down on the top step of the bleachers next to Ross. Although it still mystifies me, he and Raylene have been inseparable since the party two weeks ago, and it seems to be working out great.
“Stu beat that Dalmatian by two hundred thirty-four votes!” Raylene exclaims. She pumps her fist in the air so enthusiastically that she practically knocks her new leopard-print beret off her head.
“Congratulations. Now let’s see it,” I say.
The football field is packed; everyone soaking up the beautiful fall weather. Everyone is practicing something — track, football, band, cheerleading, and twirling. The twirling part is why Ross and I are here — to watch Raylene’s newest and greatest routine. As of Monday, she is now the official alternate for the twirling line and must be able to perform at a moment’s notice.
“Hurry up,” Ross calls, stretching his legs out onto the bleacher in front of us. “I can’t be late for practice.”
Groups of kids are scattered out along the benches waiting to go to an activity, or watching friends. I even see Blair and Emily over by the gate watching Mia and the other cheerleaders working on a routine.
The day after Halloween, Blair called me and apologized for leaving me in the funeral home. I actually think she was sorry, but I haven’t sat at the popular table since. My choice. Ross hasn’t been sitting there, either, not since he and Raylene started going out. Sometimes Blair, Mia, and Emily look a little lonely at the exclusive table these days, but I’m sure they’ll pick up some newbies soon.
Raylene positions herself on the track in front of me and Ross, feet placed carefully in position and baton in the crook of her arm. “Ready?” she calls.
“Yes,” I say, impatient. “Go for it.”
Raylene struts across the track in front of us doing a figure eight with the baton. I guess it’s impressive, but what do I know? I look over at Ross and he’s watching Raylene proudly.
“Now for the double leg roll. It’s an advanced combination.” Raylene lifts one leg in a marching stance, her toe pointed toward the ground, and rolls the baton over the top of her thigh. Catching it with the back of her hand, she raises her other
leg and the baton seamlessly rolls across the top of the other leg. She repeats it several times and I watch in amazement as the baton twirls around and around her legs.
“She did it.” Ross sounds just as amazed as I must look.
Raylene bows and he gives her a standing ovation, whistling wildly between two fingers.
“Wow,” I say, stunned, clapping.
Ross looks out toward the football field and past Raylene. “Sorry, I have to go to practice, but you were great.” He tramps down the bleachers to give Raylene a quick kiss, then jogs out toward the field.
Raylene watches him go, then turns back to me with a grin. “Still need to practice my two spin. I drop it every time.”
“But you’re getting better,” I say. “I can tell.”
“I’m thinking about writing a blog about being on the twirling line,” Raylene says. She hurls the baton up into the air.
“Really?” I duck as the baton goes flying past my head and crashes into the metal bleachers.
Raylene retrieves it, then sits down beside me on the step, breathing hard. “Well, not really about being on the line. More about being an alternate.”
“There’s probably a lot of people who can relate to that,” I say. I don’t warn her about the trolls and constant criticism. She’ll have to figure that out for herself. Besides, Raylene might just be able to handle it. Maybe I will, too, again, later. When I’m ready. There’s no rush. Since I posted my last vlog on November first, I haven’t gone back to check on the comments. And the sugar-skull makeup tutorial sits unedited on my computer. Neither Blair nor Mia have asked me about it since that night.
“Just be yourself,” I tell Raylene. “People will love you.”
“You really think so?” she asks.
“Sure.”
“Your friend Zoe’s channel is really growing. She has a ton of subscribers,” Raylene says, then makes a rueful face. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. Good for her,” I say, and almost mean it. Zoe’s first beauty vlog went up last week. Raylene told me about it, but I didn’t watch it. I didn’t need to. I realize I’ll probably see Zoe, and Cody, when I go back to Colorado soon for the court date. What will I say to my former best friend? Will I need to say anything? I think back to our phone call again. Maybe I can learn to forgive her someday.
“She has this snarky attitude that’s like a magnet for all the haters,” Raylene continues, still on the topic of Zoe. “You should read the comments. It’s not pretty.”
No thanks. Been there, done that.
Raylene bends over to retie her pink tennis shoes, then looks back up at me nervously. Like she’s afraid of what I might say. “But she’s kind of like a train wreck. You just can’t look away.”
“I can,” I say, tilting my chin up a little. It feels good to say because it’s true.
“Hey. There’s Luis.” Raylene waves, the silver bracelets on her wrist jangling.
Luis raises a hand and smiles in our direction, then stops to say hi to Ross on the field before coming up to join us. I never in a million years would have guessed it, but Luis, Ross, Raylene, and I have become something of a foursome. Luis and Ross are talking again. And somehow, the dynamic of our little group works.
I watch Luis coming up the stairs of the bleachers, the fall wind ruffling his dark hair, and realize I’m grinning like crazy.
“Did I miss the show?” Luis asks. He squeezes onto the metal bleacher beside me and I catch a breezeful of his cinnamony smell.
“I can do it again,” Raylene says enthusiastically. She stands and gathers up her backpack and baton. “But you’ll have to wait until after practice.”
“Sounds good,” Luis laughs.
“Bye,” I say. We watch Raylene bounce down the steps and run out onto the track. “She’s getting a lot better,” I tell Luis.
“That’s good. By the way, I have something for you,” Luis says. He pulls out a white sack from the pocket of his gray hoodie and drops it between us. “It’s from Mrs. Zajicek’s service.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“One less kolache than was in the bag an hour ago. I was hungry,” he explains. “They’re left over from the viewing.”
“Yummmm …” I bite into a cherry-filled pastry and a white napkin flutters out of the bag. I turn it over to see the message, written there from Luis’s grandma.
Have a good day, Torrey! See you soon. It is accompanied by a big yellow smiley face.
“Thanks,” I say, the smile on my face an echo of the napkin. I love that I’ve been welcomed into Luis’s family, with their sugar skeletons and all.
“No problem,” Luis says, then leans in and tugs gently at my ponytail. “Hey, I like your hair.”
I have a fleeting thought of Cody Davis. “You don’t think it looks better down?”
Luis laughs, reaching for the half-eaten pastry in my hand.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“It’s like this.” He holds out the kolache, turning it upside down.
“Yikes.” I grab for it, hoping to prevent a cherry mess on his white T-shirt, but he takes a huge bite before even a drop of the filling falls.
“It really doesn’t matter which way you look at it….” He smiles at me, his brown eyes almost a caramel color in the bright sun. “It’s still delicious.”
I feel my face grow hot. I don’t care that Blair and Mia are looking our direction or that my phone is inside my pocket, buzzing with an unread text message. I lean over and kiss Luis. His lips taste like sugar.
“You’re right,” I say, grinning back at him. “It’s sensational.”
Boulder, Colorado — The man who killed Miranda Grey while driving drunk appeared in court today to face the victim’s family. The victim’s sister, sixteen-year-old Torrey Grey, well-known on the Internet for her beauty and fashion videos, was sitting in the second row of the courtroom with her parents, Karen and Scott Grey, when Waters entered. Ms. Grey later stood silently beside her parents, while her mother delivered the victim impact statement.
Karen Grey spoke to the defendant, looking directly into Waters’s eyes the whole time. “My daughter Miranda Grey was killed by the defendant,” Mrs. Grey said. “While my family wished our grief to remain out of the public eye, I have learned there is nothing private about losing a child. Today, I could try and tell you about the pain and torment our family has endured, but there are no words to describe the nightmares, the tears, and the grief. You killed my precious daughter and our lives will never be the same, but we will not let you destroy our family. We will always have Miranda as long as we remember her, and you can never take that away from us.”
Following the hearing, Mrs. Grey said she had some closure and was trying to move on with her life. She welcomed Waters’s decision to accept a plea bargain and avoid a lengthy trial. Torrey Grey declined to comment and left the courtroom with her family.
When my first novel, Skinny, came out into the world I had no idea what it would be like to garner a small slice of Internet attention. Struggles with body image, and particularly obesity, are lightning-rod topics for many. While most readers shared powerful personal connections to the book, some comments were directed toward me personally. It was unexpected and sometimes disturbing, but also became the inspiration for this book. I am so grateful to everyone for sharing their thoughts with me and, even more importantly, for reading.
My publisher, Scholastic, is amazing and this book is testament to the incredible team of talent they bring to each book they produce. This book would not exist without the loving guidance of my editor, Aimee Friedman. Her expertise is evident on every page and I am so extraordinarily blessed to have her in my life. Thanks also to my publicist, Sheila Marie Everett, and Jeannine Riske, Yaffa Jaskoll, Elizabeth Krych, Alix Inchausti, Jackie Hornberger, David Levithan, Lizette Serrano, Candace Greene, and Emily Heddleson.
Immense gratitude also goes to:
Sarah Davies at Greenhouse Literary, for being a f
antastic agent and caring professional. I am so fortunate to have you in my corner.
My writing family — especially Lorin Oberweger, Debbie Leland, Kathi Appelt, and the YAMuses (Veronica Rossi, Bret Ballou, Katherine Longshore, and Talia Vance).
Leah Barrett, for helping me grow stronger mentally and physically.
My wonderful team at Colorado State University’s School of Teacher Education and Principal Preparation who help keep the dream alive — Karmen Kelly, Rod Lucero, Jodi Drager, Matt Wurst-Calgari, Juliana Stovall, Lamb Caro, Wendy Fothergill, Andrea Weinberg, Derek Decker, Cerissa Stevenson, and Mark Stevenson.
Karen (the Dead Cat Lady) and Greg Rattenborg for needed distractions and entertainment.
Jay for the laundry, dinners, housekeeping, and keeping me from jumping off ledges.
My father and my sister, Marty, for the foundation and support for all my storytelling abilities.
Miss you, Mom. Every single day.
Donna Cooner is the acclaimed author of Skinny, which was nominated for YALSA’s Best Fiction for Young Adults and was a 2012 BEA Buzz book. Donna lives with her goat dog, Roxanne, in Fort Collins, Colorado, where she also works as a professor of education. You can visit her online at www.donnacooner.com.
ALSO BY DONNA COONER
Skinny
Copyright © 2014 by Donna Cooner
All rights reserved. Published by Point, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, POINT, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Cooner, Donna D. (Donna Danell), author.
Can’t look away / Donna Cooner. — First edition.
pages cm
Summary: Sixteen-year-old Torrey Grey’s YouTube videos on fashion and beauty for teenagers were famous, but when her younger sister is killed by a drunk driver during a filming her world falls apart — cyber bullies are attacking her, her father moves them to Texas, and she does not know who to trust at her new school or whether her cousin is really a friend.