The Last Confession of Autumn Casterly

by Meredith Tate

  Maybe in another world, if things had been different, I would’ve had friends. I would’ve been sitting with my sister, stealing a spoonful of fudge off her sundae.

  I picture that economics class with the trickle-down tree full of toucans. The bird at the top had the most fruit. The most power. But he was also all alone on the highest branch, with nothing but the clouds for company.

  Within a few minutes, the waitress returns with a teetering tray of sundaes. Ivy and her group immediately dig in, taking a moment to Snapchat the unofficial cone-head to almost everyone at our high school. Alexa steals a bite of Sophie’s sundae (in the eleventh hour, she chose the Reese’s Pieces). Ahmed and Kevin start ribbing Ivy about Patrick Perkins, specifically asking if she’s sleeping at his place tonight, at which point Jason becomes really interested in his phone.

  I should be freaking the fuck out because the day is almost over, and I probably don’t have many left. But I can’t stop watching them.

  Popularity is weird. I’d never consider my sister to be popular. She’s a band geek who dresses up for cons and sees midnight showings of Star Wars, complete with a glowing plastic lightsaber. But she has a ton of friends. Way more than I do. So why am I popular and she’s not?

  She ended up at a table surrounded by people who love her—and I’m somewhere on the ground, dying.

  A bell chimes, and with a gust of fall air, the door swings open. My heart jumps—Abby.

  “Hey!” I jump to my feet. “Abby!” It takes me half a second to remember she can’t see me.

  Abby’s eyes dart around the restaurant before settling on Ivy, who waves. She cautiously approaches the crowded table with her head down. It’s weird seeing Abby like this. Shy. Smiling. Cautious. She’s not the same girl who pinned Tyler Fenton behind the Irving station last year, or who ripped Kaitlyn Kennedy’s towel off two days ago.

  I don’t know this version of her at all.

  “Hey.” Abby pulls up a chair and sits at the head of the booth, halfway into the aisle. Ivy’s friends pass suspicious glances between them, and from Ivy’s face it’s clear she wasn’t ready to fess up to her little plan quite yet.

  “This is Abby,” Ivy says. “She’s joining us on a top secret mission tonight.”

  Jason and Ahmed nod at her. “Hey.”

  Alexa gives her a friendly smile before twirling a lock of purple hair around her finger and looking away. Kevin doesn’t acknowledge her, but his face burns bright red.

  Abby darts her eyes down. “Hey, Sophie.”

  Sophie nods. “Hey.”

  What the hell? From the look on Ivy’s face, she wasn’t expecting that, either.

  “You know, I’m gonna run to the bathroom.” Abby springs to her feet so quickly, she nearly knocks her chair over. “I’ll be right back.”

  The moment she’s out of earshot, everyone turns on Ivy.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Isn’t she a senior?”

  “Don’t you know who that is?”

  “What’s this secret mission? Is this why you wanted me to bring the masks?”

  But it’s Ivy who whirls on Sophie. “How do you know Abby?”

  Everyone goes quiet. I lean in, also curious. Abby’s never mentioned knowing a sophomore who’s friends with my little sister.

  Sophie shrugs. “You know. From around.”

  When every single person simultaneously glares at her, she throws her head back. “From horseback-riding camp years ago, okay? I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  Ahmed raises his brows. “I didn’t know you did horseback-riding camp.”

  “Just one summer after sixth grade. I wasn’t very good.”

  Alexa giggles. “Did you have a crush on her?”

  “Oh my God, no!” Sophie fake-shoves Alexa. “It’s not like that. It’s just . . .” She bites her lip. “I don’t know. I feel bad saying it.”

  “Well, now you have to tell us,” Jason says.

  “Fine. Okay? Fine.” Sophie puts her hands up, glancing quickly at the bathroom hallway, which is still empty. “The instructor . . . said Abby needed a bigger horse, because she’s, you know . . . bigger.” She casts a glance at Ivy, who doesn’t seem to notice. “The other kids were really mean about it. They called her Flabby Abby and bullied her until she dropped out, like, two weeks after camp started. Someone snuck a picture of her when she was changing and passed it around. It was horrible.” She takes a bite of her sundae. “She was a really good rider, too. Way better than me.”

  I blink, absorbing. What? I never knew Abby did horseback riding. If she loved it so much, why doesn’t she ride anymore? My stomach sinks when I answer my own question. They ruined it for her. Once something good is tainted by something bad, it can never be that good thing again. It carries a shadow. A ghost.

  It hits me that I’ve been the person on the other end of that. People have called me a bully, but I guess I never associated that word with what I am. I hope I never did to them what they did to Abby.

  I’m grasping back at every encounter we had, every person we threatened. It was Abby’s idea to rip the towel off Kaitlyn and take a picture. I swallow hard. Maybe if you’re the one with the power, it’s harder for people to hurt you. No one bullies you when you’re on top.

  Abby saunters back to the table, which abruptly goes quiet. She takes her seat. “Sorry about that.”

  I rest my hand on her shoulder, even though she can’t feel it.

  “Okay, so, now that I have all of you here.” Ivy clears her throat. “How much do you love me?”

  “Buckets,” Alexa says.

  “Well, good. Because I need help breaking into someone’s house.”

  I brace myself. Way to be blunt, Ivy.

  Ahmed barks out a laugh.

  Sophie looks at Ivy like she just grew a spare arm. “What the actual hell . . .”

  “Whoa, Ivy, you turning into your sister?” Alexa gently elbows Ivy in the side. I fidget, hating that she’s got a point.

  “I know, I know it sounds messed up. But I have to do it. And I’ll be the one doing all the illegal stuff, I swear.”

  “I’ll be helping,” says Abby. “I know Liam’s house.”

  “Who’s Liam?” Alexa asks.

  Ivy fills them all in on my disappearance, the car, the police, the empty lot, and Abby’s tip on Liam. I hold my breath, waiting for everyone to freak out, but no one does. They’re taken aback, for sure. But no one runs away screaming. The more she talks, the more intrigued everyone seems to get. They listen. Slowly, they come up with a plan.

  I’ve got to be honest, this is the last thing I’d expect my little sister to do. And she’s doing it for me.

  Would I do the same for her?

  Mom used to make us chocolate chip pancakes on Saturday mornings. Sundays were for church and Sunday school, so we had to wake up early; Saturdays we were allowed to sleep in, and always woke up to the smell of pancakes on the griddle. On holidays, Mom put food coloring in the pancakes—red and green for Christmas, orange on Halloween, favorite colors on our respective birthdays.

  Three weeks after she died, I tried to make blue pancakes for Ivy’s birthday, but it didn’t go so well. I got batter all over the stove and the floor. The pancakes came out lumpy and gross. It was a giant mess. Honestly I’m surprised nothing caught fire. Dad came downstairs to find me on the kitchen floor, covered in flour, sobbing. He cleaned up the mess and sent me upstairs to take a shower. Ivy was still sleeping when I got out of the shower, and the kitchen was sparkling clean, thanks to Dad. I felt like I’d failed her—and I’d failed Mom. I was supposed to take care of my sister, and I couldn’t even do something as basic as make her breakfast. So when Ivy rolled out of bed and came downstairs, asking if Dad could make her birthday pancakes, I flipped out.

  “Why don’t you make them yourself?” I snappe
d. “You’re so helpless. You can’t do anything.”

  It was the first time I’d lost my temper at my sister. She blinked at me in disbelief as I turned on my heel and stormed upstairs. Guilt clawed through me, but I never brought it up again. Ivy had a shitty birthday that year, and I can’t help feeling like it was my fault.

  I try not to think about it.

  Ivy’s friends piss off the waitress even more by demanding separate checks. The lady practically slams the checks down on the table before storming back into the kitchen.

  Everyone leaves their money on the table and heads for the door. Ivy hesitates, examining her four-dollar sundae charge. She pulls out the ten-dollar bill Dad gave her before she left and lays it on the receipt.

  Jason’s brows shoot up. “You’re leaving her a giant tip? She was super rude.”

  “She gave me my cone-head.” Ivy shrugs. “She’s probably having a bad day.”

  “Ivy, Ivy, Ivy.” Jason wraps his arm around her shoulders. “You’re too good and pure for this world.”

  She knocks his arm off and scowls. “Shut up. It’s just six bucks.”

  That’s not true. Six bucks is a lot to Ivy. She rarely has more than a couple dollars in her wallet, and Dad almost never gives her money. We stopped getting allowances when we were little kids.

  I’m struck with a pang of sadness as they walk outside, trying to trip each other. Ivy is such a perfect little do-gooder.

  What have I gotten her into?

  IVY

  Oh my God, we are so getting arrested for this. And I’m not even talking about breaking into Liam’s house—I’m talking about this car.

  Abby, Alexa, Sophie, and I piled into the back seat of Jason’s SUV with Ahmed strewn across our laps. Kevin won the shotgun lottery because he announced he’d get carsick in the back and no one wanted a lapful of puke. I’ve spent the last ten minutes sandwiched against this freezing window, with Sophie’s butt bone digging into my thigh and Ahmed’s dirty sneakers in my lap.

  With luck, Liam’s roommate will be out, the house will be empty, and I can get in and out super quick. Abby says she knows where they hide their spare key. But if someone’s home, we’ll need to go with Plan B—which involves all my friends. I’m really, really hoping it’s the former.

  Jason’s headlights prowl the darkened road. “If I get pulled over for this, our friendship is over, Ivy.”

  “Well, maybe if you weren’t going twenty in a forty zone, you wouldn’t be drawing so much attention to yourself,” Alexa counters.

  A line of cars has formed behind us, and judging by the guy who keeps flashing his brights into our window, I’m guessing they’re not thrilled.

  “You know, they’ll still pull you over for going too slow.” I just want to get there before I have a giant bruise from Sophie’s ass.

  Abby tells Jason where to turn, and he does. Okay, this is a weird direction—we’re, like, dangerously close to the prison. She said we were going to Liam’s house. What house? A halfway house?

  “Okay, we’re here,” Abby says.

  Jason pulls over to the side of the road, idling ambiguously between Liam’s house and the neighbors’. The other cars zip by us, including the brights-flashing guy, who rolls down his window and flips us off.

  Gravel rumbles beneath the tires when Jason urges the car into a slight ditch and puts it in Park. We all simultaneously release a breath. This was a terrible strategy, but one car makes us look way less sketchy than arriving in a caravan.

  “Okay, there’s a light on,” Abby says. “Someone’s home.”

  My stomach sinks. I knew it was a possibility, but I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. “Plan B, then?”

  Everyone agrees, a little too enthusiastically.

  We climb out of the car, thankfully concealed by darkness and the trees. I stretch to one side, then the other, working out the kinks from being crammed into the back seat.

  “Soph, you have a really bony butt.”

  “Yeah she does.” Alexa winks.

  Sophie scoffs. “At least you didn’t have Ahmed’s crotch in your lap.”

  “What’s wrong with my crotch?” Ahmed stretches his arms out in front of him, wincing. “Remind me never to let you guys do that to me again.”

  Alexa flicks his shoulder. “We still have the ride home, buddy.”

  “No way. One of you can take on the role of human seat belt.”

  When we bought these masks, Alexa insisted on going full-on turtle, rather than the color-coded eye bands also offered by the costume store. They look like they could terrify young children, they ruin my hair, and they stink. I complained about them incessantly at the time. But right now, I’m loving the green, scaly, full-head-concealing monstrosities.

  I pull on my Michelangelo mask and it envelops my head like a hot, rubbery motorcycle helmet. The two eyeholes are a little too round; it’s like looking through a pair of green binoculars.

  Abby twiddles her fingers. I always assumed Autumn’s friends would be jerks, but Abby seems cool. We definitely couldn’t pull this off without her; she knows this house and knows the roommate—who’s probably responsible for that light in the window.

  “So, who’s home right now?” I ask Abby.

  “I’m guessing it’s Liam’s roommate, Chad.”

  Everyone snickers, probably because Alexa’s cat is also called Chad, but I hate that they’re not taking this seriously.

  “Okay. Anyone else?”

  “I’m not sure. They’ve got neighbors, but I think they went away this weekend. Liam’s friends usually hang out in Manchester on Saturdays, because they’ve got a friend who’s the bouncer at some bar and lets them in without IDs. But I guess there could be other people home. It’s a crapshoot. And sometimes they let random people sleep on their couch.”

  “These guys sound like creeps,” Sophie says.

  “Oh, you have no idea.” Abby flares her fingers out. “But it might be a good thing if Chad’s home. He could tell us something useful.”

  “Okay.” I’m pretty sure my heart is on the verge of rocketing out of my chest. This was such a bad idea. I’m not sure why I thought this would work. But I’m pulling at threads, and I don’t have any other clues.

  I gently push the car door shut, but still stiffen at the sound when it slams. Focus. I can’t be jumpy for this. “Okay, you guys know the plan?”

  Everyone nods in unison, and it’s kind of disconcerting. Also, seeing my reflection in the car window, I’m glad the teachers wouldn’t let us wear these to school, because I look ridiculous.

  “Let’s run through it again,” Kevin says, wringing his hands. “Just to make sure.”

  “You guys are going to ring the doorbell with Abby. She tells Chad she’s got some people who want to buy fake IDs, and you’ll go inside the house. Once you’re in, Abby will drop a few casual questions about the last time he saw Autumn—try to find out if he knows where she is. After a few minutes, Sophie says she has to pee, and when she goes to the bathroom, she unlocks the back door, where I’ll be waiting outside in the mask. I come in, do a quick sweep of the house to make sure Autumn isn’t there. I’ll sneak out within five minutes and then you guys wrap up and meet me back at the car.”

  Ahmed taps his finger to his lips. “Why don’t you come in with us and say you have to pee? Then instead of the bathroom, you go walking through the rooms, looking?”

  “Nope.” Abby shakes her head. “Chad would know something’s up if she was gone too long. This way, he doesn’t know Ivy’s there. Sophie can come back right away.”

  “What if Autumn isn’t there?” Sophie asks.

  “Then we try and find a clue about where she might be.”

  “What if Liam’s there?” Alexa asks.

  “He’s definitely in jail,” Abby says. “No one’s posted his bail.”
<
br />   “Wait, who am I playing?” Jason holds up the remaining two masks. “What do you think? Am I more of a Donatello or a Raphael?”

  “You aren’t going.” I rip the masks out of his hands.

  “What do you mean? Of course I am.”

  “Nope.” I jab him in the chest. “You’re on doorbell duty. I need you distracting the roommate. If we screw up, I’m not having your arrest on my conscience.”

  “Who said anything about getting arrested? We’re too sneaky to get caught.”

  “Sneaky? You walk like a water buffalo.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Okay, can we just do this?” Alexa bobs up and down on the balls of her feet. “It’s freezing and I did not dress for this.”

  “Yeah, my curfew’s in forty minutes,” Sophie says.

  Jason crosses his arms. “So can I come or not?”

  “Seriously? This isn’t a joke. You know we’re”—I drop my voice to a whisper— “breaking and entering here, right? It’s illegal.”

  “I told you I’d help find Autumn, and I meant it.” His eyes lock on mine, and I hate that stubborn Jason Daly-Cruz resolve that makes me want to rip my hair out and hug him at the same time.

  “Okay, fine. Whatever.”

  Jason grins and buries his face in the Donatello mask.

  I shake my head. “You look ridiculous.”

  “I’d say it’s an improvement,” Ahmed offers. Jason goes to kick him, and Ahmed quickly dodges the attack.

  “Can we focus, please?” I’m glad I’m wearing a mask so they can’t see how pale I am right now. Seriously, it’s like I can feel the color draining from my face.

  “Go, team!” Alexa puts her hand into the middle and everyone follows her lead. I begrudgingly add my hand to the mix. “Operation Find Autumn.” Abby joins in, and is the loudest person to whisper-yell “Woo!” when we all throw our hands up at the end. She’s absolutely a nerd. She just doesn’t know it yet.

  Jason and I creep around the back of the house while the others head for the front door. An upturned wheelbarrow sits in the middle of the backyard beside a rusty old swing set, which creaks every time the wind blows. A circle of rocks marks what’s either a fire pit or a tomb, and I’d rather not think about which. My hot breath blows back against my face, trapped by the rubber. I’m beginning to regret these costumes. I’m 99 percent sure whoever lives here would be more likely to shoot a couple of freaks in Ninja Turtle masks than a couple of kids. Being recognized is preferable to being dead.