She starts to put away the groceries. “That’s right. He’s been around so much lately, I thought it would be nice. And his little brother—what’s his name? Is it Christian? Carl? Do you think they’d like that rosemary chicken I made for Marjorie Bachman’s baby shower last year? Oh, and we could make that peach cobbler recipe that you liked so much. ”
Chicken? Peach cobbler? The thought of Nancy in the kitchen acting so normal stops my breathing. I feel my back stiffen and my shoulders get tight.
“Are you joking?” I bluster. “I’m not inviting Sebastian and his brother—and it’s Carter, by the way—over to this crypt of a house to celebrate anything!” I wag the letter in front of her face. “It’s not like I’m going to Emory.”
Nancy face pales. “Why not, Amelia? You worked so hard to get in and I thought...”
“I’m not going to Emory or Vanderbilt or Wake Forest or anyplace else,” I snap, the anger inside of me growing bigger. “And were you kidding about Sebastian? You’ve never invited them before because it wasn’t appropriate,” I say, mimicking the snobbish tone she’d used at Thanksgiving.
She looks down shamefully and whispers, “Amelia, I’m trying here.”
“I don’t want you to try!” I shout and let the letter fall from my hands to the floor. “Just stop, okay? Just stop everything!”
I run out of the kitchen up the stairs intent on crawling into my bed and cuddling with Frére Jacques—the poor rabbit is probably more salty tears than stuffing these days—but instead my feet take me to my sister’s room.
And the weird thing is that it still smells like her.
It does. And except for the bed, everything is exactly how she left it that morning—the map above her desk is still dotted with paper flags. There’s a notebook opened on the floor. Her black and gold cheer jacket is draped over the back of the chair.
With trembling legs, I walk to the closet and move my hands over the clothes hanging there, taking in more of Daphne’s scent.
She loved winter, I think absently.
It doesn’t often get below freezing here, but over the past few weeks, a gauzy layer of frost has coated the ground in the mornings and I know that she would have been excited to wear all of her sweaters and boots to school.
I sink to my knees to find her favorite pair. Brown leather with brushed silver buckles on the sides. There they are, tucked in the back of the closet just below her jeans.
Not thinking, I slide my right foot into the boot and then the left. Of course they’re a perfect fit, molding to my toes and heels like I’ve worn them a hundred times before.
My unsteady hands reach out and pull a thick dark green sweater off the hanger. The neck is high and chunky and comes all the way up, over my chin and mouth. As I adjust the cuffs of the sweater, I catch sight of myself in the mirror on the closet door. For the briefest splinter of time, I can imagine a different girl is looking back, and the relief I feel almost levels me.
“Hi,” I whisper to my reflection.
Pretending isn’t even that hard. I shake my dark hair out, letting my long bangs fall to the side because that’s how she liked to wear them. Then I press my finger to the cool glass and I outline my nose and my brow bone.
Who are you seeing?
Is it me or is it her?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Bash
I’m hunched in front of my locker, trying to get my head straight for a quiz we’re taking during first period.
Students are buzzing behind me. That’s nothing new, but there’s something in the way they’re buzzing that gets me to look up. Right away I notice a circle of people clustered at the far end of the hall. In the center of the circle is a girl with her back to me and the moment I see her standing there, my heart stops beating.
It’s Amelia.
I stumble closer, barely believing my eyes, but they aren’t lying to me. There she is, her dark hair pinned half-up with the bulk of it falling down her back, just past her shoulder blades. She’s wearing jeans and brown boots and a slouchy bag is hanging from one shoulder.
My nerves are misfiring. My head is spinning. What the hell is she doing here? Why wouldn’t she have called me?
The students surrounding her are hugging her and talking all at once.
“Have you talked to Spencer’s parents at all?” Some guy asks her. “They did an interview on CNN last week. Did you see it?”
Amelia shakes her head. “No.”
“My dad has a friend who works for the The Post and Courier and he said Spencer’s mom has written you and your family a public apology letter.”
She staggers back, her expression uncomprehending. “What?”
“You haven’t read it yet?”
“No—what letter?” she asks, her voice cracking with despair. “I don’t…”
Pushing my way toward her, I call out her name. “Amelia!”
Our eyes connect and for half a second and I think everything is going to be okay. Then she shakes her head and spins in the opposite direction, slamming through the crowd, knocking people aside. One girl actually trips and falls into a locker. Amelia doesn’t stop. She runs for the nearest exit and I follow, trying to ignore the sounds of gossip travelling at the speed of light down the hall.
Did you just see Amelia Bright?
She completely lost it.
So sad.
She’s obviously a mess.
Amelia is outside, maybe thirty feet from the school entrance, leaning up against a brick wall with her eyes shut tightly and her face tilted up toward the cloudless morning sky.
“Hey,” I say, creeping closer, the way you might approach a startled animal.
Her chest heaves as she takes in a gulp of air. “Was it like this for you?”
“What do you mean? After my mother?”
She nods.
“No,” I tell her. “The only ones who knew what had happened were Rachel, Seth, and a couple of my teachers.”
She blinks at me. “Who’s Rachel? Is that your ex-girlfriend?”
Shit. I am a verifiable idiot. This is definitely not the right moment for the ex talk.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, interlacing our fingers and pulling her against me. “I’m more worried about you. Are you okay?”
She shudders and I can feel her heart pounding through her skin. “I can’t believe I ran off like that. They’re going to think I’m a head case.”
“No, everyone will get it.”
“I just… They started talking about Spencer’s mother and some letter,” she says, shaking her head. “I felt like they were smothering me.”
“They were smothering you,” I say, taking her face in my hands and ducking so that we’re the same height. “And I hate to break it to you, but things are probably going to be like that for a while.”
“Because I’m a novelty like some circus act,” she says flatly.
“No, because you’ve been through a tragedy and you have friends and you’re popular.”
She sputters, “That’s not—”
“I know, I know.” 'That's not friendship. That’s nothing but a business transaction' she told me so many months ago. “Maybe you’re right about all those people back there. Maybe it’s not true friendship, but either way, you have an effect on them.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I’m not. They look to you.” I shrug and glance back toward the school entrance. “And in their own way, they care. And they definitely care about Daphne and what happened here. It changed everything.”
She drops her gaze. “I know, but I just want one day where it’s not like that. One day to be okay.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Is that why you didn't tell me you were going to be here?”
“I guess so,” she admits, pulling back and readjusting her sleeves and the strap of her bag.
“Amelia, I should take you back home.”
She looks off blankly and sighs. “I don’t want to go home. I need to be h
ere.”
“You don’t need to be anywhere you don’t want to be,” I say and jog to keep up as she briskly climbs the front steps of the school. “It would be understandable to take more time.”
“You don’t get it, Sebastian.”
“What don’t I get?”
“I don’t have the luxury of time,” she says and exhales sharply.
My skin prickles with edginess. “Why not?”
“I mean, tennis has already started back up and as captain I really need to be here for that. Not to mention that student council elections are coming up and it’s critical that I help the incoming officers get acquainted with our system and—” she stops. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head in confusion. “Do you really think student council is critical?”
“Well, a lot of people have worked really hard to make the council effective.”
What? I can’t keep up with her unpredictable moods anymore. One minute she’s crying and falling apart, the next she’s acting like nothing is wrong.
“Amelia, I’ve gotta admit… I’m lost here.”
“What do you mean?” she asks over her shoulder.
“I mean—why are you acting this way?”
“What way?”
I grab her wrist and pull her to a stop. “Like everything is fine.”
“Because I told you before—it is fine.”
I stare hard at her. “It didn’t look like that five minutes ago.”
She steps back and twists her arm out of my grip. “God, Sebastian!” she pants in exasperation. “Is it such a crime to want to come to school and have everyone leave me alone? Am I such a bad person for wanting one normal day?”
My sense of dread mounts. Something is happening here. Something not right.
“Amelia…”
“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit!”
We both bring our heads around to see Audra sprinting toward us. She knocks into Amelia, throwing out her arms and spins the two of them around.
“As soon as I got out of my car, I knew you were here today. It’s all anybody is talkin’ about. And here I thought for sure you would’ve at least texted me,” Audra pouts.
Amelia pulls back a little and frees her hair from beneath Audra’s arm. “Hey, Audra.”
Audra makes a frowny face and pokes her chin out. “Hey? That’s all I get? I’ve been missin’ you somethin’ fierce. And how ‘bout you, buckaroo?” She tilts her head back to look at me. “Happy to see our girl here?”
I don’t answer because I’m getting the distinct impression that “our girl” is no longer happy to see me.
But Audra doesn’t pick up on the tension and goes on, happily telling Amelia about school and classes this semester, and how much the tennis team is sucking without her. Amelia nods along, going through the motions like she cares, but I can tell she’d rather be anyplace but here.
And then the first warning bell rings and Audra starts to tug her away from me, but I hold her back.
“Audra, can you give us a second?”
“Sure thing. See you in third period, chica!” Audra says, waving and stomping off.
“What?” Amelia asks quietly, not meeting my eyes.
“What?” I repeat, trying to keep my voice down to avoid another scene. “I think we should talk.”
“What’s left to talk about?” she asks numbly.
“I don’t think you’re ready to be here yet.”
She snorts and cocks her face to one side. “Well, that’s not really your call, is it?”
“Amelia, I’m only trying to help you.”
“And I appreciate it, but you’ve got to give me some breathing room. All of this—” she looks between us, her mouth puckering distastefully, “—is making me feel claustrophobic. Just like all those people who were smothering me.”
“Oh.” Stung, I immediately drop her hand and take a step back. “I didn’t mean to push you.”
“I know.” She squeezes her eyes closed and shakes her head. “Look… I don’t want to argue anymore but I’ve got to go or I’m going to be late.”
Now I’m unsure what to do. This conversation feels punctuated with landmines and I have no idea how to navigate it. “Okay. Do you want me to walk you to your class?”
“I’m not going to class.” She shakes her head. “As a returning victim, I have to go to the office and check in with the counselor first.”
“That’s good. You should be talking to somebody.”
“Actually, it’s stupid, but I don’t have a say in it. They’re making me.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s something off in the gesture.
“Okay. Well, I’ll see you later then?”
She nods, but it still feels hollow and somehow wrong.
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
I watch her round the corner and I realize that even though Amelia is back, she’s still a thousand miles away from me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Amelia
“How do you feel about being here, Amelia?”
I blink, trying not to give anything away. “Do you mean in your office or just here in general?”
“Here in general.” Mrs. Gaspard, the school counselor sits back and folds her hands over her lap. I think she’s trying to appear relaxed to put me at ease. It’s not working.
“I haven’t even been here an hour yet.”
“Well, coming back, surrounded by so many memories—even just being in this very building—it’s got to be difficult for you, no?”
Are we really having this conversation? “I think I can manage.”
“That’s fabulous to hear.” There’s a cup of coffee on her desk. She picks it up and takes a sip. “And how do you think your classes will go? Will you be able to catch up on your school work?”
I shrug. “I guess so.”
“Great,” Mrs. Gaspard says, setting the coffee down. She rests her elbows on her desk and leans in closer like she’s confiding in me. “Your teachers are sure to help you out, Amelia. If you run into any problems, all you have to do is speak up or come and talk to me. I’m here for you whenever you need anything. Just try and think of me as your school concierge,” she says, laughing at her own humor.
I nod. God, I hate this so much, but coming to her office for a fifteen minute check-in three times this week is part of my return to school. The principal insisted on it. I assume it’s part of the “Focus on Mental Health” plan he initiated in the wake of the shooting. Another part of the plan is apparently papering the walls with encouraging posters. In the office alone there are three pictures of kittens telling me that everything will be okay.
Mrs. Gaspard shuffles some papers on her desk and clears her throat. “And your friends?”
I wipe my mouth with the bottom of my sleeve. “It’s… you know… fine.”
“Reengaging isn’t always simple,” she says in a compassionate tone. “You might have difficulty.”
“So far everyone is being great. Very helpful,” I answer, my voice lighter. I need to do a better job of selling cheerful because it’s not like I’m going to tell this woman anything real. What could she possibly understand? Like everyone else, she wants to pry and handle my misery like a coat that she can put on and discard whenever she feels like it.
“It’s important that you feel like you have a network of support. A web, if you will,” she says, interlacing her fingers to demonstrate this, “to catch you if you need catching.”
“That’s smart,” I say, faking a smile.
She smiles back. “Well, I truly hope that you’ll utilize this office whenever you need to. We’re here for you, Amelia. All of us at school are cheering you on. And of course, we were so sorry about what happened. Your sister Daphne was… well, she was a wonderful girl and is greatly missed.”
“Thank you,” I say, standing from the chair and scooping up my bag from the floor.
“Don’t be a stranger,
” she says when I’m at the door.
“I won’t be.” Like I have a choice...
After that, the rest of the morning blurs by.
Classes are a joke. I’m so far behind it seems pointless to even be here, but I go through the motions—taking out my notebooks and scribbling down things my teachers are saying. The truth is that I know it won’t matter. My teachers feel sorry for me—poor Amelia Bright, the girl who lived—and they make it clear I’ll pass with flying colors even if all I do for the rest of the semester is draw pictures of flying tacos on my test papers.
In Spanish, both Audra and Sebastian attempt to talk to me, but I feign a headache and spend the bulk of the period in the first floor bathroom staring blankly at the graffiti on the back of one of the stalls.
The hallways between classes are the worst part of the day. Every time I have to go get a book from my locker, it’s the exact same thing. I’m like a minnow swimming through a sea of sharks, dodging questions and strange and sometimes awkward displays of sympathy, like when Marcus Green, a guy I’ve talked to maybe once before, stops me and tells me how much he misses Daphne and that she’d been the star of all his wet dreams when we were in the ninth grade. Um, thanks? Ew...
When the lunch bell rings just after fourth period, I know that the cafeteria—with all that noise and all those people—is going to be just as bad as the hallways. I know everyone means well, but when they talk to me or ask me questions like what do you remember about that day I feel like my insides have evaporated and I’m nothing but a suit of too-big skin drooping off a flimsy skeleton. I can’t face it, so when no one is looking, I duck out and go hide in my car for some quiet.
That’s better, I think as I gaze out the window at the sun bouncing off the hoods of all the shiny cars and I eat pretzels from a small plastic bag one by one. For the past two months, all food has tasted like ash, but at least if I eat something crunchy, I can enjoy the sound of eating.
On the seat beside me, my phone buzzes over and over. I don’t have to look to know that it’s Sebastian and Audra. It’s been like this all day. Audra mother-henning me to the point of insanity and Sebastian… well, I’m not sure what to call it, but it’s like he’s trying to solve me. Like I’m a challenging equation or a knot that he can somehow free. I want to tell him the truth: I am a tangled knot and I’m pinched so tight that no amount of pulling or reworking is going to unravel me. He should just cut his losses and give up on me now.
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