Between These Lines (A Young Adult Novel)

by Murgia, Jennifer

  And suddenly, I needed to remember to thank Mr. Floyd for giving me the most amazing opportunity; to not only see Chase for who he really was, but to see everything more clearly, myself included. Softly, I traced the lines in his skin, and my fingers found their way to his face.

  I leaned up on my toes and pressed my lips against his.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chase

  “You don’t have to do this,” I whispered against her cheek. The warmth of my breath and the heat of her skin collided, blended, and became one. Evie leaned in closer, wrapping her arms up and around my neck, and it amazed me that she still insisted on touching me. Shane’s words bounced around inside my head—I was a disfigured freak, and now, the group that ruled Whitley Prep had seen it for themselves. If ever I was a friendless loner, I would certainly still be one come Monday morning.

  But I didn’t care.

  All that mattered was it hadn’t swayed Evie’s opinion of me. She could be cowering in the corner of the tiny boat house we were trapped in right now with her eyes squeezed shut until someone opened the door—but she wasn’t. She was here next to me.

  It was the closest we had ever touched. Not at my house, not on the deck, but here. Looking down at her, every single detail about her seemed to stand out in the dim light. I was acutely aware of how long her lashes were. How her hair curled at her temple the slightest bit before fanning out against her cheek. How the side of her neck fluttered when she swallowed.

  She looked up at me, and I knew we had crossed another line.

  I tilted my forehead lower, resting it along the top of her honey blonde hair, breathing her in before tenderly lifting her chin. Before I could think it through, before I could talk myself out of it, she leaned up and touched her soft lips to mine, and my arms trembled as they tightened around her. I wondered if what we were doing was still considered wrong—even if it was just a kiss. I couldn’t imagine her kissing Shane this way. He was always so openly demanding with her, that any affection given had to have been because he felt he deserved it.

  This was tender . . . real.

  It sounded like the party had resumed outside without us. Between listening and kissing her,

  I heard footsteps and running. There were hear voices and a strange noise, like something small flying through the air just outside the boathouse.

  “Sounds like the marshmallow war is back on,” I whispered into her hair.

  “How long do you think we’ve been in here?”

  “Twenty minutes?” I assumed. “Not that long. Feels longer, doesn’t it?”

  And then something strange happened. Evie’s face had grown brighter in the last few minutes and the boat bobbing in the dark water at our feet had become more visible. The water lapping at the planks reflected silver, then orange, and back to silver again. A snapping sound came from above our heads and we both looked up to see the first of the flames forcing their way between the two by fours. Evie stared up, suddenly frozen, and then the door swung open, startling us.

  Three figures stood in the choked light. I didn’t have to look hard to know the one in the center was Shane, but that wasn’t what gripped me. It was the smoke beginning to curl at his feet and the sounds of panic stirring from outside.

  I reached for Evie’s hand. I finally claimed what she meant to me, though this wasn’t quite the setting I had pictured, and squeezed it reassuringly.

  “Shane,” she started.

  I heard the unsteady lilt to her voice, then, the interruption of screams wafting from the yard, and the sweat began to bead down my spine.

  Fire. The house is on fire.

  No, the house was fine.

  Shane stepped just inside the door frame and grabbed Evie’s arm, pulling her toward him, then he turned to me and hurtled his fist into my stomach. By the time I caught my breath and looked up, they were gone. I inched my way out to follow them, but the breeze coming off the lake fed the flames, and everything surrounding me was flammable. Oars. Boxes. Fishing tackle.

  Hungry orange tendrils licked at the ropes lining the walls, causing the fibers to blacken and fray before my eyes. Just then, I zeroed in on the cans of turpentine sitting in the corner, and I wondered how long it would be before the flames caught them too.

  I gritted my teeth and propelled myself across the deck and out the door. Evie was nowhere to be found, but Shane stood alone, panic etched across his face. I bounded up to him, ignoring the spasms in my stomach.

  “Where’s Evie?” I yelled over the commotion around us.

  “She went back to look for you.”

  Whatever magic Evie worked to get me here was long gone. I always knew where I stood with Shane. Max hurried to Shane’s side, his face smudged with ash as he looked at me absolutely stupefied. “It’s supposed to be you in there. We only wanted to scare you.”

  I looked down at the silly plastic toy he still held in his hand, its opening oblong and distorted. I saw how the plastic, once bright red was now blackened and melted. These idiots had fired lit marshmallows . . .

  A strong arm pounded against my shoulder.

  “She went back in to look for you!”

  I turned to face the boat house.

  Evie.

  I didn’t have to think twice as my legs broke into a run across the lawn. An opening just large enough to squeeze through cleared and I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and yanked it over my mouth and nose, and thrust myself into the heat. I called for her, but there was no answer, just a deafening roar that hummed in and out of my ears, followed by a bone shattering quake.

  ***

  I managed to walk past kids sitting on the grass weeping, past others standing with their hands covering their mouths in shock. Coughing, wheezing, crackling, snapping surrounded me from every angle, filling the air. There was so much commotion, yet everything moving seemed to slow and blur like in a dream as I walked past it all.

  In the house, I found my keys lying on top of others in the blue plastic bowl. I was seized by a coughing fit as the last of the smoke tried to escape my lungs. I wiped an oily black streak across my face with the back of my hand, then walked out to my car and drove down the long tree-lined drive, then onto the main road.

  The wire Shane had torn from me was back at the house. Sirens were just coming up the street, lights streaming past my window, but I could care less about sticking around for the satisfaction of watching Shane led away from the party in handcuffs. I could care less about waiting while the fire department doused the property with their hoses, knowing it was too late for the boathouse.

  I had just lost another person who meant something to me, and I was having trouble even wrapping my head around that. I clenched the wheel tightly and half listened to the murmur of the GPS; that hollow voice seemed more determined to help me find my way back home than I was. My hands were raw. The familiar rise of blisters had already begun to form on both sides of my hands, creeping up my wrists with that well known agonizing sting that never goes away.

  Despite the pain, nothing was worse than how I felt inside.

  Fire hated me. It stole any chance at the happiness I could possibly ever have. It stole away everyone I had ever loved.

  And I could have—I could have loved Evie. I had only just begun to realize it.

  I never got the chance to tell her what she was beginning to mean to me.

  Now that chance was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Monday

  The scrape of chalk made everyone cringe. Mr. Generro, my Life Science teacher, was the only teacher at Whitley who still insisted on using a black board instead of rising into the modern age and using a Smart Board. He said there was nothing smart about the new boards. It was the person doing the work at it that created the brilliance. In truth, I think he just really liked the smell of chalk dust.

  Mr. Generro was old school, which was why before starting today’s lesson, he decidedly set his skinny stick of white chalk to rest, and turned to us wit
h somber eyes.

  “I need everyone’s attention, please,” he cleared his throat before beginning again. “This past weekend there was a horrible tragedy and Whitley Prep lost one of its own. I’d like each of you to take in a moment of silence before we resume with our lesson.”

  I watched as he bowed his chin to his chest, his unruly brown curls bobbing forward to reveal the bald spot on top of his head. Kids in the next row over did the same, and the row over from them, but they lacked the amount of reverence Mr. Generro displayed. Some didn’t even close their eyes. Some began texting in their laps. Most looked bored.

  I peeked behind me. The girl seated in the rear of the class had her ear buds in and was filing her nails like she could care less.

  No one said a word.

  Mr. Generro stood and slowly walked over to my desk, but I wasn’t about to stick around to hear what he had to say. I wasn’t going to let myself become an example because of Evie. I gathered my books, brushed past him, and made my way toward the door. Not a head lifted to watch me leave. It was just like before—now that Evie was gone.

  The moment I stepped out of class, I realized the mistake I had made: directly in front of the classroom stood Evie’s locker across the hall. If I closed my eyes, I bet I could still hear the drop of that envelope Shane shoved into it last Friday. I pictured it lying there, although I was sure it was gone. The janitors would have emptied her locker by now.

  The school was unusually quiet and the hallway was empty as I made my way to my own locker. I passed no one. It was as if the universe was giving me the time and space I needed.

  Even Aunt Claudie was giving me an unusual amount of space at home. Always picking up on what was going on with me, she was unusually silent, but she didn’t hover. She went about making my favorite Monkey Bread and simply set it on the counter without bothering to ask me what really happened this weekend. But Aunt Claudie worked that way. She knew how to keep a distance and wait patiently for me to come around until I was ready for her to listen.

  #1767 . . . #1766 . . . #1765. Mine. I turned the dial. Everything had become a dismal numbness since the party. Even the sun shining through the window near my locker had little effect on me.

  The latch clicked, releasing the lock, and it opened. Like a bad dream revisited, a paper hung from one of the narrow slats on the door. Immediately, I thought of Shane, setting me up in some warped way of his, but it must have been pushed in gently for it to catch the way it did, leaving it to hang there instead of dropping to the bottom. I reached up, plucked it away, and turned it over in my hands.

  My heart pounded as I studied the handwriting on the paper. It was too girly. Too familiar.

  Crazed thoughts of Tara sending me an apology for all the times she acted so rudely entered my head, but I knew better than that. This was Evie’s handwriting. Then I considered Tara playing a cruel joke on me, at Shane’s request. This was sick.

  I let the paper unfold in my hands. It wasn’t a note. It wasn’t much more than a few random lines that didn’t make much sense. In fact, it was more like a page from a diary.

  I stared at the girlish slant. For some reason it pulled at the back of my mind. Quickly, I reached up to feel along the top of the shelf for the folder I had placed there the other day.

  English Lit. I opened it and thumbed through the notes filed in the pocket next to the first and second drafts of the Sylvia Plath papers Evie and I had collaborated on. I leaned against the locker as my pulse raced. The handwriting on the notes and the paper were the same. They were Evie’s.

  October 12th

  Things are getting difficult. My parents, school . . . my friends. Is that what they are?

  Sometimes, I don’t know the meaning of the word friend. Why do I have them? Am I a good one in return? And even if I figured it out, it wouldn’t matter. I wish I could understand why my life is not my own.

  A wave of emotions ran through me. Evie wrote this.

  My thumb traced the ink as if trying to capture one last moment with her. My throat thickened and I could feel the smoke from the fire filling it again.

  I couldn’t save her.

  Today, however, there was something left of her. I was holding it, bringing her back. My brain started working again. Between the why’s and why not’s was a very important who?

  Who had left this for me?

  It had to have been Shane. He was the only person, besides Tara, who could possibly get his hands on Evie’s diary. He was the only person I knew of with a heart cold enough to rip what she held secret and dear, and shove it in my locker to prove a point.

  Or a threat.

  Voices filled the corridor behind me. I folded the paper with care and placed it inside my pocket. I shut my locker and turned, walking back towards class, telling myself I wouldn’t look at Evie’s locker as I approached it. Instead, I concentrated on my teacher, who stood in the doorway. I could smell a pink slip coming. He looked at me, shook his head sadly then walked back into the classroom.

  Chapter 35

  Tuesday

  October 13th

  Mr. Floyd had a revelation today, one he decided to share with Professor Coleman and assign to us, believing we we’re none the wiser.

  He’s onto the school – about the cliques, the out casting, the hurtful things we say and do to one another; things I’m ashamed to be a part of.

  Tara thinks the project is ridiculous, but then again, she would. She wants no part in this, as if working alongside Chase is irreversibly demeaning.

  But me? I’m dying inside.

  Not in the bad way. Not in the way you’d think I should feel – according to Tara and Shane and the rest of them.

  I’m dying because this is something I’ve always wanted – Chase. I might have to burn this after writing it, but can I ever admit to anyone how I really feel? I’ve heard Chase in class. I don’t even have to turn around to know he’s the one who’s raised his hand, because there’s a hush that falls on the room. I hang on to every word. I can’t believe how alike we are. It only points out how different he is compared to Shane. Would Chase care how I looked? How I acted? The only conversations Shane and I have anymore are ones that revolve around him – or his friends – or partying.

  Shane could care less how unhappy I feel.

  I could literally kiss Mr. Floyd right now!

  I found another note in my locker today. I folded it and shoved it in my pocket, just like I had done with other, knowing I had to stop calling them notes. They were anything but. Last night I’d spent hours thinking of her. I pictured her face, pictured kissing her. I tried to match the words on the paper with the girl I had come to know last week, but the words kept disappearing, leaving me alone with her face behind my eyelids. Then sleep came and devoured me.

  On the way to World History, I finally saw Shane and the others at the water fountain. It pissed me off that Headmaster Whitley changed his mind. I wondered if they did another search last night because this morning the English Lit folder was missing from my locker. The only thing in it this morning was the page from Evie’s diary, but at least I still had something with her handwriting.

  Slinking in to the classroom, I found my seat, and noticed how quiet the girl behind me was, which was odd. Not a day went by when she didn’t have something to say.

  “Did they search lockers again?” I asked, and waited for her to look up and answer me.

  “Hey,” I asked again, and tapped my pencil on top of her desk. “Was anything missing from your locker?”

  Mr. Shepherd rolled the overhead projector to the front of the room and pulled the squeaky screen down over the chalkboard. The lights went out and I swiveled back around to face forward, coming to the understanding that my life had reverted back to when everyone chose to ignore me.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Wednesday

  My locker reeked of bleach.

  I looked around and watched everyone else pull out backpacks and notebooks out of theirs,
replacing whatever was coming out with something else going back in. The precautionary measures of this school against illegal substances were getting stranger each day. Whatever Shane had put in that envelope must have caused enough alarm that the administrators worried there could be others and I wasn’t thrilled with having to smell like Clorox for the rest of the day.

  I opened my locker and another paper flew out at me.

  October 14th

  My palms are sweating. This morning Tara and I are going to start the assignment. We’re going to talk to Chase. Though I’m sure it will be me doing most of the talking, if not all of it. Tara could care less. I wish I was the only one assigned to him. I’m so nervous. I’ve been planning in my head what to say, and nothing sounds good. He’s going to think I’m just another snotty girl looking for help with a paper. Looking for a grade. Then I’ll ditch him once I get it.

  I have to come up with something brilliant.

  God, I missed her.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Thursday

  I thought I saw Evie today.

  It was in the dining hall, for a second when I looked over at the table she used to sit at, and it completely freaked me out. I saw the blonde hair, her slight build, and just when I stood to walk over, she was gone. I think reading her diary is messing with my head; reading her thoughts, reliving her feelings—she isn’t gone from here.

  Life has to keep moving, I get that, but the way Shane and his friends were laughing it up at lunch was sickening and wrong. They’ve found a way to move on without her, but not me. With each page that winds up in my locker I realize I’m the one moving on with her.