“My mom says she’ll go to hell for it,” Jenna announces. “Says Tessa’s going to burn for eternity.”
It hurts more than any blow. I don’t want to believe in a God who would turn his back on someone who needed him so much. Suicides, more than anyone, deserve God’s love. They’re the lost ones, the forgotten ones, the ones he’s supposed to notice.
And did he? Did anyone?
Sudden nausea threatens to curl my knees into the floor. Jenna prattles on and on and I shouldn’t be listening to any of it, but I can’t shut down her words. Is this part of the reason Tessa didn’t tell anyone? Part of the reason she jumped?
“She deserves hell,” Jenna continues, brushing pale blond hair behind her ears. “Committing suicide makes you a coward.”
“You’re a bitch, Jenna.”
She rounds on me in one smooth pivot. “What did you say?” she demands.
For a second, I really don’t know. The words just snaked out of me, and now I want to call them back, because in four little words I just reminded them I still exist, and even worse, I revealed how much I still hurt.
And Jenna sees it too.
Her mouth tilts into a sideways smile. “What’s the matter, Wicket? Hit a little close to home?”
“You shouldn’t talk about Tessa like that.”
“Why’s that?” Jenna gets a little closer, and without thinking, I retreat a step, but my shoulders hit the lockers and she’s closer than ever now, so close I can smell her citrus gum and see her eyes aren’t even bloodshot. All of Jenna’s crying has been fake. It’s been for attention.
It makes my hands curve into fists. I ought to punch her—for Tessa’s sake, for my mom’s, but suddenly I feel like crying. How can Jenna live with herself? She’s making her best friend’s death into an accessory, wearing the grief like it’s a Kate Spade purse.
“You think Tessa cares?” Jenna sneers.
“No, but I do.” I swallow and take a small step forward. Maybe it surprises her, maybe no one’s ever been so stupid, but it forces her back. “She was your friend.”
Jenna makes a strangled little noise like a gasp caught halfway up her throat. Her palm shoots out, catching me in the shoulder, slamming me into the lockers. It doesn’t hurt. Not really. But people are staring now. I glance around for help, but even Jenna’s friends won’t meet my eyes.
“You’re nothing more than trash, Wicket.”
For some reason, it stings worse coming from Jenna than it ever did coming from Carson. Jenna pulls away, smiles at her boyfriend. “And do you know what do you do with trash?”
What do you do with trash? I have no idea until her no-neck boyfriend laughs. Oh shit. You throw it out.
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In the beginning, I loved his attention. I would
do my hair and makeup so he’d find me pretty.
Afterward, I never bothered, and he wanted me
even more. He said it was better for him when I
was broken.
—Page 53 of Tessa Waye’s diary
I hate being thrown in my school’s Dumpsters for a lot of reasons. The first is because it’s all kinds of nasty. The second is because it’s humiliating. The third is because Griff ends up finding me.
“You’ve got to be kidding.” He’s looking over the Dumpster’s edge, shaking his head. It kind of makes me want to punch him, but I can’t really deny the guy his moment. Or rather, I won’t deny him his moment. I’m just hoping he’ll haul my sticky self out of here.
Sometimes, this is the closest a geek can come to being a superhero.
“Yeah, yeah, spare me the astonishment.” I glare up at him, realize damsels in distress probably never glare at their heroes, and try to soften my expression, but I’m pretty sure it looks like I have a hemorrhoid grimace. Words cannot describe how embarrassing this is. Of all the places for him to find me. Ugh. “Like this never happened to you.”
“No. In all honesty, I can say that it hasn’t.” Griff reaches down, offering me a hand stained with blue and green ink. He’s been drawing again. “What the hell did you say, and who’d you say it to?”
“Why does it always have to be my fault?”
Griff grins. “Because it’s you and your mouth.”
This is the part where I should growl at him, but he makes me laugh instead. I take an unsteady step toward him, my feet squishing deep into overstuffed Hefty bags. I’m not usually prone to praying, but I immediately start making promises to stop lying, be a better person, and improve my potty mouth to any god willing to listen.
Please, dear God, just let the bags hold. If I get lunchroom pizza on my feet, I may hurl.
No, I’m lying already. I will hurl.
“It’s nothing, really. Jenna Maxwell was just bitching about Tessa—” I grab his hand, dig my right Converse into the metal wall, and scramble. I briefly end up straddling the Dumpster edge before tipping, face-first, toward the concrete. I brace for the impact.
Griff catches me before I hit.
“Graceful,” he teases, easing my weight against his chest. One arm tucks me close. The other sweeps my legs around, steadying me. Oh. Wow.
Um, I should be able to stand up now. I really should.
So why the hell am I leaning against him like I’m about to fall?
“She was saying shit about Tessa, about how she was going to go to hell.” Crap. I so wasn’t planning on saying that. Leaning into Griff is dangerous stuff. I should know better.
“What was she saying?” Griff brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. It’s all very sweet . . . until I realize he’s just picked a piece of garbage off my cheek too.
Yeah, okay, I can totally stand up now. Moment is officially over.
Griff lets me go and takes a step back, watching me dust off my jeans as I try to explain. “She just said shit about how suicides will burn in hell and . . .” And I don’t want to explain any further. I look at Griff, ready to tell him Never mind, and realize I don’t have to explain. His eyes have already gone flat and dark, like he knows. The realization licks something inside of me.
“So Jenna was being Jenna and that got you into the Dumpster how?”
“It just got out of hand.” I brush my jeans a little harder, and something warm and slimy connects with my skin.
Oh. God. I swallow really, really hard, holding my contaminated hand as far away as possible. I might have to cut it off. Seriously.
“Here.” Griff rifles through his backpack and hands me a Windbreaker.his It’s very tempting, but I feel bad. What if I give him the plague? Isn’t that how the Black Death got started? I didn’t really pay much attention in history class, but—
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Griff grabs my wrist and, before I can get away, uses the fleece side of his jacket to wipe off the slime. He turns the jacket twice, making sure to get all of it. The crap does come off, but I still want to break out Brillo pads and bleach. “You must have cared a little, or you wouldn’t have started anything.”
“Oh, please.” I pull my hand back just as his thumb skims across my palm, but it’s too late. When Griff touches me, I feel like something inside me pitches sideways and breaks. “As if I ever needed an excuse to run my mouth.”
Which is mostly true and yet kind of a lie. Sure, I don’t need an excuse to smart off. In fact, I like to think of it as one of my better qualities. But in this case, I had a reason to smart off to Jenna, which is what Griff’s hinting at and I’m pretending I don’t understand.
“So what’d you do?”
“I called Jenna Maxwell a bitch.”
Griff’s brows shoot up. “Seriously?”
I give him a what can you do? smile but don’t elaborate any further, and it makes Griff’s features harden. He knows this is a dare. Boys always do, and it’s what makes them back off from me.
All of t
hem except for Griff. “I want to know, Wick. Why would you even bother?”
“Because someone had to say it.” Suddenly, the weight of his eyes is too much and I look away. I end up studying the tops of my Converses, and the smiley faces I drew on the toes smile up at me. They’re entirely too happy. “She’s telling everyone Tessa’s going to go to hell because she committed suicide.”
It sounds super lame when you put it like that. I’d even say it lessens my anger to throw it into the open . . . , but it doesn’t.
“Then she’s an idiot.” Griff leans toward me. “I’m sorry about what she said, though. People are stupid, thoughtless. I’m sorry you had to hear it.”
I open my mouth. Close it. He’s sorry. The word has been thrown around in my life so much it should be meaningless by now. Sorry isn’t like a computer game’s magic sword or medic kit. It won’t fix anything, but, right now, it kind of does. He sounds so genuine, and I’ve known so much fake.
Maybe that’s why everything bubbles up.
“I want to know if Tessa saw the same things my mom saw.” I can’t really look at Griff while I say this. It’s too close and personal, and yet it’s coming so fast and hard I don’t think I can stop it. “I want to know if she came to the same conclusion—if they both did. I mean, she must have, right?”
Just saying it makes my chest swell with guilt. I’m choking on a sob now because I can’t, I can’t cry in front of this guy. “How can we all just keep swimming along when some of us are drowning? How can we not know?”
“Because you can’t save them all, but sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can save one.” Griff hangs one arm around my shoulders. I’ve never understood before why some girls like that. His arm is heavy, and it makes me feel unpleasantly small.
And yet . . . and yet . . . it does make me feel like I might not fly apart, like I might not explode into a million pieces, because his weight will keep me pressed together.
Griff leans down, just enough so his cheek brushes my temple. “Sometimes you have to save yourself by asking for help.”
Help. I could ask. He’s good with computers—he’s like me. He sees the other side of things. At least, he saw the other side of me and he didn’t turn away.
But can I trust him?
Can I not?
“Griff.” I clear my throat, but it doesn’t matter. The words are still ragged. “I need your help.”
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I don’t want anyone to ever know.
—Page 17 of Tessa Waye’s diary
Griff doesn’t say a word while I explain. He doesn’t say anything about Tessa. He doesn’t say anything about Tally. He just listens.
And, wrapped in his silence, I start to hear how I sound.
Like I’m crazy.
Like I’m scared.
I push my chin up higher. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
Griff’s looking at me with horror—no, worse, with pity. I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t have to see, but in my head, one word lights up with glitter: stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Why do you care? Tessa Waye didn’t know you existed.”
My eyes fly open, meet his. I’m not sure what I was expecting. I just laid a mess of shit at his feet. How was he supposed to react? With reassurance? With confidence?
That’s exactly what I wanted. I just didn’t realize until this minute. But I’m not looking for a hero. There’s no such thing. I’m just looking for some help.
“We were friends . . . once.”
“There’s more to this. What aren’t you telling me?”
I don’t—suddenly can’t—answer.
Griff shakes his head. “Yeah, I don’t do the work if I don’t know the deal.”
“It’s Lily.” I push my feet hard against the ground so I don’t sway. “Lily’s his next target. I need help getting to the guy.”
“Wait. Are you the one who posted on Tessa’s Facebook page? Who said the thing about knowing who killed her?”
I nod, and Griff’s mouth unhinges. “Wicked . . . if this is true . . . you’re taunting a fucking psychopath.”
“I—” The first bell rings, and we both jump.
“We can’t do this here.” Griff weaves one hand through his hair. “We need to get going.”
And I need an answer. “Well?”
“Griff? Wick?” Mrs. Harding has come around the corner with Shane Hallowell in tow. They’re both heading for world history, which is where Griff and I should be heading too.
“Hey, Wick. Hey, Griff.” Shane gives us a small wave. I’ve known Shane since kindergarten. He’s almost as short as me, with red hair and fluorescent-orange freckles. He enjoys Halo 4, downloading pictures of Olivia Munn, and playing Angry Birds while sitting on the toilet.
And people wonder why nerds get beat up.
“I’ve been looking for you, Griff.” Mrs. Harding comes closer. Too close. She’s within touching distance of me now, and I can see her blanch. Can’t really blame her,. By now, I probably have cartoon stink waves wafting over my head.
Mrs. Harding blinks at us as her eyes start to water. “You need to come with me, Griff. They’ve asked to see you in the front office.”
The front office? Griff never gets in trouble. Right? But Griff won’t meet my eyes.
“Sure, Mrs. Harding.”
Mrs. Harding look at me. “You’re going to be late, Wicket.”
“Right. On my way.”
Except I’m not. I want an answer. Griff seems horrified, but surely he understands what I had to do. What I have to do. I just want a glance, a look, anything, so I know he’s with me.
So I know I haven’t just made a horrible mistake.
But I don’t get any of those things. Mrs. Harding and Griff turn for the office, leaving me standing there with Shane.
“What the hell, Wicket?” Shane leans in and sniffs me. “You smell like roadkill.”
“Go on without me. I forgot my math book.”
“But you’ll be late. Harding will give you detention.”
I’ll get way worse than that if the Tessa situation goes public. I rush off after them, taking a separate hallway so Harding doesn’t spot me. I have no idea what I’m going to do.
Funny, but it ends up not even mattering.
I hit the entrance just in time to see Griff get escorted into a dark sedan with government plates.
The sight roots me to the tile, and for a second, I don’t know how I’m still standing, but I do know this: I recognize the guy slamming the car door behind Griff.
It’s Carson.
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When people ask me how I am, I have to struggle
not to scream.
—Page 15 of Tessa Waye’s diary
I can’t stop worrying about Griff. I leave school fully expecting to see cops waiting for me in the parking lot, but there aren’t any. None on my way home. Or at the house.
I have no idea what this means, and it kind of makes my head want to explode.
I unlock our side door quietly, but Bren catches me before my feet even hit the stairs. Swear to God, the woman must have supersonic hearing. It’s like her superpower or something.
“Wicket, are you home?” Bren comes down the hallway from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a pale pink dish towel. She makes it about four feet in front of me before her nose wrinkles.
“Why do you smell like meat loaf, Wick?”
Oh God. The cafeteria served meat loaf on Wednesday. Now wearing cafeteria meat loaf is bad enough, but wearing five-day-old cafeteria meat loaf is grounds for vomiting.
I try to nod like it’s no big thing. “Yeah, I’ve been recycling.”
Bren’s brows rise, and I nod har
der., mentally willing her to believe me. I don’t know if she does, but thankfully, she doesn’t push it. The last thing I need is my foster mom streaking down to the principal’s office to complain. If that happens, Jenna will make sure No Neck holds me under the garbage bags until I stop kicking.
“Maybe you should take a shower,” Bren suggests.
“Or ten.” I offer her a slight smile, and to my surprise, Bren smiles back. Poor Bren. They don’t cover this shit in her parenting magazines.
I don’t think this really qualifies as A Moment, but it’s still kind of nice. She doesn’t even remind me to put my clothes in the hamper.
Doesn’t even bring me a vat of bleach to douse myself in either, which, honestly, is pretty generous of her. If my kid (or, you know, whatever I am to her) came home smelling like meat loaf, I’d probably hose her off in the yard.
I shampoo my hair for the second time and decide I might be making progress on the Bren front. Until I dry off and realize she’s thrown away all my clothes from today.
Including my Converses.
Scowling, I turn my computer on, wait for the internet browser to load. Plenty of time for me to worry about what’s happening to Griff, what I may have done by telling him about Tessa, and what Griff may do by telling Carson. I rub my eyes, sudden exhaustion making me want to curl up in a ball.
Then there’s Tessa’s attacker. Griff’s right after all. I am taunting a psychopath. He’ll retaliate. I know he will.
But that’s how I’ll catch him.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself, because the alternative is pretty horrifying to admit. He could come after me. Worse, he could come after Lily.
My Google home page populates, and I use my Gmail account to send Tally a quick message. We need to talk. I want to know more about what Tessa meant when she wrote her mom loved this guy. Maybe Tally will have a few ideas, but I don’t want to explain myself over email, so I ask her to meet me tonight at the path by her house instead. I hit send and feel a little better.
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