I laughed. “Even if you do, I’d probably still want to try it.”
Aubrey rolled her eyes. “I think you’re both crazy.”
The skydiving talk fizzled out after that. Aubrey and the rest of the orchestra people went back to griping about their teacher while Justin caught my eye across the table. He smiled and shook his head at me, like he was wondering if there was anything I wouldn’t do.
Now that Aubrey was one half of a couple, at least one of her weekend nights was devoted to her boyfriend. I understood, of course, because I would have given up time with her too if it meant I got to spend it with a boy whose smile needed a warning label. While they went out on dates, I hung out with the girls from the volleyball team, which I’d joined at the beginning of the year. Or I spent time with Travis and Paige, who were together so much that neither of them minded sacrificing the occasional night of one-on-one time.
One Friday night in the middle of October, they invited me to go to the movies with them. Aubrey and Justin were seeing a movie too, but at a bigger theater a couple of towns away that had IMAX. I pictured them there, peering at the screen through 3D glasses, their hands accidentally meeting as they both reached for popcorn like some corny scene from a romantic comedy. More likely, Justin was making her laugh as she tried in vain to concentrate on the movie’s plot.
Just like I was struggling to do now, sitting with Paige and Travis.
“You want another Coke?” Paige whispered when she caught me yawning during a high-speed chase scene. “More popcorn? I could go out and get more.”
“Nah, I’m good.” I shot her a smile. She was always extra attentive with me when I tagged along with her and Travis. Unlike some friends, her actions seemed to say, I’ll always include you in my plans.
“You never offer to get me more popcorn,” Travis said on her other side.
“Um, excuse me. You never offer to get me any, either.”
The woman in front of us half turned to give us a dirty look, so I focused my attention on the female cop in the scene in front of me. She was totally badass, flipping men twice her size over on their backs and pointing her gun in their faces. It didn’t matter that they were bigger and possibly stronger than her—she was brave and confident and in control.
“Do you think I could do that?” I asked my friends after the movie ended and we were waiting in the theater lobby for Paige’s mom to pick us up.
“Do what?” Paige said, tapping on her cell phone screen.
I thought about the final scene in the movie, the way that badass cop rounded up all the criminals one by one, making the city safer with each arrest. “Be a police officer. Like the woman in the movie.”
“Seriously? You mean, like, the kind who chases down drug dealers and kicks people’s doors in and stuff?”
“Sure, why not?” I said, even though I was sure there were not-so-glamorous aspects to the job too. But that didn’t deter me.
“Officer Dare-ya.” Travis squinted at me like he was trying to picture me in uniform with a gun strapped to my belt. “Suits you, Shepard.”
Paige snorted. “Yeah, like your parents would be on board with you doing something so dangerous.”
She had a point. My parents claimed that each wrinkle and gray hair they had represented a bloodcurdling stunt I’d pulled. But the danger aspect was exactly what appealed to me—facing challenges, evaluating risks. Conquering and surviving.
“Someone’s got to do it,” I said, shrugging.
“Does Aubrey know you wanna be a cop?” Travis asked. He smirked like he was imagining her reaction.
“No. She’d probably try to talk me into becoming a librarian or something instead.”
“She’s not your mom,” Paige said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not her job to worry over you.”
“That’s just the way she is,” I told her. “She has a soft heart.”
“And she cares about people,” Travis added.
Paige grunted like she had a popcorn kernel stuck in her throat and grabbed Travis’s hand. Then she threaded her other arm through mine and pulled us both outside, where her mother was waiting to take us home.
“Proteins are made up of amino acids, not fatty acids,” Aubrey said, peering over at the notes in my lap. It was the next weekend, and we were lounging on her living room couch, studying together for our upcoming bio quizzes. “Lipids are made of fatty acids.”
I sent her a grateful smile and fixed my answer. “Thanks. I always get those mixed up.”
She nodded like she could relate, even though Aubrey rarely got things wrong. She was in all advanced classes and made straight As. My watered-down course material must have seemed simple to her, but she never made me feel dumb for making mistakes.
Aubrey’s phone beeped with a text. As she read it, her face broke into a huge smile.
“Justin wants to come over,” she said breathlessly, her eyes sparkling in the glow of the table lamps.
“What, tonight? Now? But we’re studying.”
“I think we’ve done enough for tonight. It’s Saturday. Mom and Dad won’t be home until midnight or something. They’ll never know, right?”
I gave her a who-are-you-and-what-have-you-done-with-my-best-friend look and frowned. “But I’m not . . .” I gazed down at my slobby self. In my sweatpants and ratty T-shirt, I wasn’t exactly presentable for company. Especially cute male company.
Aubrey waved her hand like my attire didn’t matter. Easy for her to say. She looked great in her leggings and long sweater, her curls loose and tumbling over her shoulders. “Do you mind if he comes over? He won’t stay long, and then we can study or watch a movie or whatever you want.” She seized my arm, her face lighting up like she just remembered the existence of a giant carton of cookie dough ice cream in the freezer. “Hey! I could ask him to bring a friend.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Like who? Wyatt Greer?”
Her cheeks turned blotchy and she looked away. Over the past week or so, she’d seemed to have a change of heart about the junior jerks, claiming they weren’t “that bad” and that I shouldn’t judge all of them on the actions of one. I guess she had a point. Wyatt was a bully, yes, but Justin wasn’t. He’d even apologized for whatever Wyatt had done to offend us, and acknowledged that he was a douche. Maybe not all the junior jerks were jerks, but that didn’t mean I wanted to hook up with one when I hadn’t showered yet today and there was a zit the size of Mount Vesuvius on my chin.
“Sorry,” Aubrey said, hands rising to section her hair, coil it into a braid. “I just thought . . .”
Her face was completely red now, like she felt ashamed for preferring an hour or so with her new boyfriend over studying biology with me. This boy thing was all so new to us. No one had ever breached our safe best-friend bubble before, and neither of us was prepared for how one extra person would affect our relationship.
But Aubrey was happy, happier than I’d ever seen her, and with all the pressure in her life from parents and teachers and expectations, she deserved something fun for once.
“It’s okay.” I pushed her hands away from her hair and unwound the braid, fluffing her curls with my fingers until they hung loose again. “I don’t mind.”
Her smile was blinding. “Really? Dara, you are the best friend ever. Justin and I hardly ever get to be alone and—”
I held up my hand, cutting her off. I didn’t want to hear about how they spent their rare time alone. Especially since they wouldn’t be alone tonight. I’d be here, probably trying to blend into the furniture while they took advantage of a parent-free house.
Justin arrived fifteen minutes later—without a friend, thankfully—and the three of us headed down to the basement to watch TV. Aubrey and Justin snuggled together in the middle of the couch while I sunk into the chair near the TV, feeling like an unwanted chaperone. Why had I agreed to this? Downtime with my best friend was so limited, and I’d always been protective of it. I was a little hurt that she didn’t feel the same.
>
“You can pick the show, Dara,” Aubrey said, handing me the remote like a peace offering. She was trying to make me feel included, but it was hard to feel anything but awkward sitting in a dimly lit basement while my best friend snuggled with a cute guy a few feet away.
I scrolled through the channels, even though it was pointless. They wouldn’t have noticed if I turned on the French channel. Finally, I stopped on some cooking contest show and pretended to watch it while the happy couple murmured and giggled.
I stood up. “I’m going to make some popcorn.”
“Okay,” Aubrey said, blinking up at me. She got the same glazed-over look when she was in the middle of a complicated violin piece. “I’ll help you.”
“No, it’s okay.” I let my gaze rest on Justin. He met my eyes and gave me his brain-scrambling smile. For a moment, I wondered what it would feel like to trade places with Aubrey. To snuggle under the curve of his arm. To have his lips on mine.
It could’ve been me, I thought. If only he hadn’t chosen Aubrey. I quickly shook those thoughts from my mind. They made me almost resent my best friend, an emotion I’d never felt toward her before.
“Are you sure?” Justin asked, snapping me out of my daze.
“Um, yeah,” I said, flustered. My skin felt scorched, like I was suddenly running a fever. “I can manage by myself.”
I bolted upstairs. The quiet, empty kitchen was a welcome sight, and my body temperature slowly returned to normal as I stuck a bag of popcorn in the microwave. Now that I was up there, alone, the guilt was setting in. A good person didn’t fantasize about kissing her best friend’s boyfriend. What if my feelings showed on my face? Then again, why would Justin even notice my face—or anything else about me—when he had Aubrey? Okay, so I did have some qualities she lacked—like height and boobs and pin-straight hair that never frizzed—but the only people who thought I was beautiful and special were my parents. And they didn’t count. They weren’t a boy I was 99.9 percent sure I had an illicit crush on.
The microwave beeped, interrupting my thoughts. I dumped the popcorn into a huge bowl and carried it through the kitchen, pausing at the door to the basement. I could hear TV voices and the faint tinkle of laughter. They sounded so happy, like they weren’t missing me at all.
I hesitated for another few seconds, then backed away from the basement door and turned left, toward the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. Aubrey and Ethan’s house was a lot like mine—two-story, twenty years old—only theirs was bigger and more updated. It was cleaner too, so clean it didn’t feel lived in. Unlike my house, which was dusty and jumbled and currently covered in chintzy Halloween decorations.
Ethan’s bedroom door was open a crack, but I gave a courtesy knock anyway.
“What?” his voice barked from inside.
Surprised, I jerked back, almost dropping the bowl of popcorn on the floor. I recovered quickly and nudged open the door, revealing myself. Ethan was sitting at his desk, laptop open in front of him. When he saw me, his face turned red and he leaned forward to press pause on whatever video game he was playing.
“Oh,” he said. “Hi.”
I held up the bowl. “Popcorn?”
“Uh.” His brow creased and he craned his neck to look behind me, like he was expecting more people. “Where’s Aubrey?”
I edged into his room, which was, as usual, improbably neat for a teenage boy. “In the basement. Justin’s here so I thought I’d . . . you know . . . give them some privacy?”
He grimaced and mumbled something, but all I could make out were the words barf and phony. I snorted. Ethan’s contempt for Justin hadn’t waned. In fact, it became more transparent by the day. Aubrey was still in the my-new-boyfriend-is-flawless phase and couldn’t fathom the idea of her own brother not sharing the same opinion. But I understood where Ethan was coming from. After all, Justin was friends with the guy who’d slammed him into a locker a few weeks ago.
“Is it okay that I’m in here?” I asked, placing the bowl on the desk and knocking over a speaker. I righted it, then grabbed a handful of popcorn.
“Sure.” He swiveled in his chair, his gaze following my movements as I crossed the room and sat on his bed. He seemed vaguely surprised, like he couldn’t quite believe I was in his room. We’d hung out together before, just the two of us, but never on a weekend night and never in his bedroom. Usually, the only time we were alone without Aubrey was when we were both waiting for her.
I nibbled my popcorn, taking care not to drop any on the clean floor. Ethan’s room was so impersonal. Aubrey’s was the same. My room at home was a clutter of posters and pictures and nail polish and school work, but Aubrey and Ethan weren’t allowed to put posters or pictures up on their walls. Each item they owned had its rightful place.
“Aren’t you supposed to be practicing something?” I asked, nodding toward his violin and acoustic guitar cases, resting side by side against the wall by the window.
“I am, but Mom and Dad aren’t home, so . . .” He shrugged and spun back around to face the laptop screen.
I tossed a piece of popcorn up in the air and caught it in my mouth. “Slacking off, are you? Do you even like playing the violin?”
He twisted halfway around and looked at me. “Do you like cleaning your room? Going to school? Getting your teeth cleaned at the dentist?”
“Of course not. My parents make me do those things.”
“Exactly,” he said, and faced the computer again.
I stared at the back of his head for a moment. I knew their parents were rigid in their expectations, but the idea of them forcing Ethan to do something he had no interest in was excessively overbearing, even for them.
“Aubrey loves violin,” I said, like that was somehow relevant to his situation.
“Lucky her,” he mumbled, tapping on the keyboard.
An awkward silence hung between us, and suddenly I was desperate to lighten the mood.
My right hand was still half full of warm, buttery popcorn. I transferred it to my left hand, then chose the biggest kernel and lobbed it at Ethan’s head. It bounced off his ear and landed on the keyboard in front of him.
“Hey,” he said, wiping a splotch of fake butter off his ear as he turned to glare at me. “What the hell?”
I grinned and threw another piece at him, then another, until finally he grabbed his own handful from the bowl on the desk and started flinging them back at me. A few minutes later, the bowl was empty and his room looked like a popcorn machine had exploded.
But Ethan’s mood had improved, as had mine, so it was definitely worth it.
“You’re cleaning this up,” he said.
“No. I’m a guest in this house and guests shouldn’t have to clean.”
“Let’s go get Aubrey and make her do it, then.”
“Make me do what?” Aubrey appeared in the doorway, alone, her hair tousled from I didn’t want to know what. “Dara, what happened to you? You went to make popcorn and then—” The lovesick fog lifted from her face and she noticed the mess on the floor. “What on earth happened in here?”
Ethan coughed. “Um, just a little accident.”
“Well, make sure you clean it up before Mom and Dad get home.” She sighed and looked at me. “Dara, do you want to make more popcorn? I want some that hasn’t been on Ethan’s floor.”
“Sure,” I said, hoping she and Justin had gotten their fill of each other while I was gone.
The second Aubrey turned to leave, Ethan picked up a piece of popcorn and flung it at me. I caught it and popped it in my mouth as I followed his sister out the door.
seven
Senior Year
I’M GLAD YOU’RE BACK.
I’ve spent the last five days turning those four words over and over in my head and I still don’t understand. If I was sure of one thing during the past fifteen months, it was that Ethan hated me. He didn’t look at me at the funeral. Didn’t answer the letter I’d sent him the day after, describing how infinitely
sorry I was. Didn’t contact me at all in the month between Aubrey’s death and the day I left for my aunt and uncle’s house. Not that I ever blamed him for any of it. I robbed him of his sister. His rock. I didn’t deserve his mercy.
The fact that he gave it to me anyway doesn’t make me as happy as it probably should. How is it possible that he doesn’t hate me? What’s his secret? How can he even stand to look at me after what I did?
“Dara! Dinner.”
I continue scrolling through the webpage I’ve been reading for the past two hours—the “RIP Aubrey McCrae” Facebook group, which for some reason still exists even though there haven’t been any new posts since the one-year anniversary of her death last June. I don’t know why I’m torturing myself with it. Actually, yes, I do. I think I owe it to Aubrey to witness the pain I caused, even when I’d rather turn away. So I read every one of those sad, melodramatic messages, even the ones written by people I’ve never even met before—who Aubrey never met. Dying young is a tragedy that belongs to everyone.
And then there are the posts about me.
They started appearing the September after Aubrey died, around the time school opened up again. Most of the comments are written by people I know, at least by name or sight. They’re vague, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who they’re referring to.
I guess she’s afraid to show her face.
Maybe she ran off to Mexico.
Or off a cliff.
Only the guilty run away and hide.
Apparently, the rumors have been circulating for a while. It’s a little scary knowing there are people out there who believe I’m capable of something so evil. I never expected to be welcomed back with open arms, but I didn’t expect to be labeled a murderer either.
I click X on the page and lie back on my bed, wondering if I can somehow get out of dinner tonight. I’m not hungry, and I’m definitely not in the mood for family time around the dinner table. But Mom insists on it. She won’t let me hole up in my room anymore, because the last time she let me do it, in the weeks after the accident, I’d told her I wanted to die too.
These Things I’ve Done Page 5