I get up and go downstairs. My father and brother are already sitting at the dining room table, loaded bowls in front of them. My mom comes in with two more bowls and sets them down at our respective spots. Beef stew. Yum.
Dad gives me a timid smile as I sit down, but I don’t return it. Ever since overhearing his conversation with Mom, I can barely bring myself to look at him. He doesn’t want me here. He wishes I’d stayed where I was.
“How was school today, Dara?” Mom asks cheerfully as she butters a roll.
I poke at my stew and think about what I could say—that people still look at me like I’m dangerous and most of my old friends ignore me and I’m anxious every time I open my locker that there’s going to be another drawing in there, even though it only happened the one time. But I’ve put them through enough already, so I say, “Fine.”
Mom nods like I said something interesting and turns to Tobias. “How was your day, bud?”
Tobias grins, revealing his oversized front teeth, and launches into a story about his teacher, Mr. Kline, who apparently has a black belt in karate, and how he showed the class—after lots and lots of begging—a few of his favorite moves. As he recounts the incident, complete with extensive hand gestures, I can’t help but smile. Missing my little brother definitely played a part in my decision to come home. Now that I’m back, though, I can see it’s going to take a long time for him to warm up to me, if he ever does. He’s wary of me now. I can tell he thought going away would fix me, turn me back into the sister who played with him like she wasn’t afraid of hurting him somehow. He seems disappointed that it hasn’t.
The minute dinner is over, I go back upstairs, open “RIP Aubrey McCrae,” and pick up where I left off.
I have a couple of classes with Paige, but she’s been avoiding me since my return, practically sprinting in the other direction if I so much as look at her. So I have no idea what to expect the next day when I happen upon her in the stairwell on my way to the cafeteria.
She’s climbing up the same stairs I’m about to go down. I see her at the same moment she sees me, and we both pause on the steps. Panic flashes in her eyes as we stare at each other. What is she afraid of? Me? Talking to me? Being seen with me? Whatever it is, finding herself alone with me in an empty stairwell is obviously freaking her out.
“Paige,” I say. Nothing else comes after it, but it doesn’t matter, because she doesn’t seem to be listening anyway. She drops her gaze and starts moving again. “Paige, please,” I try again as she gets closer. “Can we just talk for a—”
“No.” She pauses next to me on the top step and raises her chin. The panic in her features has morphed into a dull anger. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“Wait,” I beg as she brushes past me. I want to follow her and grab her arm, but I don’t. I stay planted on the stairs and address my next words to her back. “Paige, come on. We’ve been friends forever. We used to be close, remember?”
She stops on the landing and spins around to face me, her eyes wild and glassy. “Close? Yeah, we were such close friends, Dara. So close you didn’t confide in me once during the whole Justin drama sophomore year. No, I had to hear about it through gossip after the fact. So close you didn’t even bother to tell me you weren’t coming back to school last year. I heard that secondhand too.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Not to mention all the texts I sent you after Aubrey died that you ignored,” she continues like I haven’t spoken. “So don’t even try to pretend like we were the best of friends. That stopped when Aubrey came into the picture. She was your number one from that moment on and you know it.”
I climb the last step and move closer so I can tell her how sorry I am for not confiding in her like I should have. And that I didn’t mean to put Aubrey before her. And that I ignored all my friends’ texts and calls after Aubrey died because I wanted to forget everything about Hyde Creek, even them. But before I can say any of it, the door to the stairwell opens and Travis appears.
For a moment he takes in the scene, his gaze bouncing from me to his girlfriend’s red, puffy face. He reaches us in one long step and takes Paige’s hand, ushering her away from me.
“Travis,” I say. My throat is so tight, his name comes out sounding strangled. We lock eyes, and my stomach jolts when I see the fiery anger in his.
“Don’t talk to me,” he says in a low, even voice. “Don’t talk to either of us.”
My mind scrambles for a response, but nothing comes. I doubt there’s anything I can say that will satisfy him, anyway. Either of them. They’re clearly done with me.
Paige tugs on Travis’s arm. “Let’s go.”
His eyes stay glued to mine. “Why did you even come back here? Like, are you a sucker for punishment or what?”
“Travis,” Paige says firmly. “Come on. It’s not worth it.”
He clamps his mouth shut and gives me one last lingering glare before letting Paige pull him through the doorway. When they’re gone, I grab onto the railing and squeeze until my fingers throb. Then I retrace my steps to the hallway.
Once I reach my locker, I’m not sure what to do next. My appetite is gone, so there’s no point in heading to the cafeteria anymore. I consider going outside to hang out behind the school, but it’s drizzling and even I’m not pathetic enough to stand all alone in the rain. That leaves the library, where I can at least sit down for a while. I start walking again.
“Dara.”
The hallway is packed with chattering groups of friends, loud and chaotic, and at first I think it’s Travis behind me, back to finish me off. I spin around, anticipating another blast of venom, and accidentally thump Ethan in the chest with my hand.
“Sorry,” I say, jerking away from him.
He moves back too, out of reach of my flailing limbs. “It’s okay.”
Horror rises in me when I mentally replay what I said. Sorry. I just apologized for smacking him, of all things. Like that’s the worst I’ve ever done. It’s so insane, so absurdly inadequate, I actually start laughing. There’s nothing joyous about it. It’s the laughter of a person who’s about ready to snap. The uncontrollable, erupting kind that usually precedes heavy sobbing and tears.
I can’t cry. I can’t. Not now.
Ethan’s watching me with a slightly worried expression, like he’s debating whether to yell for help. I take a few slow, deep breaths and squeeze my eyes shut. When I feel in control again, I open them and ask, “Was there something you wanted?”
He’s still staring at me, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack and the other suspended in the air between us, like he’s readying himself to catch me if I faint. This strikes me as funny too, that he’d even bother saving me from slamming my head off the floor, and I almost break up again. Ethan must sense it, because he shrugs and says, “Not really. You just looked upset and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Make sure I’m okay. After everything, he’s concerned about my welfare. I don’t get it. I don’t get him, and now that I have him here, in front of me, my need to understand is overshadowing everything else.
“Can we talk for a minute?” I ask.
He edges a little closer. “Sure.”
“Not here,” I say when I notice a few people watching us. Seeing Ethan and me in the same space is clearly noteworthy for those who know the details, and I really don’t want anyone listening in on this.
I turn and walk away, hoping he’ll follow. He does, and I lead us to an out-of-the-way alcove near a supply closet. The old Dara would take his arm and pull him into the alcove after me, but I don’t touch people anymore. Instead, I wait until he steps in and leans against the wall opposite me.
“So,” he says. “You’re back.”
“Yeah.” I wonder if he knows where I’ve been, and why. My parents didn’t tell many people, but gossip spreads like a flu outbreak here. But I don’t want to talk about my homecoming right now. “What you said the other day, when we were outside .
. . ,” I begin. “How do you . . . how do you do that?”
His forehead creases, and I notice a tiny scar right below his left eyebrow that hadn’t been there the last time I stood this close. “How do I do what?”
I swallow and lower my gaze to the front of his hoodie, which is gray and worn and gives off the familiar scent of the laundry soap his mother always used. Still uses, apparently. “How can you be glad to see me?”
He’s silent for a long time. So long I’m afraid to look up again, in case I catch a glimpse of the same fire that was in Travis’s eyes. Maybe Ethan didn’t mean what he said. Maybe he really wishes I’d stayed away forever and he’s going to tell me so right now.
“I just am,” he says finally. “I know we haven’t really talked since you got back, but it’s not because I’m avoiding you or anything. It was just a little harder at first than I thought it would be. Seeing you again, I mean.”
I nod. I know the feeling.
“I don’t hate you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he goes on. “What happened was an accident. A horrible accident that could’ve happened to anybody. How can I hate you for it?”
The same way I do, I want to say, but I don’t. I raise my eyes to meet his again. He holds my gaze. He really believes what he said. Ethan’s always been dependably honest—a pure, intrinsic kind of honest that doesn’t just disappear overnight.
An accident. The words swirl around in my brain for a moment before slowly sinking in. Ethan is not like the people who wrote those Facebook posts. He’s not like the person who put that horrible sketch in my locker. He’s not like the people who think the worst of me.
He doesn’t believe I purposely killed Aubrey because of jealousy over a boy. He doesn’t believe I am a murderer.
I feel myself starting to lose it again, but I force the emotions back. At least I try to. In my struggle to remain calm and still, I almost miss what Ethan says next.
“You loved her as much as I did, Dara. You’d hurt yourself before you’d ever hurt her. I witnessed that firsthand, remember?”
A cloud passes over his face and I know exactly what he’s remembering. He’s thinking about Aubrey’s last few days with us and everything we should have done differently. He’s thinking about Justin Gates and how he almost tore all three of us apart. He’s thinking about the pointless what-ifs, torturing himself with them just like I torture myself with mine almost every single day.
“Look,” Ethan says, snapping us both back to the present. “I don’t know your reasons for coming back here or why you’d willingly subject yourself to the ignorant assholes in this school, but if you’re expecting the same treatment from me, I can tell you right now you’re not going to get it. Okay?”
I’m so surprised by the forcefulness of his tone that I nod automatically. He nods back and leaves the alcove, glaring at a handful of nosy gawkers as he strides down the hallway. They quickly look away from him, like they’re scared of what he might do.
I don’t look away, though. I watch him go and remember how I used to think of him, like a lamb in a den of lions. But he’s not that weak little lamb anymore. At some point over the past year, while I wasn’t around to see it happen, he became one of the lions.
eight
Sophomore Year
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
I jumped and almost dropped my phone on the floor. “Nothing.” Aubrey had snuck up on me as I stood waiting for her at her locker. “Just researching something.”
She dumped her backpack in her locker before leaning in to look at the screen. I watched as she took in the title of the page I’d been reading.
“‘Training programs for public policing,’” she read. She glanced up at me, dark brows raised. “Why are you reading about police academies?”
“Because I want to be a police officer.” I grinned and gestured dramatically at her. “Mother-hen face—activate!”
She stared at me, her features smooth. “Really? That’s . . . great, Dara.”
“You think?”
“I mean, yeah, I’ll worry about you getting shot in the street or whatever, but it doesn’t surprise me that you’re interested in doing something dangerous.” She nudged me and smiled, but something about her demeanor seemed off. Maybe she thought it was a horrible idea but didn’t want to dampen my excitement.
“There’s more to it than that,” I said, sliding my phone into my pocket. “I’ve been researching it all week. Being a cop takes a lot of work and commitment. It’s not all nonstop action like it is in the movies.”
She nodded approvingly at my realistic attitude. “Makes sense. What do your parents think?”
“Well, they didn’t exactly jump for joy when I mentioned it to them, but they said they’ll support me.” I closed and locked my locker. “Honestly, I think they were a tiny bit relieved too. My grades aren’t good enough to get me into a decent college, and they’d never be able to afford four years of tuition anyway.”
“My parents can’t afford it either,” Aubrey said, turning back to her locker. “But Ethan and I are both going to college. That’s what scholarships and student loans are for.”
I almost laughed at the idea of me getting a scholarship. And Aubrey and Ethan’s parents had probably been saving up for years to send their kids to college. Their father worked in human resources for an IT company and their mother ran a catering business. They definitely made more money than my parents. Tobias and I would be lucky if Mom and Dad scraped up enough cash for one year of community college (or six months at a police academy).
So I’d never be a doctor. Or a civil rights lawyer, like Aubrey wanted to be. That was fine by me. I’d wear a shiny badge and serve the community in different ways.
“Are you okay, Aubs?” I asked. She was still standing in front of her open locker, swinging the door back and forth like she’d forgotten how to close it. “The thought of me carrying a loaded gun isn’t that horrifying, is it?”
To my surprise, her big eyes filled with tears. I stepped closer and touched her arm.
“It’s okay, Aubrey, really. I’ll be fine. I won’t even be a cop for another four or five years, at least. And my mom thinks I’ll probably change my mind a hundred times before I graduate, so—”
She shook her head quickly. “It’s not that. I’m just not having a very good day today.”
“Fight with Justin?” I guessed. Nothing else, aside from maybe a B on her report card, had the power to get her down like this. She and Justin had been dating for a full six weeks now, and lately, tiny dents had begun forming in their “newly dating” armor. Justin took issue with Aubrey’s insanely busy schedule and how little time was left over for him, and she took issue with his lack of understanding about her goals and priorities.
I actually appreciated where Justin was coming from, because I often complained about the same thing myself, but Aubrey was my best friend. If I had to choose sides, I would always choose hers.
“He’s annoyed that I still haven’t told my parents about him.” She wiped her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. Aubrey was a quiet, discreet kind of crier, so no one in the crowd milling around us even noticed.
“Are you ever going to?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. Last year, when Sean Ryland—a guy she liked from orchestra—asked her to the Valentine’s Day dance, her parents refused to let her go, claiming she was too young to date. I doubted that was the only reason. To Aubrey’s parents, boys equaled distraction. Boys meant threats to her focus and potential.
Aubrey shut her locker with more force than usual. “I can’t. They’d make me stop seeing him. You know that. They already took away my phone because they thought I was on it too much. Justin’s pissed about that too, by the way. He thinks I should stand up to them.”
Maybe you should, I felt like saying, but I didn’t. I knew how she’d respond to that one too. Standing up to them would be pointless, and it was easier to surrender, toe the line, and keep them happy. She’d been livi
ng that way for years and I couldn’t see it ever changing. Her parents weren’t like mine. They didn’t hear her out and provide feedback and tell her they’d support her in whatever she decided to do. They had plans for their children and fully expected them to follow through.
“He only says that because he’s never met them,” Aubrey continued as we made our way to the cafeteria. “Whenever I try to explain to him how strict they are, he thinks I’m either exaggerating or making it up. If he could just see for himself—” She slowed her pace and clutched my forearm with both hands. “You could tell him.”
“What?”
“Would you talk to Justin for me, tell him how unreasonable they are and what would happen if they found out I’m dating him? Maybe he’d believe it coming from someone else. Plus, you know my mom and dad. You’ve seen what they’re like.”
“I don’t really—”
“Please, Dara. He needs to understand why. I don’t want to drag you into this, but I just . . . he won’t listen to me. Please,” she repeated, dropping her hands from my arm and looking up at me with wretched, bloodshot eyes.
I sighed. Aubrey didn’t ask me for much. And she’d been so supportive about my career aspirations, I felt like I owed her one. “Okay. I’ll talk to him.”
She closed her eyes and let out a breath. “Thanks.”
We shuffled into the cafeteria and got in line for today’s special: grilled cheese. The smell of slightly burned bread filled the air. My gaze immediately went to the junior jerks table, but Justin wasn’t there. I turned back to Aubrey and caught her looking over there too, a slight wrinkle between her eyebrows.
After buying our sandwiches, Aubrey and I headed for a table by the window.
“Can you text Justin?” she begged once we’d sat down. “He’s obviously not going to show up here. He’s avoiding me.”
I bit into my sandwich, which was cold and gummy. How was it even possible to screw up a grilled cheese? “You want me to text him?”
These Things I’ve Done Page 6