These Things I’ve Done

by Rebecca Phillips

“Yeah. Ask him to meet you somewhere after school so you can talk. No, ask him to meet you somewhere after school so you can talk about me. That’ll get his attention.”

  I watched her as I sipped my juice. Desperation looked really bizarre on Aubrey. “And where will you be? Hiding behind a plant and eavesdropping?”

  She threw a piece of bread crust at me. “I have a lesson. So you’ll do it, then? Get him to meet up with you after school?”

  I popped the last of my sandwich in my mouth and took my time chewing so I didn’t have to answer right away. Meet with Justin? Alone? It was exhausting enough trying to hide my attraction when we were around other people. Having his undivided attention would make it that much harder.

  I could walk across monkey bars and climb to the highest branch in a tree and aspire to a career involving walking into hostile crime scenes with barely a twinge of hesitation, but the mere thought of talking to Justin one-on-one had me sweating through my bra.

  “Of course I will,” I told her once the slimy glob of cheese finally made it past my throat.

  Justin agreed to meet me outside by the lone, scraggly tree that had been randomly planted on the lawn near the school’s front entrance. By the time I got outside, he was already there, sprawled on the grass with his backpack wedged behind his head like a pillow.

  “Hey,” I said, stopping near his legs. I wasn’t sure if I should sit down next to him or wait for him to stand up.

  Justin squinted up at me. “Finally. My ass is getting numb.”

  I stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets and smiled. “That’s what you get for lying on the ground in the middle of November.”

  “I got tired of standing.” He got to his feet and reached down for his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder. “Want to walk?”

  I nodded and we set off toward the road. Justin walked home after school, like Aubrey and Ethan and me. He lived on the other side of town from us, however, so he usually went in the opposite direction when we reached the road. Today, though, he stayed with me, his shoulder brushing mine as we walked down the narrow sidewalk. I tried to ignore the way my stomach swooped each time we connected.

  Danger. Danger. Stand down.

  We turned onto the paved walking path that cut through the small patch of green space between Dwyer Street and Fulham Road. I shifted sideways until I was practically in the trees and said, “So. Aubrey asked me to—”

  “Hey, check it out.”

  I clamped my mouth shut and followed his gaze to the fenced backyard of the house on our left, where there was a weather-beaten tree house resting in the branches of a massive oak. I’d taken this shortcut almost every day for more than a year, so this tree house had become part of the scenery, like the giant boulder about three feet off the path with the letters SW+KL spray-painted on it and the tiny squirrels that flitted up and down the trees. I barely even noticed it anymore.

  But Justin never walked this way, so of course it caught his eye. Like me—like most kids—he’d probably always wanted a tree house but never got one.

  “We should go in it.” He stepped off the path and approached the chain-link fence separating the yard from the path.

  I stopped walking and watched him as he gripped the top of the fence with both hands. “Um. It’s someone’s private yard. We can’t just go in there. That’s trespassing.”

  He turned to flash me a grin. “Are you saying you’ve never trespassed on private property . . . Dare-ya?”

  I crossed my arms and smirked. He was mocking me, clearly, but the accompanying smile reduced some of the sting. The truth was, I hadn’t trespassed on private property before, but Justin didn’t need to know that.

  “Come on.” He rattled the fence, testing its sturdiness. “No cars in the driveway and the house looks empty. No one will see us. Everyone works in this town.”

  I glanced around at the streets and houses, quiet in the waning sun. He was right. Hyde Creek was a blue-collar town—everyone worked. Almost four o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon was probably the safest time to break rules without getting caught.

  I walked over to the fence, dug my boot into one of the links, and hoisted myself over, landing with a muffled thump on the dying grass. Justin, who was still on the other side, nodded with approval.

  “I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist,” he said.

  My skin glowed warm all over, despite the cold. He looked at me like he thought I was tough and fearless, like I could do anything. And in spite of the little voice in my brain telling me I shouldn’t care so much about impressing him, I did.

  “Well?” I said, then turned and sprinted for the oak tree. Behind me, I heard the clang of the fence as Justin scrambled over. He appeared beside me as I reached the tree.

  “Ladies first,” he said.

  I examined the rickety ladder that stretched up through the tree house’s floor. “Nice try. You go first and see if it’s steady enough to hold our weight.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And if I fall?”

  “I’ll make sure to move out of the way.”

  Laughing, he grabbed onto the ladder and started pulling himself up. I scanned our surroundings, making sure no one was spying on us. No one was, but I kept checking anyway so I wouldn’t do what I really wanted to do, which was ogle Justin’s backside as he climbed.

  “Okay,” he called softly from several feet above. “It seems pretty stable. Be careful on the ladder, though. Some of the rungs are loose.”

  I took my time, testing each rung before putting weight on it, and soon I emerged into the tree house. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I could see it had been months—or possibly years—since anyone had been up here. The platform was covered in dirt and dead leaves, and whoever once played up here had taken any toys or belongings back down with them. All that remained was a crushed juice box and a few scraps of faded paper.

  “Whoa,” I said as I crawled across the decaying boards to where Justin sat, facing the yard with his legs dangling off the edge of the base. I sat next to him, tensing as the branches creaked with the movement. Or maybe it was the tree house making that noise. Maybe we were about to plummet to the ground and die. “You can see the entire neighborhood from up here.”

  “I can’t believe you’ve never sneaked up here before.” He nudged my leg with his. “Miss Adrenaline Junkie.”

  The adrenaline was coursing, all right, and it was only partly due to being several feet above ground in a decrepit tree house. “There’s a first time for everything,” I said, then immediately regretted it when he gave me a wicked grin. My jacket suddenly felt like an electric blanket, burning against my body and making me sweat.

  I decided to stop talking before I said something even more suggestive and inappropriate. Instead, I focused on the view in front of me. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, throwing shadows across the lawn below us. In the distance, windows began filling with yellow light as families arrived home from work and school. A dog barked a few houses away, and another, closer dog answered with his own series of barks.

  “So,” I said, swinging my legs into the empty air and bringing us back to the reason we were together right now, “Aubrey’s parents are strict. She’s not exaggerating when she says they’ll stop her from seeing you. They will. If they ever find out, they won’t just take away her phone and ground her for a week. They’ll make her life hell . . . and yours too, if you don’t back off.”

  He laughed. “You make them sound evil.”

  “Not evil . . . more like overbearing. Aubrey’s under a lot of pressure at home.” I shivered in the damp cold. “So try to be patient with her, okay?”

  He rested his forearms on his legs and peered down at the ground, silent. Finally, after a long pause, he turned his head toward me. “Did she tell you to talk to me?”

  I nodded. “She wants you to understand what it’s like for her. She doesn’t think you really get it.”

  “It’s not that I don’t get it, it’s just . . .”
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Her parents are only part of the issue, you know? I don’t usually date girls like Aubrey. She’s so damn driven. It’s intimidating. Sometimes I feel like she’s way too good for me.”

  “I know,” I said. God, did I know.

  “Like, she’d never set foot in this death trap of a tree house just because I suggested it. She’s too sensible and mature for stupid shit like this.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He breathed out a laugh. “Not an insult toward you. I never said sensible and mature are the kind of qualities I’m looking for in a girlfriend.”

  My heart froze, followed quickly by my lungs. What was he saying? That I had the kind of qualities he looked for in a girlfriend? A little thrill shot through me, followed quickly by anxiety. I might have been attracted to Justin, but I could never be his girlfriend, even if he and Aubrey broke up. Nothing was worth hurting my friend like that.

  “Aubrey really likes you,” I told him, hoping my voice didn’t sound as shaky as I felt. Maybe I was suffering from elevation sickness. I had to get back on solid ground.

  “I really like her too,” he said. “And I’ll try to be more patient with her, like you said.”

  My heart resumed its normal rhythm. I could breathe again. “Thanks.”

  We managed to make it back down the ladder and over the fence without getting either injured or caught, then parted ways at the path. I walked the rest of the way home by myself, so confused and distracted that I almost missed the turn for my house.

  By the time Aubrey called to grill me at nine thirty, I had myself convinced that I’d imagined the charged vibe with Justin in the tree house, because any other option made my stomach twist with unease. He thought I was fun, that was all. Entertaining. He liked Aubrey, maybe even loved her, and neither of us would do anything to hurt her.

  “You got your phone back?” I asked.

  “Yeah, but I’m only allowed to use it between nine and ten, and only after I’ve finished practice and homework.” She paused for a millisecond before shifting to the main reason she was calling. “Did you talk to him? How did it go?”

  Feeling better now, I settled in, fulfilled my best-friend duty, and told her everything. Well, almost everything. I left out the part about the tree house, even though not mentioning it filled me with guilt. But at the same time I wanted to keep those moments for myself, stashing them away in the tiny, secret drawer in my brain only I could open.

  nine

  Senior Year

  I’VE GOTTEN INTO THE HABIT OF LINGERING IN classrooms after the dismissal bell. Pointed looks from teachers, silently urging me to hurry the hell up so they can go home, are better than navigating crowded hallways and overhearing people laugh and make plans for their weekends. I always feel most like an outsider at the end of the week.

  Mrs. Tippet, my math teacher, clears her throat loudly as I stand beside my desk on Friday afternoon, slowly gathering my notes together. I’m the last one to leave, as usual.

  “Enjoy your weekend,” she says when I finally start moving toward the door.

  “You too,” I mumble.

  The mob in the hallway has thinned out considerably by the time I reach my locker. The place always clears out extra fast on Fridays. I used to clear out fast too, back when I looked forward to weekends. Back when I had friends and a social life. Something else I hadn’t anticipated about coming back here—the loneliness. I wasn’t exactly popular before, but people thought I was fun and generally liked being around me. I miss that sense of acceptance.

  That’s what I’m thinking about when I open my locker and a folded sheet of white paper falls out—my former social life. So it takes a moment to sink in that I’ve received another anonymous delivery.

  My heart seizes as I unfold it, expecting more crude stick figures, but it’s something even worse. Someone has photocopied two rectangular sections of newspaper, placed side by side on the sheet. I know immediately what they are. One is an article on Aubrey’s death that was published in our local newspaper on June 12, the day after it happened. The other is her obituary.

  My eyes land on the obituary first. I’ve seen it before, of course, but seeing it again now sends a jolt through me. My brain registers only fragments of sentences—“deeply saddened” . . . “sudden passing” . . . “always in our hearts”—because all I can really see is the picture at the top. It’s a school photo, polished and posed, but it still looks like Aubrey. Her dark curly hair fills the frame, and she’s smiling the way she always did in pictures—tight and closemouthed—like she was trying to hide crooked teeth even though she’d worn braces at thirteen and her teeth were straight and perfect.

  My gaze skips over to the news article. I’ve read this one before. I’ve read all of them, over and over, but this one sticks out because it was the first of several published that week.

  TEEN DIES AFTER BEING HIT BY TRUCK

  A Hadfield High student was struck and killed by a pickup truck on Tuesday morning. The incident happened on Fulham Road in Hyde Creek at about 11:30 a.m. Police have not yet disclosed the name of the student, but several sources have identified her as 16-year-old Aubrey McCrae.

  Hyde Creek Police Staff Sgt. Peter Blakely told reporters that witnesses at the scene saw two girls “messing around” on the sidewalk when the incident occurred. Investigators are looking into the possibility that horseplay led to McCrae tripping and falling into the path of the truck. She was run over and died at the scene.

  All final exams at Hadfield High are canceled today, but the school will remain open for students who wish to come in and speak to the team of grief counselors on hand.

  Horseplay. Such a dumb term. It makes me think of when I was little, perching on my dad’s back as he crawled around the floor, giving me “horsey rides.” Or playing with Tobias, swinging him around until we were both too dizzy to stand. I never, ever thought it would be used in a newspaper article to explain how my playful pushing resulted in my best friend lying under a truck.

  Luckily, no one needs to worry about my “horseplaying” anymore. Now I keep my hands to myself. Now I am a statue.

  I look up from the paper and glance around, but the hallway is still empty. Whoever is putting these in my locker isn’t interested in sticking around to see my reaction. They don’t want to be known. I consider taking the paper down to the office and shoving it under Mr. Lind’s nose, but that won’t solve anything. What can the principal do about it? Set up surveillance in the hall? Hold an assembly and ask the culprit to come forward?

  I’d rather get the passive-aggressive locker mail.

  Instead of scrunching it up and tossing it in the trash like the last note, I take out an unused green notebook and place it neatly inside. I’m not sure why I want to keep it. Maybe because I don’t have the heart to destroy an image of Aubrey’s face, even if it is being used to hurt me.

  Outside, the sky is the bruised shade of an impending thunderstorm. I start walking, fast. Now that I take the long way home, bypassing the shortcut path leading to Fulham Road, there’s a good chance I’ll be drenched by the time I reach my house.

  The clouds open up as I cross over to Bartlett, the street that takes me around Fulham and turns what could be an eight-minute walk home into a twenty-two-minute one. But I don’t mind. I yank the hood of my sweatshirt over my hair and keep walking, so entranced by the polka-dot pattern the raindrops are making on the sidewalk, I don’t notice the car pulling up beside me until I hear my name.

  I jump like someone shot me and spin around, startled to see an old silver Saturn idling at the curb. Even more surprising is that Ethan’s sitting in the driver’s seat.

  “Need a lift?” he says, leaning his head out the window.

  I’m so surprised, I respond with the first thing that enters my brain: “You drive?”

  He gives me an odd look. “Yeah, I’ve been legally allowed to operate a motor vehicle since last April, so no need to act so horrified. M
y driving record is spotless.” A fat drop of rain splashes off his forehead and he ducks his head back inside. “Come on. It’s pouring.”

  I stand still for a moment, hesitant and dripping, then circle around to the passenger seat and climb in. The inside is blessedly warm and dry.

  “I didn’t mean to act horrified,” I say, buckling myself in. “I just . . . I don’t know.”

  He merges back onto the road. “No, I get it. I’m still that skinny little kid who’s afraid of his own shadow, right?”

  My lips twitch at this description, because it’s exactly how I remember him. And this image—the one I carried with me the entire time I was away—is almost impossible to reconcile with this new one. But I don’t want to embarrass him further, so I say, “Is this your car?”

  He nods and flicks the windshield wipers to a higher speed. “I bought it last month. It’s a piece of shit, but it gets me around.”

  I study the interior, taking in the scratched dash and the faded, threadbare fabric on the seats. This car is probably older than both of us. “You bought it? Not your . . .”

  The word parents sticks on my tongue. As awkward as it feels to be around Ethan, it would be even more awkward to mention his parents, the same people who decided to slap me with a criminal-negligence-causing-death charge barely a week after the accident. They withdrew the charge before my court date—for reasons never explained to me—but still, I’d rather not open that Pandora’s box right now.

  “I bought it,” he confirms as he brakes at a stop sign. “I saved almost every penny I made for the past two summers to cover the costs. You know the Douglas farm in Covington, that little town out in the middle of nowhere about forty minutes south of here?”

  I nod. It’s on the way to the beach my family used to go to every summer. Tobias always loved to see the cows grazing in the fields.

  “I started working there the summer before last, after . . .” He trails off, and it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the car. Aubrey. There’s no room for her here, not yet. Ethan tightens his grip on the steering wheel and tries again. “Anyway, I needed to get out of the house, get my mind on something else, and Hunter mentioned his uncle was looking for some extra help on his dairy farm for a couple of weeks. He’s worked there every summer since he was about twelve, so—”