“Wait.” I hold up a hand to stop him, pinching the bridge of my nose with the other hand. I feel like I’m missing several huge gaps of information here. “Hunter Finley? The guy you were hanging out with in the parking lot that day? His uncle owns the Douglas dairy farm?”
“Yeah,” Ethan says, like this is common knowledge. “He works there in the summers and he got me a job there too. We do stuff like repair fences and haul feed for the livestock. It’s a lot harder than it sounds, but I love it. The first summer I only did two weeks, but this year I worked there from the middle of June to the end of August. And all I have to show for it is this hunk of junk.” He pats the dashboard, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that tells me he doesn’t regret it one bit.
My mind struggles to compute everything he just told me. A year and a half ago, if I were to picture Ethan with a job, it would’ve been something involving a computer and lots of time indoors. Fresh air and cows never would’ve crossed my mind. At least this explains the wide shoulders, lean muscles, and bronzed skin.
“How did you meet Hunter?” I ask.
“He came up to me one day at Ace Burger while I was waiting for my order and told me he’d seen me play guitar at school.” He smiles faintly, like this memory amuses him. “We started talking about music and stuff and he asked me if I wanted to jam with him and his band sometime. At first I thought he felt sorry for me because everyone felt sorry for me that summer, but it wasn’t that. He just thought I was talented.”
“You are,” I say before I can stop myself. It’s the truth.
Ethan turns onto my street and pulls up to the curb in front of my house. My parents aren’t home yet, having recently decided I was mentally capable to be alone in the house for the hour or so between my arrival and theirs.
“So did you?” I ask, running a finger over the frayed strap on my backpack.
“Did I what?”
“Jam with Hunter’s band?”
“I did.” He leans back against the seat, raking a hand through his dark hair. Now that he’s let the buzz cut grow out, his hair is almost as curly as Aubrey’s, but not quite. His curls are looser, more like unruly waves. “And last May, when their lead guitar player quit to join another band, guess who stepped in?”
I blink at him a few times. He can’t be serious. “You?”
He smiles at me the same way he used to do whenever he kicked my ass at Mortal Combat—slow and mischievous and quietly proud. “There’s that horrified expression again. We practice on Saturday and Sunday afternoons at Hunter’s house. Come by and see for yourself if you don’t believe me. Sixty-three Cambridge Drive.”
I shake my head, overwhelmed. The car, the farm, the hair, the band . . . all these things together are too much. “You’ve really changed, Ethan.”
His smile falters, even though I didn’t mean it as an insult. Quite the opposite. From what I’ve seen so far, his changes are all good ones. “So have you,” he says, and going by the way he looks away after he says it, he probably does mean it as an insult. None of my changes are positive.
Shame washes over me. What the hell am I doing, chatting with Ethan like nothing ever happened? I try to imagine what Aubrey would want me to do right now. What she would do, if she were the one who’d done some horrible, life-altering thing to Ethan. She’d apologize, of course, and do everything in her power to make it right again, even if there was no easy fix. She’d make sure he was okay and be there for him if he wasn’t. She’d look out for him the same way she always did and expect me to do the same in her absence.
“Ethan,” I start, but before I can say anything more, my father’s truck pulls into the driveway in front of us.
Shit. He’s home early. And here I am, right next to the boy whose space I’m supposed to be respecting. I consider ducking, but it’s too late. He’s spotted us.
“I haven’t seen your dad in ages,” Ethan says as my father gets out and walks toward us, his forehead scrunched in confusion. “He looks . . . tired.”
“He’s been extra busy with all the rain we’ve been having,” I say, not wanting to get into my role in Dad’s weariness. “You know, leaky roofs and everything.”
Ethan doesn’t respond because my dad is now standing beside the driver’s side window, peering in at us and frowning like he caught us smoking crack or something. Ethan rolls down the window. “Hi, Mr. Shepard.”
Dad studies him for a moment and then his gaze shifts to me. I give him a small, hopefully reassuring smile, which apparently satisfies him, because he goes back to eyeing Ethan. A year and a half ago, he would have grinned affably. He would’ve invited Ethan inside and offered him a snack and teased him about the girls at school. But my father’s transformation is almost as bleak as mine.
“Come on inside, Dara,” he tells me, then turns and walks away without saying anything else. Ethan and I watch through the rain-smeared windshield as he steps up to the house and disappears inside.
“Sorry.” I rub my cheek, which feels warm and prickly like a sunburn. “I should go in.”
I reach for the door handle, but Ethan touches my arm, stopping me. Our eyes meet and for a moment—a tiny, flickering moment—he’s the old Ethan again, young and sweet and vulnerable. It hits me then, how much I’ve missed him.
“Music saved me,” he says.
My hand, clutching the strap of my backpack, trembles a little. “What?”
“After Aubrey died. I know it sounds corny or trite or whatever, but music was all I had left. That and working on the farm . . . it kept me going. And then I started hanging around with Hunter and joined the band and . . .” He lets go of my arm but doesn’t break our gaze, doesn’t even blink. “It saved me.”
I nod, but only because it’s clearly important to him that I understand what he’s saying.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell him. He doesn’t stop me this time as I swing open the door and step into the rain.
ten
Sophomore Year
AUBREY WAS A NEW YEAR’S BABY, THE FIRST BIRTH of the year in our hospital. The honor came with gift certificates from local businesses and even a blurb in the newspaper. When she told me about it, a month or so after we met, I wasn’t at all surprised. Right from birth, Aubrey had been destined to go first, at least when it came to our friendship. She got her period before I did, even though I’d developed earlier. She was the first to get a babysitting job and wear makeup and go on an overnight school trip. She was the first to start dating and the first to be kissed for real. But most aggravating of all, she was the first to turn sixteen and become eligible for the most coveted rite of passage of all—the driver’s license.
We spent the last half of Christmas break studying for the written test. Well, Aubrey studied, and Ethan and I quizzed her. My sixteenth birthday was still six months away, and Ethan’s wasn’t for well over a year, but some early cramming wouldn’t hurt either of us. I couldn’t wait to learn to drive. Aubrey, on the other hand, was weirdly freaked out about it.
“Tell me again how many feet from a fire hydrant,” she said as we trudged down her icy driveway on Wednesday morning, the day after her birthday.
“Fifteen,” Ethan and I chorused. We glanced at each other and exchanged a smile.
“Right. I keep getting that and the stop sign distance confused. What the hell is wrong with me today?”
The question sounded rhetorical, so I kept my mouth shut and climbed into the backseat of her mom’s car. Aubrey had persuaded Ethan and me to come along with her to the DMV for moral support, even though it was our last day of break before school started up again and we would’ve much preferred lazing around the house all day. But we agreed to go because Aubrey clearly needed the support. We were only about two minutes into the drive to town when I realized she wasn’t going to get any from her mother.
“Most of the questions will be common sense,” Mrs. McCrae said in the only tone I ever heard her use with her kids—terse with a hint of condescension
. “If you studied properly, there’s no reason you can’t get everything right. I mean, look at all the idiots on the road. If they can manage to get a driver’s license, anyone can. So, no excuses, okay?”
Aubrey nodded and turned to gaze out the passenger-side window. I was sitting behind the driver’s seat, so I had a clear view of her left side. Her arm was bent and moving, and I knew she was anxiously braiding her hair. She wasn’t all that nervous about the test itself, I realized. At school, she rocked every test she took. But at school, her mother wasn’t waiting for her right outside the classroom, silently judging and eager to pounce.
“You’d better get over your nerves fast,” Mrs. McCrae continued to lecture as we turned into the DMV parking lot. “I can’t take off work again if you have to write this test a second time and neither can your father. This is it, so focus.”
Aubrey nodded again, her throat moving as she swallowed. Beside me, I heard Ethan let out a quiet sigh. When I glanced at him, he was staring out the side window too. A lot of scenery watching took place when Aubrey and Ethan were trapped in a car with one or both of their parents.
Inside, Aubrey stood in line to get her test sheets while Ethan, his mother, and I found seats in the waiting area. Mrs. McCrae sat down first and immediately pulled out her phone. Ethan and I headed for the two empty chairs across from her, facing the testing area. As I sat down, I caught Aubrey’s eye and mouthed, You got this. She smiled thinly back at me. Her face looked pale, and her hair fell in frizzy waves from being handled and twisted so much.
“Sit up straight, Ethan.” His mom paused in her texting or whatever she was doing on her phone to peer at him. “You’re in public, not at home on the sofa.”
Ethan slowly pulled his long legs out of the aisle and then slid up on his seat until he was no longer slouching. Satisfied, his mother turned her attention back to her phone. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ethan cross his arms and then promptly uncross them, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his limbs. I didn’t blame him. His mother made me feel self-conscious too.
My gaze found Aubrey again. She’d gotten her test and was heading toward one of the carrel desks lined up along the wall. If she was this freaked out during the written test, I hated to imagine what she’d be like during the actual driving part. She’d have to be sedated, which would result in a fail for sure.
“What is wrong with her?” Ethan muttered under his breath. “She looks like she has to go to the bathroom.”
We both watched as Aubrey squirmed in her chair, her legs pressed together.
“She’s nervous,” I whispered back. “I don’t think we’re helping.”
For a moment, I wondered if she wished Justin was there for moral support instead of us. Not with her mother around, of course, since she still didn’t know he existed; but hypothetically, would she rather have Justin in the waiting room? He was the one who made her laugh now, who urged her out of her comfort zone. Lately, they were tighter than ever. He’d stopped riding her so much about her busy schedule, and he’d seemed to accept the whole secretly-dating-behind-the-parents’-backs thing. I liked to think our chat in the tree house a few weeks ago had something to do with his change in attitude, but maybe he just realized his girlfriend was worth the hassle.
A few minutes later, Aubrey hit her stride and stopped acting like she needed to pee. Reassured, I settled back into my hard plastic chair and dug my phone out of my coat. I’d missed two texts—one from my mother, and one from Justin.
How’s she doing?
Usually, Justin only texted me when he couldn’t get ahold of Aubrey and wanted to know if she was with me. This text was about Aubrey too, but it felt different, somehow. Like the beginning of a conversation. Or maybe I was reading too much into it. Fine, I typed back. I think she’s almost done.
Is Ice Queen there?
I stifled a giggle. Ice Queen was his nickname for Aubrey’s mother. Pretty astute for someone who’d never even met her. Yep, I replied. Frosty as ever.
Try not to look directly at her. She might turn you into an icicle.
A snort slipped out, and I pressed my lips together to prevent further outbursts.
“What’s so funny?” Ethan asked, leaning in to get a peek at my phone. “Who are you talking to?”
My thumb slid to the power button. The texting was innocent and friendly, but I still felt uncomfortable about it. Like I’d been doing something wrong. “No one.”
He grinned evilly and made a grab for my cell. I shoved his hand away and tried to stuff the phone back into my coat pocket, but he managed to get his fingers around it before I could safely stow it. “Ethan,” I said, laughing as I snatched my phone back, “quit being such a pest. You’re worse than Tobias.”
He nudged my knee with his. I nudged him back, then poked him in the shoulder. He raised a hand to poke me back, but I ducked out of the way before he could make contact. I was stronger than him, and faster, and still an inch or so taller too. I could take him in a fight.
“What has gotten into you two?” His mother’s voice sliced through our scuffling. “You’re behaving like children.”
I let go of Ethan’s collar, which I’d grabbed to keep him still while I smacked him in the head, and sat up straight. Mrs. McCrae was gaping at me in horror, as if she couldn’t figure out why her children associated with the likes of me. She’d always looked at me that way, actually. Aubrey never admitted it one way or the other, but I often sensed that her mother saw me as a bad influence, too immature and ordinary for her talented, brilliant kids. Maybe she had a point.
Ethan and I mumbled halfhearted apologies, and the three of us went back to quietly waiting. Fortunately, Aubrey finished a few minutes later and made her way over, results in hand. We all stood up to greet her.
“Well?” I asked, searching her face. She still looked pale, but it was more of a relieved kind of pallor.
“I passed!” She waved the paper around and smiled. “Almost a perfect score. I only missed one question.”
“Aubrey, that’s amazing!” I pulled her in for a quick hug. “I knew you’d kill it.”
“Congrats,” Ethan said as they slapped hands in a celebratory high five.
Mrs. McCrae came up behind us, slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Which one did you miss?”
Aubrey’s smile slipped a notch. “Oh. Um . . . one of the road sign identification ones. I got it mixed up with another one that looked really similar.”
“Well,” her mother said with an airy smile, “let’s hope you don’t make the same mistake when you’re on the road.”
My hand itched to clobber her. I knew Aubrey and Ethan were used to this sort of reaction from their mother, but it must have felt awful, having your parents focus on the one tiny thing you did wrong instead of the hundreds of things you did right.
“Can we go now?” Ethan asked, his shoulders settling back into a slouch. The festive mood had been completely sucked out of the atmosphere.
“I have to go get my temporary license,” Aubrey said in an overly bright voice, trying to recapture some of the cheer. It didn’t quite work.
Mrs. McCrae’s cell phone rang from inside her purse. She dug it out, glanced at the screen, and then pressed it to her ear as she walked toward the exit. Ethan and I stayed behind to wait for Aubrey, watching as the woman behind the counter directed her to stand in front of a green screen for the license photo. Aubrey obeyed, her mouth twitching like she wasn’t sure if she should smile. Before she could make up her mind, the flash from the camera lit up the screen, capturing her moment of doubt.
eleven
Senior Year
I WAKE UP LATE SATURDAY MORNING FEELING sluggish and tired, like I hardly slept at all. This has been happening more and more lately. For most of last year, I suffered through insomnia. Now I can go to bed early, sleep a solid ten hours, and still wake up feeling like shit.
If I mention this to my parents, they’ll probably think I’m depressed. And if they
think I’m depressed, they’ll ship me off to the doctor, who will put me on antidepressants like the ones I was on for six weeks after Aubrey died. The ones that made me so dizzy and foggy and nauseated, I had to quit taking them.
I’m sure there are better medications out there for me, the perfect pill that will balance my brain’s serotonin levels and make me feel happy. But maybe I don’t get to feel happy.
I sit up in bed, my back aching with the movement, and inhale. The scent of bacon has started wafting up the stairs. If there’s anything that will get me out of bed this morning, it’s bacon.
Downstairs, my mother and brother are sitting at the kitchen table, eating pancakes and the aforementioned bacon. I head over to the counter and grab a piece off the paper-towel-lined plate. It’s still hot, but I chomp into it anyway.
“Good morning,” Mom greets me as she cuts into a pancake. “How did you sleep?”
“Fine,” I say, then turn and snatch another bacon so she can’t see the dark circles that greeted me in the bathroom mirror a few minutes ago. I look zombified.
“Pancakes are here on the table. Come sit down.”
I stay where I am, leaning against the counter. “I’m not very hungry.”
“Just one.” She points to a chair with her fork. “A couple of slices of bacon isn’t breakfast, Dara. You need to eat.”
Irritation flares through me, but I keep my voice low and calm. “I’ll eat something else later. Okay?”
Mom sighs. Tobias stops dipping his bacon into a puddle of maple syrup and glances back and forth between us, his freckled face strained. A chunk of his hair sticks straight up from sleep and I want so much to go over and smooth it down, smooth those worried creases out of his brow, but I don’t do either.
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