That's Not What Happened

by Kody Keplinger

  Tara Chambers.

  She was standing too close, her face a twisted, hateful version of her sister’s as her fingernails dug into my arm. I tried to pull free, but the terror had made me shaky, and her grip was tight.

  “You should leave,” she spat. “No one wants you here, you filthy liar.”

  “Hey.” Miles was pushing his way through the crowd, back toward me. “Back off.”

  “She’s the one who needs to back off,” Tara shot back. “She’s the one causing trouble.”

  “Uh, maybe I’m missing something, because I’m blind and all.” Denny was suddenly at my other shoulder. “But that’s really not how this seems.”

  “I can’t believe you all would defend her,” Tara said. “After everything my sister has done for you? For her? How can you let her get away with this?”

  “Get away with what?” Amber demanded. Now she’d joined us, too. “Talking about Sarah? You weren’t there, Tara. Neither of us were. You don’t know what happened, either.”

  “You too, Amber? What about Sarah?”

  “What about you let go of Lee,” Miles said, his voice low and more menacing than I’d heard it in years.

  Tara growled and tossed my arm away from her. I stumbled back, still startled and trembling as Miles caught me, placing a hand on my shoulder to keep me steady. To keep me grounded.

  “It should’ve been you that died in the bathroom that day, Lee,” Tara said, before storming off, red dress whipping around her like flames.

  “I can’t believe she just said that,” Amber gasped. “That’s awful.”

  “You okay?” Miles murmured.

  I nodded. “I’ll be fine. Just startled. Thanks, you guys.”

  “Don’t let her ruin your night,” Denny said. “Come on. I’ve got to prove to Miles that I’m the better dance partner.”

  “Why’s it gotta be a competition with you?”

  “You’re only asking me that because you know I’m the obvious winner.”

  One of the teachers chaperoning the dance volunteered to hold on to Glitter while Denny and Amber danced. After a few minutes, my nerves had mostly settled, but my heart was still racing for a completely different reason.

  Miles had his hands on my waist, and my arms were around his neck. Neither of us are dancers, so we mostly just stood in one place and swayed along to the music. The DJ (also known as Mrs. Keebler, our English teacher) seemed to have a soft spot for country love songs. I wished she’d play something faster. Something that wouldn’t make it so easy to lean into Miles and rest my head on his shoulder.

  “Dunno if I said it earlier, but you look beautiful,” Miles said.

  “Thanks,” I said, hating the blush I felt crawling up my neck. “You don’t clean up bad yourself. Though, the orange …”

  “Worth it for the way it made you laugh.”

  “I regret not following through on our clashing colors idea,” I said. “Can you imagine if I showed up in, like … lime green?”

  He smiled. “That would have been great. But nah. I like this one.” He hesitated a moment. “Lee, I gotta ask something.”

  “Okay,” I said, feeling wary.

  “I was thinking … how’d you feel about some company on your drive to California?”

  “You want to go with me?”

  “Just for the drive. Maybe stay a weekend and fly back.” His shoulders shrugged beneath my hands. “Not like I got plans after graduation. Honestly never thought I’d make it this far. But I got a little money saved and … I don’t know. Grandma thinks I should look into vocational school—like for welding or something—but I’ve been thinking of maybe going to community college for a couple years, maybe transferring, majoring in history … if any bigger school will have me. Anyway, thought maybe a road trip would be a good chance to figure some stuff out. If you’d be up for the company.”

  “I’d love that,” I said, unable and unwilling to fight the grin that—almost painfully—stretched my cheeks.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah! It’s a long drive, and Mom probably can’t afford to take that much time off work. And I’d … I’d love for you to come with me.”

  “Good.”

  “Good.”

  We danced in silence for a few minutes after that. I hadn’t realized that we’d been drawing closer to one another until there was almost no space between us. It just felt right, being near him like this. It felt like all those nights on my roof, the calm that came with his arm around my shoulder or his fingers laced through mine. The sense of comfort that came just from having him near.

  “You know,” he murmured, “tonight got off to a bad start, but … I’m glad you decided to come.”

  “Me too.” The words came out as a whisper. “I know it took me a while to come around to the idea, but now that I’m here …”

  “Yeah?”

  “Now that I’m here, I … don’t think I’d want to be anywhere else tonight.”

  He smiled, and his arms tightened around my waist. Despite my anxiety about the crowded gym and the incident with Tara, I felt overcome with this sense of ease. This feeling that I was safe.

  Before I’d realized it, I’d taken a step closer, bridging the last bit of space between us, and rested my head on his shoulder. The fabric of his jacket was cool and soft beneath my cheek. I could feel his breath in my hair. Could smell the fresh mint of his soap. And everything was perfect.

  Which was the problem.

  When the song ended, it yanked me back to reality. The poppy beat of a new song was a sharp reminder that this was exactly what I didn’t want to happen.

  I pulled away from Miles, and it was like stepping out of warm water and into the chill of winter. The sense of comfort faded away, and I was flooded with the fears I’d battled earlier that evening. It was all too overwhelming, moving from one extreme to another, and everything was swamped with fresh guilt.

  “You okay?” Miles asked as I stepped away from him and pressed a hand to my forehead.

  “I just need some air,” I said, stumbling back another step. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Before he could say anything, I grabbed my handbag from a nearby chair and headed toward the closest exit.

  I ended up out in the parking lot, the night breeze raising goose bumps on my bare arms. I leaned back against the brick wall of the building and took a few deep breaths.

  Out in the open, away from the crowd, it was easier to let that familiar anxiety slip away again. But all that did was make the muddled feelings about Miles clearer. I’d told myself we’d just come as friends, that I’d keep my boundaries up and everything would be fine. But when I was dancing with him, I’d wanted more.

  I always wanted more.

  But then what? I asked myself. We date for a few months until I go to California, and he’ll eventually find another girl who actually wants to sleep with him.

  I shook that thought away. It wasn’t being asexual that worried me. It was that, if we did break up, be it because of sex or just distance and time, I didn’t know what that would mean for us, for our friendship. I hadn’t cared about someone this much since Sarah, and God, if I lost Miles, I don’t know what I would do.

  But this—getting close, pulling away, constantly building new, higher walls between us for safety—that could tear us apart, too.

  I wanted to be with Miles, but I was scared. And I wanted Sarah there with me, to tell me what to do. I already knew what she’d say. She’d drag me back inside and tell me I was being ridiculous, that I should “kiss the boy already.”

  I almost laughed imagining it.

  And then I wanted to cry.

  My phone buzzed in my purse. I pulled it out and saw a text from Mom. She’d sent along one of the photos of Miles and me in front of our house. This one’s my favorite, she’d typed. I took one look at the picture and closed the message. I needed to not think about Miles for a minute.

  I found distraction in other text messages. I’d sent
another to Kellie that morning, but she hadn’t responded. A couple of days earlier, I’d also started leaving voice mails. I didn’t even think twice about clicking her name and hitting the call button. Trying to get ahold of her felt so familiar at this point. Focusing on the letters, obsessing over collecting them, was easier than dealing with the issue right in front of me.

  The call was on its third ring when the door next to me opened and Miles stepped out into the parking lot. “There you are,” he said. “You okay?”

  I held up a hand, gesturing for him to wait as Kellie’s voice mail picked up.

  “Hey, Kellie. This is Lee Bauer. Again. I hope you’re getting these messages. Listen, if you could give me a call back, I’d appreciate it. It’s really important. Okay. Bye.”

  When I hung up the phone, Miles was scowling at me. “You’re calling her now?”

  “Texting wasn’t getting me anywhere, so—”

  “So maybe you should leave her alone. Give her space.”

  “I can’t. I still need her letter.”

  He shook his head. “Let the letters go, Lee.”

  “What? No. Why would I do that?” I asked. “You keep saying stuff like this. What’s your problem with the letters, anyway?”

  “Nothing,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dress pants.

  Rage bubbled up inside of me. It was irrational, I know, but I was suddenly so furious with him. I was angry that he didn’t understand why these letters mattered. Angry that he’d let me get so close to him when he’d promised we’d just be coming to prom as friends. Angry that every time I pulled away from him, the world felt a little colder.

  “Stop doing that!” I yelled, because I just wanted to yell at him. “Stop being all cryptic and vague about why I should let this go. Why? What is your problem?”

  “Drop it, Lee,” he said. “Let’s just go back inside.”

  “No,” I snapped. “Why won’t you write a letter?”

  “Lee.”

  “Why won’t you do it?”

  “I’m going back in.”

  I grabbed his arm to stop him. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong with you.”

  He shook me off and took a step back, his eyes flashing dark. “What’s wrong with me?” he asked, his voice raised. “You’re the one who is obsessed with these stupid letters!”

  “Because they’re important!”

  “To who?”

  “To everyone,” I said. “The truth is important to everyone.”

  “No, it’s important to you,” he said, pointing a finger at my chest. His voice was so loud, so harsh, that I flinched away in surprise. “This isn’t about the truth, Lee. It’s about you. You and your guilt.”

  “I’m trying to make things better.”

  “Kellie doesn’t want to talk to you!”

  “She will once she understands what I’m doing.”

  “Not everyone wants to talk about it, Lee.” He was shouting at me. He’d never shouted at me before. And even though I didn’t feel threatened by him, it was still unsettling. “Maybe you and Denny and Ashley and Eden have stories you think the world should hear, but not all of us do. The truth isn’t going to set all of us free. People don’t want to hear my truth. Especially not you.”

  “Miles … What are you talking about?” I asked. He was pacing now, his hands in his curly hair. I just stood there, staring. “I know what happened to you already. I know about the awful things those reporters wrote about you. How people misunderstood you. And you were the bravest of all of us that day. Why would you have a problem writing about that?”

  “Because I’m—”

  He was cut off by the exit door opening again. A couple of girls, dressed in purple and blue, came stumbling out, their arms intertwined. They looked between us, then began whispering to each other, giggling behind their hands, as they moved toward a nearby car.

  When they were gone, I turned to look at Miles again. He was staring at his feet, hands shoved back into his pockets.

  “Miles …”

  “I’m gonna go.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t do this right now.”

  “Miles, you can’t walk home. I’m your ride.”

  But he was already moving through the parking lot, toward the front of the school. And he didn’t look back.

  I stood in the dimly lit parking lot for a long time after he’d vanished. I couldn’t go inside, couldn’t look at Denny and Amber and try to explain what had just happened. Mostly because I didn’t know how to explain. I wasn’t sure how we’d gone from such a perfect moment, dancing together, talking about driving across the country together, to screaming at each other in the parking lot.

  And now he was gone.

  I didn’t want to be there anymore. Not without him. So I pulled my keys from my bag and headed to my truck.

  I drove around town with the radio blasting for a while. I knew if I went home too early, Mom would want to know what was wrong, and I was too tired to deal with her worry.

  The lights were off when I finally did pull into my driveway. The windows were dark next door, too. I wondered if Miles had made it home, and how. I wondered if I should try to go talk to him or just let him have some space for the night. Part of me wanted to apologize, though I honestly didn’t know what I had done wrong. Pushed him too much, obviously, but for a good reason.

  I thought.

  I’d just cut the engine when I heard my phone buzz. I lunged for it, certain it was him. Certain he was going to tell me we should talk. Certain he’d want to explain.

  But the text message I’d just received wasn’t from Miles.

  It was from Kellie Gaynor.

  It’s funny how some parts of that March 15 come back to me so clearly, like a movie on a high-definition screen playing behind my eyes, but others are a blur or missing altogether.

  Like, I don’t remember which of us noticed the hickey on Sarah’s neck, or how we convinced our biology teacher to let us both go to the bathroom at the same time. But the image starts to sharpen once we’re standing in front of the mirror. I remember so vividly the look on Sarah’s face as she peered at her reflection, tilting her head slightly so she could see the mark. It was an expression of mingled worry and annoyance, but I couldn’t help noticing just a touch of pride.

  Kellie was already there. I could see her in the mirror, standing off in the corner behind us, a shadow with a cigarette. She didn’t say anything to us, and we ignored her. I always kind of thought of Kellie as the school’s phantom, there if you looked closely, but easy to miss if you didn’t look in the darker nooks and crannies.

  The memory is silent at first. I know Sarah must have been saying something, talking about the mark on her neck as she pulled out some foundation and rubbed it into her skin, but the words are missing. It’s like the movie is on mute, until the stall door opened behind us and Ashley stepped out.

  “I was wondering where you’ve been the last few weeks,” Ashley said. Her eyes were focused on Sarah, her mouth twisted into a sneer. It’s funny, in some ways, remembering it now. Despite our current issues, the Ashley I know is kind and caring. Protective to a fault. This was a different Ashley. “I guess I have my answer.”

  “Oh God, Ash.” Sarah turned away from the mirror to face her. The hint of pride I’d seen in her eyes a second ago vanished. “I’m sorry. I just—”

  “Hey, I get it. Who needs Jesus when you have boys that’ll suck on your neck?”

  My hands balled into fists, but next to me, Sarah didn’t even flinch. Things didn’t hurt Sarah very often. Even at fourteen, she radiated this confidence I could never imagine possessing. When people insulted her—which, honestly, wasn’t often—the words just seemed to roll off her. Like she knew she was better than any label they could have given her.

  This was no different. She and Ashley had been friends—or, at least friendly—for a long time, but even when this girl she’d known all of her life tried to shame her, Sar
ah was unaffected.

  I know in Ashley’s letter she said Sarah’s face went red, but I don’t remember that. I do remember Sarah watching her as Ashley stepped forward to wash her hands in the sink next to mine. “You aren’t going to … ?”

  “Tell your parents?” Ashley asked. “No. If you’re this comfortable with lying, why should I stop you? But remember, Sarah: Your parents don’t know what you’re doing, but God sees everything.”

  I glanced at Sarah again, and she rolled her eyes. A minute later, when Ashley had gone, she said, “I don’t know if anyone ever told her, but as far as I know, Jesus likes nice people.”

  From the corner, I heard Kellie give a snort of laughter, and Sarah grinned wide, her braces on full display. Neither of us had ever seen Kellie Gaynor smile, let alone laugh. But if anyone could have done it, of course it was Sarah.

  She picked up her foundation again and went back to work trying to cover the small hickey on her neck. “We should hurry, though. The bell is going to ring soon.”

  “You really think she won’t tell your parents?” I asked.

  “She won’t. She’s self-righteous, but she’s not a narc. And honestly? I think she’s just having a rough time lately. She hasn’t always been that bad.”

  She capped the foundation and shoved it back into her purse. I had no idea how she managed to buy so much makeup and smuggle it to school without her parents noticing, but her collection just kept growing. Some mornings, after she did her own makeup at a cafeteria table using her phone’s camera as a mirror, she’d turn to whatever girl was sitting closest and offer to do hers, too. Lots of freshman girls got mini makeovers courtesy of Sarah McHale’s secret cosmetics stash.

  Behind us, Kellie stepped into a stall and tossed the remainder of her cigarette in the toilet before flushing. Then she turned and started toward the bathroom door.

  The next section of the memory feels like slow motion. Kellie walked out, Sarah zipped her purse, and then we heard the gunshots.

  We didn’t know what it was at first. My initial thought was firecrackers. I assumed some senior was pulling a prank. Sarah and I glanced at each other, then moved, together, to the door to see what was going on. By then, there was screaming.