The Secrets We Bury

by Stacie Ramey

  “I want to hear how Allie feels,” Mr. Hicks says, breaking my reverie.

  I swallow hard. How do I feel? I feel like I’m breaking inside. I can’t see colors anymore. It’s like when Leah left, she took the best of me. I feel like if one of us should have lived, it should have been her. She’d be way better in the role of surviving sister than I am. She’d have better hair too.

  “Allie?” Dad prompts. “Mr. Hicks asked you a question. How do you feel?”

  Sometimes I feel like I’m no more here than Leah is. Sometimes I forget. I think it didn’t happen. I wait for my cell to ring. I think she’s going to burst into the room, full of life and pissed at me for having borrowed one of her things. But then I remember. And it’s like that night all over again. And I get mad—at her for going, and them for not even knowing that I’m not just mad she went, but also that she didn’t take me with her. Like she promised. Like we promised each other.

  “Allie?” Dad’s voice gets tighter.

  But I can’t tell them any of that. They don’t want to hear about that. Everyone’s so sick of death, they want me to lighten the mood. It’s up to me. I’m on stage now. Dad’s beating the drum. Mom’s cowering. My teachers and the guidance counselors are waiting like revival attendees ready to be preached to, ready to clap. I can’t disappoint them. So I try to be like Leah. I sit up tall. I “dance.” “It’s fine.” I look at Mom so she’ll know I mean it. Mostly. “AP art classes. Everything else honors.”

  “You sure you can do that, sweetie?” I hear the relief in Mom’s voice. She wants to believe it’s all over. I guess I can’t really blame her.

  Mrs. Pendrick’s face screws up. “I think this is a mistake.”

  “I agree,” Mr. Hicks says. “But let’s do this. How about we move forward with that schedule and keep an eye on you, Allie? That sound okay? We’re here whenever you need.”

  “Perfect.” Dad stands.

  Mom follows his lead.

  I stand too, not wanting to break rank, especially when there’s been a break in the fighting. It’s not that I think it’s so perfect, but I’m playing the part of the foot soldier, as usual. We soldiers march and follow orders. We soldiers act like it’s all good. Hup, two, three, four. Even when we’re breaking.

  For more Stacie Ramey check out

  The Sister Pact

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