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We all startle, then freeze.
Theo sits up straight and buries his face in his hands. He shakes and quivers as regret pours out of him, while guilt pokes at me. I feel the anger morph into something else—something even worse.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s my fault.
I’ll never forgive myself.
Choking back another sob, I drop to the grass beside Theo and pull him into my arms. I hug him tight, apologizing over and over. “I’m sorry, Theo. It’s my fault. I left first,” I chant, our tears falling together, our respective guilt breaking us in half. He hugs me back. “It’s my fault.”
Red and blue lights illuminate the backyard, and when I look up, Mr. Bailey is talking to a medic, while Mrs. Bailey crouches down beside her daughter, stroking her soft, sandy hair. Monica and Wendy have moved to the patio, sitting together beneath the table umbrella and hugging themselves against the deep chill that has seeped into the Baileys’ backyard.
Wendy catches my stare and mouths to me with sorrowful eyes, “I’m sorry.”
I look away.
I sit in the grass beside Theo with my broken heart and broken promise, watching and waiting for good news as June is moved onto a stretcher and carried away.
All I can do is wait.
Theo sits quietly beside me in a hospital chair. We’re both slouched over in our sodden Mario and Luigi costumes, waiting for the doctors to give us permission to visit June.
Whatever a concussion is, that’s what June has. She has a broken arm, too.
She must be so scared.
Silence stretches between me and my best friend, the guilt eating us both alive. I feel bad for leaving June up in that tree house, and I feel bad for blaming Theo for it. None of us should’ve left that tree house—we’re all to blame. And I know we’re both going to be in big trouble when we get home. I can see it in Mr. Bailey’s eyes. He’s hardly said a word to us since we got to the hospital, and the quieter he is when he’s mad, the worse the punishment. His eyes are rimmed red, swollen and puffy, and his left eyebrow keeps twitching as he taps his feet in perfect time. Mrs. Bailey sits next to him, her head resting against his shoulder as she stares at the floor.
“Do you hate me, Brant?”
Theo finally ruptures the uncomfortable silence, and I jerk my attention toward him. Gnawing at my bottom lip, I shake my head. “No. I don’t hate you.”
“But you did,” he says. “I saw it in your eyes when you pushed me down.”
I slink lower into my seat, as if I can hide from what I’d done. The anger, the rage. It was a terrible thing to feel, almost like poison sailing through my veins, and I wonder if it’s the same feeling my father felt when he killed my mom.
The thought steals my breath. My stomach curdles.
What if I turn out like him?
No!
I’ll never get that mad again. I’ll never react with violence.
I make a silent vow to myself as I fight back tears. “I hated myself, and I took it out on you. It’ll never happen again, Theo.”
He swallows, staring straight ahead. “You were right, you know. It was my fault. I was the last one to leave the tree house, and I wasn’t even thinking about June.” Emotion rushes to his voice, and he sniffs, swatting at his eyes. “I was thinking about Monica Porter. A dumb girl—a dumb girl who was cruel to you, and I didn’t do anything to stop it. I let you down, and I let June down.”
I’m not sure what to say, so I don’t say anything at all.
“I’m going to be better, Brant. Promise. A better brother, a better friend.” He looks my way, his deep-blue eyes glimmering with resolution in the artificial light. “I won’t let you guys down ever again.”
A smile pulls to the surface, and I nod. Then I hold out my hand to him. “Okay, Mario.”
Theo relaxes with relief and shakes my hand. He tips his red hat with the other. “Thanks, Luigi.”
The tension drains from the air, and that’s when a doctor approaches the Baileys, seated across from us on stiff, ugly chairs. He says five words that cause my heart to gallop with joy. “She’s going to be okay.”
She’s going to be okay.
