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I look at Lavender. Her chin quivers, and I can see the apology in her eyes. She didn’t remember to erase the messages, or maybe her parents kept all the message receipts. I disabled mine, but didn’t think to do the same for Lavender.
Tears stream down her cheeks, and her shoulders shake as she curls in on herself. Her mom takes her hand, probably so she doesn’t hurt herself again, although her nails have been cut.
“I know you care about Lavender, Kody, and you would never do anything to hurt her, but this”—her dad has to clear his throat—“talking almost twenty-four-seven without anyone knowing. It isn’t good for either of you.”
My anxiety spikes as I think about all the messages we’ve sent, the things we talk about, the times where some girl has said something mean to her, and I’ve told Lavender the girl is jealous because Lavender is prettier. Her dad has read them all. He knows sometimes we message late at night when she’s having trouble sleeping, and that our messages are constant, starting first thing in the morning and continuing all day. We’re each other’s lifelines. Why don’t they understand that?
“She’s my friend,” I say. “I just want to help.”
My mom squeezes my hand. “We know, honey.”
“I think it would be good to establish some boundaries,” Queenie says gently.
Lavender’s expression reflects the panic I feel.
“Boundaries?” she whispers.
“You two need some space from each other,” my mom says.
Queenie looks at my mom, lips pursed, and I can tell she’s doing that thing where she’s really thinking about what she wants to say. “This dependency is becoming unhealthy. It’s not good that you’re hiding things from your parents.” Queenie takes Lavender’s free hand. “You were doing so well, Lavender. I know middle school is different, but we can’t go backwards in life; we can only keep moving forward, or what happens?”
“We get stuck in bad patterns.” Lavender’s gaze shifts briefly to me and then away again. Two tears drop onto the tabletop. “I can do better. I’ll do better. I’ll work on my strategies. Just please . . .” Her voice breaks.
“I know you can, and it will be easier to do if we set some boundaries for the two of you. We’ll try—” Queenie says.
“I really think it would be best if they had some time apart,” Lavender’s dad interrupts. “Kody will be in high school next year. Lavender, he’s not going to be there to help you.”
“But he can still be my friend, even if we’re not in the same school.” Lavender’s eyes are wide, darting from her dad, to me, to Queenie.
“Of course he can, but you can’t only rely on Kody to get you through the panic. You have to rely on you,” Queenie says.
Even though I don’t want to see it, acknowledge it, believe it, Lavender’s dad is right.
I won’t be there next year. And then what? How will she manage without me? I’ve been damaging Lavender without even realizing it. Setting her back instead of helping her move forward.
My stomach turns at the thought.
But Lavender was so helpless yesterday.
“You need to be able to cope without a human crutch,” Queenie explains.
Lavender goes into a full meltdown.
All I can do is watch it happen, knowing how much worse I’ve made things for her.
I want to save her from her demons, and me from mine. But they always catch up. No matter how hard we try to outrun them.
Something dark settles in my gut. Anger I’ve never felt before bubbles up and mixes with despair, because I finally realize what everyone else seemed to know already: Lavender is better off without me.Chapter EighteenLive with Your Choices
Kodiak
Present day
“HOLY FUCK, MAN, check out that ass,” says some freshman jerk-off, who’s had one too many beers, to the guy beside him.
I knew this was a bad idea, but I still let it happen. Maverick wanted one last party before we close up the pool, and then he went and disappeared upstairs to his room with his girl of the month, leaving me to manage things.
It was only supposed to be a few of the guys, but then a few people told a few more people, and it snowballed from there. I’d have to say there are more than fifty people out here. And it’s only eight o’clock. I’m sure Mav will be back down in an hour, but until then, I have to deal with people, and that’s pretty much my least favorite thing to do.
If my house weren’t currently under construction thanks to some faulty wiring that shorted out the toaster oven, and the kitchen weren’t completely gutted, I could leave him with this mess. But since I live here for the foreseeable future, I don’t have much of a choice. On the upside, we’ll have a sweet new kitchen whenever it’s done.
