“Hi,” I answer. I swallow, willing the words—any words—to form. “I’m… I’m sorry.”
Sandra gives me a broken smile. “Yeah. Me too. Franklin deserved more than what happened.” She lets out a sobbinglaugh. “Shit. I’m trying to stay positive. But it’s so unfair. I didn’t even think accidents like that happened.”
“I didn’t think so either,” I tell her quietly.
If I had, I’d have tried harder to keep him from taking the fucking vape from Brock and Tate. I hadn’t thought there was a real risk at all.
“We tried,” I say, suddenly desperate for her to believe me. “We got him to the ER as fast as we could. I’m so sorry, Sandra. I’m so sorry it wasn’t enough.”
“It’s not your fault,” Sandra says, her voice shaky. “He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, River.” She lets out another brittle laugh. “He’d probably beat himself up over having done something so… so… so fucking dumb. Shit.”
I can’t even say it wasn’t dumb, but he’d been drinking. We all had. People do dumb shit all the time when they’re drunk. “He would have,” I say. “And I’d have been there to tell him to cut that bullshit.” I pause, then say quietly, “Hey. If you need anything, let me know, all right? I know we don’t really know each other, but Franklin would’ve wanted you to have someone to reach out to.”
Sandra nods. “Yeah. Thanks, River.”
I can’t think of anything else to say to her, so I awkwardly walk away. I spot Blaze and Asch talking to Franklin’s father. I know he was a member of Kappa Alpha too, and that Franklin only joined the fraternity because of him.
I don’t want to look at any of them.
I go outside. Maybe some fresh air will help me dry my eyes.
I wish I could call somebody, but who would I even talk to? My mom has never bothered to comfort me, and my father would make things worse. They hadn’t understood why I’d been sad when Rachel died, either.
At first, I’d only been friends with Rachel because of Pandora, but over time, we’d started to realize that we had a lotin common. She didn’t talk about why she didn’t want to be at home, and I didn’t talk about my bruises. The two of us were always happy to be swept up in the whirlwind that was Pandora Pavone, even though sometimes…
Sometimes, it had been difficult.
Sometimes, Rachel had told me things she made me swear never to tell Pandora.
I don’t know if anything would’ve changed if I had.
Would she be alive right now? Or would there still have been a casket with all her severed parts in it?
I sit down on the steps leading into the building and rub my eyes.
It’s bad enough I’m mourning Franklin. I really don’t need to be thinking about Rachel, too.
I pull out my phone, and I find myself looking at the text conversation with the frat. Even though they’ve mostly moved on from talking about Pandora, a quick scroll up shows me several of the pictures they’ve been sharing with each other. I can’t place exactly how I feel about them.
She’d deserved it. She’d deserved all of it.
But somehow, the rage I’d felt at learning that she’d kept my finger hasn’t lingered nearly long enough, and I find myself feeling guilty in a way that doesn’t even make sense.
I tense when I hear footsteps approach on the gravel path, and I quickly close out of the chat.
“Hey,” a familiar feminine voice says. “You okay, River?”
I look up slowly, from familiar combat boots to toned legs, a black knee-length skirt, a black blouse, then to Pandora’s face. She’s wearing the usual thick eyeliner. Several wisps of hair escape her ponytail and frame her face. I spot her usual snake earrings dangling from her lobes.
She looks good.
She’s both the only and last person I want to see right now. Anger threatens to boil up within me because she shouldn’t be here. She didn’t know Franklin. She didn’tdeserveto know Franklin.
Maybe I can focus on that, even if I can’t get myself to be angry over the finger anymore.
“I’m fine,” I say. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“You aren’t fine,” Pandora says. She sits down next to me. “Sorry about your friend.”
