I’m sorry.
—E
I called Eden as soon as I finished reading her letter. She was sniffling when she answered, and I could tell she’d been crying.
“I just got off the phone with my parents,” she told me. “I … told them how I’ve been feeling. And that something has to change.”
“How did they react?”
“Confused. Which is fair, I guess. And now they’re really worried.”
“So what are you going to do?” I asked.
“I’m thinking of taking a semester off,” she said. “Maybe more. I don’t know. But I’m taking a break from school, from public speaking. I think I need to spend some time with my family to figure things out. Maybe Alcoholics Anonymous. Probably therapy.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. Because what else was there to say?
“Don’t be. If I hadn’t made myself write the letter, I … I don’t know.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to call Jenny. I’ll talk to you soon, Lee.”
I hung up the phone and started composing a new email. I now had three letters, and I only needed two more. And, thanks to Eden, I knew how to get in touch with Kellie.
I decided to start with an email. I sent along links about the McHales’ book and explained that I knew the truth, and that I wanted to create some sort of counternarrative.
It was a short, to-the-point message, but I ended it with this:
I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. I was scared. But now is our chance to set the record straight.
I hit the “send” button before I could second-guess myself. For some reason, I was sure she’d want to help with this project. She must’ve wanted the truth out there more than any of us. In my head, it wasn’t complicated at all.
Though I was aware that not everyone thought my efforts to bring out the truth were a good idea. It became pretty clear within a couple days of returning home that Brother Lloyd and Sarah’s parents hadn’t kept quiet about the “lies” I’d been telling.
At first it was just a few dirty looks in the hallway and a quiet mutter of the wordbitchunder someone’s breath as I walked by. But no one actually approached me or said anything about Sarah, so while I suspected the hostility toward me was related, I couldn’t be sure. Not until lunch on Wednesday, at least.
I was sitting with Denny and Miles at our usual table when Amber Hieber, Denny’s soon-to-be prom date, came over to join us.
“Mind if I sit?” she asked, putting down her tray and smiling at us with full, painted pink lips.
Miles lifted his gaze from the book he was reading, something about the Cuban missile crisis, and we exchanged a wary look. It’s not that we’re unfriendly. We smiled and casually chatted with our classmates like anyone else. (Well, I did. Miles, maybe not so much.) But at lunch, we tended to keep to ourselves. There was an invisible barrier around our table that no one had tried to cross in years. And while Amber seemed nice enough, I don’t think either Miles or I knew what to do with a new person in this space.
The same could not be said for Denny.
“Of course we don’t mind,” he said. “Glitter might, though. She’s used to being the prettiest girl at the table.”
“Hey,” I said.
“Are you going to argue that you’re prettier than Glitter?” he asked.
“I might be,” I said. “How would you know?”
“Touché.”
Amber’s eyes darted back and forth between us, clearly not sure if I was making fun of Denny’s disability or if this was just friendly banter. After a minute, she tossed her white-blond hair over her shoulder and said, “So, Denny, I was thinking we could make prom plans? I’ve been talking to some of my friends, and Jordan Mabry’s dad works for a car company and says we could get a pretty good discount on a limo.”
“A limo, huh?” Denny said, a big grin spreading across his round face. “Is it one of those hot-tub limos?”
“I don’t think so.” Amber giggled, and I couldn’t tell if she actually thought Denny was funny or if she was flirting with him. “Just a regular limo.”
“Too bad,” he said. “But I’m in.”
