“What?”
“I can’t do this right now.”
“Miles, you can’t walk home. I’m your ride.”
But he was already moving through the parking lot, toward the front of the school. And he didn’t look back.
I stood in the dimly lit parking lot for a long time after he’d vanished. I couldn’t go inside, couldn’t look at Denny and Amber and try to explain what had just happened. Mostly because I didn’t knowhowto explain. I wasn’t sure how we’d gone from such a perfect moment, dancing together, talking about driving across the country together, to screaming at each other in the parking lot.
And now he was gone.
I didn’t want to be there anymore. Not without him. So I pulled my keys from my bag and headed to my truck.
I drove around town with the radio blasting for a while. I knew if I went home too early, Mom would want to know what was wrong, and I was too tired to deal with her worry.
The lights were off when I finally did pull into my driveway. The windows were dark next door, too. I wondered if Miles had made it home, and how. I wondered if I should try to go talk to him or just let him have some space for the night. Part of me wanted to apologize, though I honestly didn’t know what I had done wrong. Pushed him too much, obviously, but for a good reason.
I thought.
I’d just cut the engine when I heard my phone buzz. I lunged for it, certain it was him. Certain he was going to tell me we should talk. Certain he’d want to explain.
But the text message I’d just received wasn’t from Miles.
It was from Kellie Gaynor.
It’s funny how some parts of that March 15 come back to me so clearly, like a movie on a high-definition screen playing behind my eyes, but others are a blur or missing altogether.
Like, I don’t remember which of us noticed the hickey on Sarah’s neck, or how we convinced our biology teacher to let us both go to the bathroom at the same time. But the image starts to sharpen once we’re standing in front of the mirror. I remember so vividly the look on Sarah’s face as she peered at her reflection, tilting her head slightly so she could see the mark. It was an expression of mingled worry and annoyance, but I couldn’t help noticing just a touch of pride.
Kellie was already there. I could see her in the mirror, standing off in the corner behind us, a shadow with a cigarette. She didn’t say anything to us, and we ignored her. I always kind of thought of Kellie as the school’s phantom, there if you looked closely, but easy to miss if you didn’t look in the darker nooks and crannies.
The memory is silent at first. I know Sarah must have been saying something, talking about the mark on her neck as she pulled out some foundation and rubbed it into her skin, but the words are missing. It’s like the movie is on mute, until the stall door opened behind us and Ashley stepped out.
“I was wondering where you’ve been the last few weeks,” Ashley said. Her eyes were focused on Sarah, her mouth twisted into a sneer. It’s funny, in some ways, remembering it now. Despite our current issues, the Ashley I know is kind and caring. Protective to a fault. This was a different Ashley. “I guess I have my answer.”
“Oh God, Ash.” Sarah turned away from the mirror to face her. The hint of pride I’d seen in her eyes a second ago vanished. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“Hey, I get it. Who needs Jesus when you have boys that’ll suck on your neck?”
My hands balled into fists, but next to me, Sarah didn’t even flinch. Things didn’t hurt Sarah very often. Even at fourteen, she radiated this confidence I could never imagine possessing. When people insulted her—which, honestly, wasn’t often—the words just seemed to roll off her. Like she knew she was better than any label they could have given her.
This was no different. She and Ashley had been friends—or, at least friendly—for a long time, but even when this girl she’d known all of her life tried to shame her, Sarah was unaffected.
I know in Ashley’s letter she said Sarah’s face went red, but I don’t remember that. I do remember Sarah watching her as Ashley stepped forward to wash her hands in the sink next to mine. “You aren’t going to … ?”
“Tell your parents?” Ashley asked. “No. If you’re this comfortable with lying, why should I stop you? But remember, Sarah: Your parents don’t know what you’re doing, but God sees everything.”
I glanced at Sarah again, and she rolled her eyes. A minute later, when Ashley had gone, she said, “I don’t know if anyone ever told her, but as far as I know, Jesus likes nice people.”
From the corner, I heard Kellie give a snort of laughter, and Sarah grinned wide, her braces on full display. Neither of us had ever seen Kellie Gaynor smile, let alone laugh. But if anyone could have done it, of course it was Sarah.
She picked up her foundation again and went back to work trying to cover the small hickey on her neck. “We should hurry, though. The bell is going to ring soon.”
“You really think she won’t tell your parents?” I asked.
“She won’t. She’s self-righteous, but she’s not a narc. And honestly? I think she’s just having a rough time lately. She hasn’t always been that bad.”
She capped the foundation and shoved it back into her purse. I had no idea how she managed to buy so much makeup and smuggle it to school without her parents noticing, but her collection just kept growing. Some mornings, after she did her own makeup at a cafeteria table using her phone’s camera as a mirror, she’d turn to whatever girl was sitting closest and offer to do hers, too. Lots of freshman girls got mini makeovers courtesy of Sarah McHale’s secret cosmetics stash.
