Page 14 of We Already Dug the Grave

Just friends.

I’d been avoiding him ever since. I didn’t know what to do with the feelings left churning through me: humiliation mixed with yearning mixed with something else. Something new and exciting and terrifying. Something unnamable.

God, I wished I could talk to Frances about it.

But while I was avoiding Casey, my sister was avoiding me. All because Frances, with all her mathlete trophies and science fair wins, was finally being stupid.

On Sunday, Hattie-May and Frances had bustled into the house, Hattie-May’s excitement whipping the room’s energy into a buzz as she spun about, the frayed hemline of her housedress fluttering around her ankles.

“Well, spit it out,” Ruth had said, setting the dishes down for dinner. “What’s got you all worked up?”

Hattie-May’s grin had grown so big that the apples of her cheeks nearly eclipsed her eyes. “We’ve got great news. Frances?”

I’d tried to catch her eye, but Frances busied herself scooping mashed potatoes onto her plate. Things had been off between us for a few weeks, and I couldn’t figure out why. We’d always been close, and this new distance felt like a slap across the cheek.

My sister shrugged. “I—”

“She got in! Full scholarship!” Hattie-May had clapped her hands.

She got in. The words still felt like relief. Frances getting into the prestigious Tennessee High School for Math and Science was the first step toward the future we’d always whispered about.

We’d all burst into chatter. The only person not speaking was Frances.

The feeling settled in. The dread. That place within me behind the door cocking its ear. A whisper in my head. Something bad.

I’d turned to my sister, narrowing my eyes until she met my gaze. “What is it?”

“Actually.” Frances had spoken carefully. “I’m thinking I might not go.”

No. No no. Not only was getting into the gifted school an honor, something my sister had dreamed about since seventh grade, it was an essential part of our plan to leave Puddle Creek in our rearview mirror. I loved my aunts, but our life could not be in this town.

How many collective hours had we spent together, daydreaming about escaping everything? About building something new? Living normal, boring lives where we decided who we were with no legacy or last name to make the decision for us.

We’d both wanted it so desperately that we’d treated it as a done deal. Frances had picked up extra tutoring clients because she was saving up for a new lavender bedspread for her dorm. She wanted a mini-fridge and an oversized whiteboard. From our bunk beds we’d whispered back and forth into the night about how my salutatorian scholarship would pay for me to go to the nearby college, and she and I would meet up all the time.

“I think,” she’d mumbled. “Maybe I’ll stay here. Graduate with my class in a few years.” She’d dropped her gaze then. “I’m thinking after that, I could go to the community college over in—”

“No.” My fork clinked onto my plate. “Absolutely not. You’re going to the gifted school.”

“I think—” Frances had begun again, still not looking at me.

“No.” I’d shaken my head, not giving her a chance to talk. “Not going is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Graduate with your class? You don’t even like your class. And that community college? With your grades? Frances. Be for real.”

She shook her head. “God, Milly. For once can’t you butt out of my life? I’ve thought about this a lot. I’m not a baby, okay?”

“Girls,” Ruth had said, the word sharp with warning.

We ignored her.

My voice grew louder. “I don’t think you are. I just—”

“People change,” Frances said. “I changed. You’d know that if you bothered to see me for who I am instead of who you want me to be.” She again shook her head, her face glowing like a red Christmas light. “I’m not some damned broken baby bird!”

“Do you know how many people would kill for this?” I’d asked, my palms flat on the table. “God, do you realize how stupid you sound? You’re going to screw around and blow your chance!” Our chance.

Because that was the thing: I couldn’t leave without her, and I had to get out of here as soon as I graduated or I’d suffocate.

“Oh, so now I’m stupid?” Frances had scoffed. “News flash, sister: I’m not stupid, and maybe you should work harder on your own life and quit trying to control mine!”