Page 25 of We Already Dug the Grave

Probably because of our fight.

I pushed through the double doors into the hallway. Puddle Creek High was almost eerie in its emptiness, as I jogged toward the mathletes room, peeking in each classroom door’s window as I passed. No Frances.

Worry crept in. The bullies who’d plagued me throughout junior high and early high school hadn’t been an issue in years. But what if a fresh crop of assholes had zeroed in on my sister? And with us fighting, maybe she was struggling to handle it herself.

But if that were happening, wouldn’t she want to move away?

I frowned, my steps keeping pace as my heart picked up.

And then it reared. That intuition that something was wrong. The place inside me unfurling.

Hurry, hurry, hurry, the whisper inside urged.

The bang of a shutting door echoed, and my rubber soles squeaked as I picked up the pace toward the sound.

The senior wing. Why would Frances even be here? I kept pushing around the corner and down another hallway, peering into each classroom.

I found her in the last one.

What’s she doing in Mr. Fortenberry’s class?

What a stupid thought. It was obvious what she was doing, yet the scene playing out through the sliver of window did not compute.

She looked the same as she did every day; her blond hair slipping from the ponytail, her favorite baggy T-shirt—the one that read WITHOUT GEOMETRY, LIFE IS POINTLESS! across the chest—hanging to the middle of her thighs, her pale cheeks flushed.

It was all so normal.

Except for one thing.

My stomach twisted harder than it ever had.

No.

Her toothpick arms were around my English teacher’s neck, as his grown-man lips found hers. It was only a peck, but the familiarity between them, the lingering look and trailing fingers, said this wasn’t their first kiss. And even if it was? It still wasn’t okay.

The aching pressure behind my ribs grew until it felt alive, like something with tentacles trying to burst free. I worked for each breath.

My sister…my little sister. My baby bird. This couldn’t happen.

I ducked away from the door, pressing my back against the wall.

What should I do?

Burst in there? Scream? Tell Mr. Fortenberry to back the fuck off?

Vice Principal Williams! I’d seen him earlier in the parking lot. Maybe he was still there.

No, I remembered. No, he drove off in his hatchback.

Besides. There was something I understood without needing to be told. Something I knew as if it were carved in my bones.

Without proof, anything I said wouldn’t stand a chance against the word of Puddle Creek High’s favorite teacher.

He was handsome and charming and coached girl’s JV softball and was the teacher in charge of the Shakespeare Club. And though I had great grades and had never been in any real trouble since fighting in middle school, I was a Robbins woman. A loner with a bad reputation. My mama was in prison for murder. The gossip surrounding my family was never-ending. For fuck’s sake, my nickname was Witchy Milly.

And Frances? She was a shy sophomore, smaller and a full year younger than all her classmates, since she’d skipped third grade. People would crucify her if word got out.

Oh God. She could lose her place at the Tennessee Math & Science School.