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I push myself up to a standing position and glance toward the parade. The girl needs a ride home, and I don’t want to be the one to offer.
When I look down, she has her hands up, at first in defense, but when the woman backs off further, the girl drops one hand and uses the back of the other to wipe her face.
“You need a ride home?” the woman asks. It’s the first time I notice how pretty she is.
The girl shakes her head. She can’t be more than fifteen.
“Are you sure?” The woman crouches before dropping to a seated position. “I can help you get home.”
The girl fingers the hem of her dress. She doesn’t meet the woman’s eye, but she doesn’t look away either. It’s obvious that a battle is raging inside her. She knows she needs help. She’s too prideful—or scared—to take it.
“We’ve all been there,” she tells the girl. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to your parents.”
The girl shifts suddenly, and I shift too. My flashlight, which is still on but is pointed at the ground, shines in her direction. That’s when I see the blood smeared across her thigh. Suddenly everything clicks into place. She’s not just a drunken girl left behind by friends in the park.
“Who did this?” I demand, kneeling beside her. “Who left you here?”
She opens her mouth, only to close it again. Tears stream down her face. She does not meet my eye. Her gaze is far off, like it’s stuck back in the past.
The woman clears her throat. “Is there someone I can call?” She glances at me as she asks, a disapproving look on her face. Your parents are what I’m thinking, but that’s not what she says, “A friend?”
The girl looks at me. “You’re Ruth, right?” Her voice shakes, but I don’t think it’s on account of the booze.
“Yes,” I nod. “I’m Ruth.”
The woman glances at me and narrows her eyes. Then she turns to the girl. “I’m Ashley.”
I want to like Ashley. Mostly, because I want her to handle this situation so I don’t have to. But she isn’t making it easy. This isn’t a goddamned pow-wow. This isn’t the time for introductions. And anyway, I know the girl.
Gabby. She works at the ice cream shop on Main Street, and she shares half of her DNA with the love of my life. Former love of my life, I should say. Once upon a time. A lifetime ago. “And you’re—”Ashley starts. She pauses and waits and when nothing comes, she waits some more.
I roll my eyes.
Finally, she runs her fingers over a patch on the girl’s backpack, which is on the ground next to her. “Gabby?”
“Gabriella,” the girl says, correcting her. She tries to sound grown up, authoritative even, but her voice cracks as she speaks. I think about making a run for it, but the crowd around us is growing larger. Around here people talk. Channings do not simply walk away. And anyway, I’d never forgive myself if I did. I tried that once, a long time ago. I’m not sure I have it in me anymore.
Gabby pulls at several blades of grass, ripping them from the ground one by one. She doesn’t look at me as she does it. She doesn’t look at Ashley either. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Who did this?” I say again, because what else is there to say? White, fiery rage burns inside of me. I am definitely missing the parade. I will not see our float in all its glory. I’m going to have to call the police, which is a shame. This girl’s night appears to have been bad enough, and it’s about to get worse. My stomach flip-flops at the thought of what I’m about to do. My sweaty palm grips my phone, a reminder that if I hadn’t forgotten it, this would be someone else’s problem.
I’m aware of how that sounds. But if I know anything, I know some stories are better learned secondhand. “Gabriella,” I say, leveling with her. “I need you to tell me who did this.”
She chokes up at my question. Ashley gives me the death stare, which is not only annoying because it is, but because she’s gorgeous even with her face all twisted up like that. The sobbing goes on for what feels like forever. Long enough for me to send several text messages. Finally, Gabby looks up and meekly, almost inaudibly, says, “I should have said no. I didn’t say no.”
Chapter Two
Anonymous a.k.a Passerby
It’s hard to stay anonymous in this day and age. Not impossible. But far from easy. It requires staying out of the fray. Or above the fray. However the saying goes.
So I guess that’s where I’ll start. It’s important. Staying above the fray, that is.
It’s important. And she’s terrible at it. I really don’t know why she has to go and get herself into these situations. You might have thought I was referring to that other girl, but…no. I mean, lots of girls get themselves into those situations. Of course, it’s not their fault. No one is victim blaming or victim shaming or whatever it is they’re calling it today.
Least of all me. She was a pretty girl. And it’s really too bad. A lesson learned for her the hard way: You can’t trust people. Not even when they say they’re your friend. Sometimes, especially not when they say they’re your friend.
Not even when they tell you they love you. Sometimes, especially not when they tell you they love you.
