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Ally looks over at me, wondering if she should tell the truth because it might help Darci or lie so that she doesn’t get both of us in trouble for throwing a party.
“A lot,” I answer. “Twenty? Twenty-five?”
He sighs and heads back into the kitchen; Lydia starts rattling off names of other people they could call.
“Devon, I’m scared,” Ally says. “What if she’s not okay? What if she got in the car with someone who was drunk and got hurt, and it’s our fault?”
I don’t want to admit it, but I’m starting to get nervous, too. Fear is contagious—I can feel it in the air coming off of my dad and stepmom and from Ally, too. The hair on my neck starts to stand up.
“She’s going to be fine, Ally. They’ll find her.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
“Hey…it’s not your fault, okay?”
“I love you, Devon,” she whispers.
“Okay, you know what, Lyd? You go ahead and start calling the kid’s parents since you know them a lot better than I do. I’m going to call the hospital, and then I’m calling the police.”
He opens the back sliding door and steps outside. Then, he wails.
“Oh, god no!” he yells before I hear a splash.
We run for the back door, and when I step outside, I see my dad trying to drag Darci’s bloody, lifeless body from the pool.
Ally screams and sinks to the ground, and I run to the other side of the pool to try to help my dad. By the time I reach the staircase, he’s cradling her against his chest, rocking her back and forth, weeping, and it’s obvious by the tone of her skin that whatever happened to Darci happened hours ago.
“No!” he screams over and over. “Not my baby, god, why?!”
“Oh, god!” Lydia screams as she runs to his side. “HELP! Someone help! Help her! Jeff, do something!”
I see Lydia fall to the ground next to my dad, and she begins to stroke Darci’s hair away from her face, begging her to wake up. Tunnel vision starts to set in, and suddenly, I’m unsteady on my feet, too. I double over and vomit into the pool, and everything else happens in slow motion.
Neighbors run over from all sides. Someone calls 911, and the police and an ambulance arrive; they have to pry Lydia from Darci’s dead body, and she howls in the front yard when they take her away.
And after that, none of us are ever whole or the same again.
Sleep must have come for me at some point last night because my alarm wakes me up now. It’s still dark, which is typical for this time of year and usually makes it difficult for me to get up and move, but as soon as my eyes open, I remember what day it is, and my heart drops into my stomach. A surge of adrenaline pulls me out of bed, my hands already shaking in anticipation.
It’s been exactly one year since I made this plan. I’d felt so utterly hopeless at the time, and having something to look forward to—a set date, a starting point for the life I wanted, an end to this nightmare—was just about all that kept me going. My box of secrets, my great escape.
“Happy birthday, Ally,” I say aloud to the girl in the mirror. I feel kind of stupid for doing it, but no one else is going to, and for some reason, it still feels good to hear it.
I dress for school like everything is normal, grab my bag, and head downstairs. I don’t even bother to stop in the kitchen or say a word to Grace.
Once outside, I walk past the bus stop and a few blocks over to a small, rocky beach at the edge of the neighborhood. I watch the time on my phone, waiting for her to be gone and wanting so badly to say something to him. But I can’t, and I can’t do this today. I can let regret crush me tomorrow, but I have to leave today. It’s the nicest thing I could do for Devon, anyway.
I wait until 8:50 AM to start walking back to the house. I head inside through the window, then straight up to my room to pack. I couldn’t risk her finding the bag before, but I’d set it all aside in a drawer—all the things I decided I’d need. I place them inside the bag quickly, then crawl underneath the bed, remove the loose board, and reach inside.
And I feel…nothing.
The room starts to spin. Suddenly, it’s a thousand fucking degrees, and I feel like I’m in a literal instead of just a figurative hell. It must have shifted, right? That’s what happened. I reach to the right but find nothing. I feel around the other side, and there’s something…damp? Spongey?
Against my better judgment, I grasp the wet thing, pull it out, and…
It’s a cupcake.
A mother fucking cupcake.
