Chapter Eighteen
EIGHTEEN
DESPITE THE TENSION AT HOME, I never used to lie to my mother.
I would merely withhold the painful truth, disguise reality so that it fit within the bounds of her comfort.
But things change. Gigi was right—whatever this is, whatever is haunting me, whatever is turning my blood to fire and ice, my mother can’t know about.
So earlier this morning when she called and asked how everything was going, I didn’t mention the static or the nonsensical letter about the stars and the Mother, nor the ghosts or the lightning or the missing girl.
Instead I gave her a series of platitudes and anecdotes about school and Daisy and Sam and the pep rally.
We’d been avoiding it, but she finally asked about the boys, her tone laced with disdain.
She never quite disliked them the way Gigi claimed to, at least not until she saw how badly they hurt me.
I know, though she won’t say it, that this was a large part of why she never wanted me to come here.
So I gave her platitudes about that, too.
Now, Daisy, Sam, and I trek across campus on our way to our shared English class.
The navy-blue and marigold uniform is snug against my curves, the knee-length skirt only hitting halfway down my thighs—thank god for built-in shorts.
It’s kind of nice, everyone wearing the same thing.
No need to stress about how they’ll look on the first day.
And at least this is, like, traditional-boarding-school-core, dark academia vibes.
If I let my eyes blur, I could almost believe I’m in an A24 movie and not some Blumhouse horror version of my actual life.
The grass is almost too green today, the trees too full, too fragrant.
It’s almost enough to cover the cloying scent of decay.
As we pass the fountain in front of Biltmore, a singular red bird dips its beak into the water before chirping happily. It’s black around the eyes and throat.
It’s funny how trauma and loss change perspective.
A few months ago this bird wouldn’t elicit a second glance from me.
But now I turn and meet its beady eyes. I watch as the cardinal’s head follows us as we pass.
It’s almost as if it knows what it symbolizes.
It’s almost as if it knows me. I touch the pendant at my throat.
A cardinal sign for a cardinal bird. Gigi is everywhere and nowhere, it seems.
In class we sit in a semicircle and introduce ourselves. I ignore the curious stares. All I can do is hope that whatever rumors are likely spreading about me die down soon. There’s bound to be some new drama cropping up any minute now. Hopefully.
This semester we’re reading The Crucible, which is terribly ironic, but Gigi did always say the universe has her own sense of humor.
Afterward Daisy heads to the Maxwell Building across the way for her statistics class, and Sam and I walk together to the social sciences wing of Rosewood.
We split up when we get to my classroom and promise to meet later for lunch.
Missy stands just outside the doorway, stapling a paper to the bulletin board.
When I get close enough, I see that it’s another missing-person flyer for Fiona.
“So, did you get in trouble?” I ask.
Missy’s lip curls when she looks at me. “What?”
“For the T-shirt cannon? The,” I curve my fingers around my words, “ ‘girl-on-the-milk-carton confetti?’ ”
“Oh,” she mumbles, turning back to the board. “Three weeks’ detention with the head counselor. They think I could use an ‘emotional outlet.’ ”
“Damn.” I lean against the wall. “They should be thanking you.”
Her head snaps to me, coal-lined hazel eyes narrowed.
“Seems like no one’s taking her disappearance seriously but you.” I shrug. “What’s up with that, anyhow? She your girlfriend or something?”
Missy slams the next staple into the cork. “No, she’s not my fucking girlfriend,” she spits. “Not that it’s any of your Jesus-fucking business. Why are you even here?”
I speak through gritted teeth. “If one more person questions my validity here, I swear to god I’m gonna—” I suck my lips into my mouth and bite down, swallowing my words.
Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t look at me again.
Pushing off the wall, I walk into the room and immediately groan. Of course he’s in this class.
Malachi sits in the very back, his absurdly long legs stretched out in front of him, blocking the aisle. I squint at his tattoos as I find a seat. His blazer is draped over the back of his chair, and the cuffs of his white button-down are undone and rolled up to his elbows.
That’s a lot of ink to get over one summer.
Even now in the harsh light of the classroom, I can’t make out exactly what they are.
The swirls twist and turn in a series of lines and loops.
Every time I start to think I recognize a shape, I lose focus, and I swear it’s like they’re moving.
As if he can feel me looking, he slides the sleeves down to his wrists.
His eyes are closed, his head tilted against the wall, but his features tighten as I cross in front of his desk, carefully stepping over him and muttering obscenities as my toes strike the solid metal of his right leg and I almost trip.
His hand shoots out to encircle my wrist, steadying me. He still hasn’t opened his eyes.
I yank the sleeve of my blazer from his grasp and pick a seat in the column along the windows. Dropping my bag, I slide into the desk, pulling out a notebook and pen. I’m doodling swirling eyes and triangles with missing bottoms when a shuffling beside me makes me jump.
“Sorry,” Lucas says, amused. “Didn’t know you were gonna be in this class.”
His dimples crater his cheeks in a tentative smile, and I can’t hide the soft stretch of my own lips.
“Why are you allowed to talk to me now?” I ask, shooting right past the small talk. We’ve known each other too long for that.
“Huh?” he asks, running his fingers through his pitch-black curls.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” I say. “Malachi,” I utter his name like a curse, “clearly hates me. But you’re acting like nothing happened. It’s honestly freaking me out.”
He chews on the end of his pencil, his eyes focused on the folder in his hands like he’s unsure of what to say, but then he laughs, and when he turns to me, his expression is painted with a familiar sense of mischief.
“You know what? He hates me, too.” I fight the urge to glance at Malachi in the background, to see if he can hear us.
“Things have changed, Harper, in ways you’d never understand. Without Lex…” He stares down at his desk as he talks, and I trace the planes of his face with my eyes. “It’s just—he’s different now. I know you’ve noticed. I’ve tried to get through to him, but…”
I look at my fingernails, freshly painted a sparkling cornflower blue, and pray that my curls hide the flush of embarrassment that spreads across my cheeks.
God, I’m selfish. I’ve been so busy hating both of them for ghosting me that I haven’t stopped to think about what it must have been like here, after everything.
How things might have broken so irreparably, not just with me, but between the two of them as well.
He shrugs. “He’s not going to let me in, and I’m not going to be his second anymore.
I don’t live in his shadow. I’m my own person, and I do what I want.
But after the accident—I felt so guilty.
Kai and I fought that morning because I wanted to say bye to you, and he didn’t want me to come along.
Said he had something private he wanted to talk to you about.
But I was like, what the fuck, because you and I hadn’t been able to talk since… well, you know—”
The almost kiss. The fight. My regret.
“—and I wanted to tell you…”
He pauses, and my heart is beating in my throat. When I meet his eyes, they’re clouded over and overflowing with something that causes flutters low in my belly.
“You wanted to tell me…,” I whisper, watching as his tongue runs across his bottom lip.
He shakes his head. “I just—I wanted to tell you I was going to miss you.”
When darkness suddenly shadows his expression, I sit up a little straighter.
“But he didn’t want me to come. So we fought about it.
And then Uncle Jo overheard us and got pissed because Kai promised he would stay away from you.
Told Kai he had to go with the fam to some meeting with these guys from down in Cullowhee, and then they started fighting again, and I didn’t step in to stop it.
Kai was already so messed up from the day before, and I…
I mean, I should have done something, but I didn’t. I ran.”
I suck in a breath, hiding my trembling fingers beneath my thighs.
“While I was running to you, hoping to say goodbye, you were already driving away. An hour later we got the call. His parents were gone, and he and Lexie were going into surgery.”
It’s taking everything in my power to not burst into tears.
Lucas clicks his pen over and over as he speaks.
“For a long time I thought, if only I’d stood up for him, he wouldn’t have been in the car. Lexie would still be alive. We’d still be okay…” His face is splotchy with color and his eyes are red and shining at the mention of his little cousin.
The door to the classroom slams shut, and we jump, our heads whipping toward the sound. Confused, I scan the room and realize Malachi is gone.
My chest is heavy, each breath stinging inside my lungs.
“Shit,” Lucas mutters. “I didn’t think he was paying attention to us. I’m sorry, I should—I’ve gotta…” He throws his stuff in his bookbag as he stands, his chair scraping loudly across the linoleum.
“No, um, of course you should…” I gesture to the front of the room.
He shoots me an apologetic look before standing and flinging his backpack over his shoulder. I stare at the door as it shuts quietly behind him.
All this time I was wracking my brain, trying to figure out why they were so mad at me.
Turns out Lucas was maybe never even mad at me to begin with.
Malachi was clearly angry because I almost kissed Lucas, or maybe because of all the horrible things I said that night?
But he was going to come say goodbye before his dad forbade him. Before everything changed.
Still, I wonder what happened in the time between the accident and whenever Malachi decided that I wasn’t worth knowing anymore.
Maybe it’s time I give up on ever making things right between us. Lucas just sat here and told me more in five minutes than I’ve been able to get out of Malachi for over a year. He’s living proof that we don’t have to stay angry at each other.
The sound of heels clicking down the hall precedes the door swinging open at the front of the classroom, and I sit straighter in my seat as the teacher flies to the smart board and scribbles her name.
She’s tall and white with a dark-blond bob and nineties-thin eyebrows.
She flicks her gaze between me and the two empty seats where Lucas and Malachi were sitting, her face molded into an unreadable expression.
Then she clears her throat to get everyone’s attention.
“Okay class, welcome to the first day of History: A Comparative Study of US Values and the Impact on Local Government.” Ugh, a part of my soul dies.
“My name is Dr. Rogers. Not Mrs. Not Ms. Doctor. I see a couple of familiar faces and a few new ones, but I won’t waste your time with icebreakers.
” The class lets out a collective sigh of relief.
“I trust that over time you will get to know one another. I’m going to pass around the syllabus now, and we can do the attendance and go over what to expect this semester. ”
I raise my hand when my name is called and ignore the seventeen pairs of eyes that turn to face me.
Again. It’s only halfway through the first day of classes, but I’m already so exhausted, there’s a deep throbbing behind each of my eyes.
It’s not long before my lids are fluttering shut against my will.
When the bell rings, I jerk awake from a dreamless twilight sleep and scramble to shove my things into my bag. As I walk past the teacher’s desk, her eyes follow me closely, a disapproving scowl carved into the thin set of her lips.