Chapter 18
EMMA
I’m the reason Myles got his first black eye.
It was back when I was in seventh grade, he was in eighth. We were on the school playground after lunch playing four square. It was a friendly game. Myles and I had been in at for a while, but another boy had been holding on to the serving position since the start of the game.
His name was Ricky, and he was tall and very focused while the rest of us skipped around and laughed in between serves.
The ball came into Myles’s square, and when he hit it, the ball bounced into Ricky’s square so quickly he wasn’t able to stop it from bouncing a second time.
His face turned bright red. “That wasn’t fair!”
It was completely fair. All Myles did was play the game. He didn’t pull out any tricks or cheat. Myles wasn’t the type to do anything wrong, and he hated making people upset. He was calm and quiet. I don’t think there was a rough bone in his body at the time.
Ricky got right up into Myles’s face and pushed him to the ground.
Myles winced as his hands scraped against the pavement and his glasses fell.
“Hey!” I screamed, running toward them.
Myles jumped to his feet and blocked me from crashing into the boy. I pushed forward, trying to get around him and pummel that boy to the ground for what he did, but Myles wouldn’t let me by.
He turned to me. His curls were a mess and there were scuffs on his pants. “It’s fine. I’m not hurt.”
My jaw dropped. “You can’t let him get away with that.” Myles and I had always been so different. I was impulsive, and he was the type to sit and think of a rational way to solve everything.
“Just let it go and help me find my glasses.”
The boy hooked the glasses underneath his shoe and dug his heel into the lenses, cracking the glass.
“Oops,” he said with a curl of a smirk on his lips.
My insides might as well have been a volcano and my blood lava. I stormed forward, yelling at the top of my lungs, ran up to that boy, and shoved him. “Take that, you eccentric brat!”
One of the teachers blew a whistle and started jogging toward us.
“Hey!” Ricky yelled, grabbing me with two rough hands.
In an instant, Myles charged and ripped us apart, knocking Ricky to the ground. Myles pushed him so hard he fell on top of him, gripping the collar of his shirt. “Don’t touch her!”
My heart beat a million miles a second because Myles was always so patient, but here he was fighting in the middle of the playground.
Ricky managed to roll over, pinning Myles to the ground, and punched him dead center in the eye.
The whistle blew again, sending an awful high-pitched screech through the air. “Break it up, boys!” the teacher yelled.
Despite my exemplary testimony to prove Myles’s innocence, he still managed to get detention.
“Why did you do that?” I asked him later that day after we’d gone home and were lying on the grass outside his house. The warm sun beat down on us, turning our cheeks pink. “I could’ve handled it.”
“I know,” he said. “But just because you can, doesn't mean you have to.”
He closed his eyes and I couldn’t help but notice the swollen purple skin below his brow. My heart raged all over again. “Well, don’t do it again.”
“And why not?”
I rolled over and propped my head up on my arm, staring inches away from his face. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
His eyes opened, and he stared back with the soft expression I was so used to. But then he did something unexpected. He slowly reached over and tucked a lock of my wild hair behind my ear.
My heart exploded, fireworks down my back.
He was always so reserved. I was the one who usually grabbed his hand or attacked him with hugs. He never turned away, but this time he was initiating touch.
His finger lingered, and he came closer.
I froze, and for a brief moment I thought he was going to kiss me.
His face flushed as he whispered, “I’d rather be hurt than see you hurt.”
My mouth dried up in an instant, and my heart raced. There was something so confusing about him in that moment. The same boy who was scared of heights and spiders and had gone out of his way to avoid confrontation our whole childhood was brave for me.
I wanted him to dip even closer, to prove this wasn’t in my head, but then he pulled away.
I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t understand why I was nervous all of a sudden or why he was acting weird. Did he like me? If he liked me, would it change things between us?
I loved him since the first time I saw him in his silly Bermuda shorts, but the possibility of him liking me back made my head spin.
My stomach fluttered, and I sat straight up.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I shook my head as I gulped. “Nothing.” But that was obviously a lie, and I was positive I couldn’t tell him about it.
Not when I couldn’t describe what was happening.
For the first time, I was scared to tell him how I felt.
How could I tell him he made my heart race?
What did that mean? Would it embarrass him?
I jumped up. “I have to go.”
“Wait!” he yelled, but I was already sprinting across the lawn. I was determined to ignore the weird butterflies swirling around my stomach.
Those feelings are hard to ignore, though, and nobody told me they’d grow so fast. Nobody told me I’d get self-conscious about how my clothes fit or how I’d suddenly be afraid to eat in front of him.
I wasn’t warned that I’d be so insecure when he went off to high school with girls who were all prettier than I was.
Girls who knew how to do their makeup and hair.
Sometimes it was easier to not be around him because I didn’t know how to act anymore.
We walk toward Myles’s car—an older silver sedan with black rimmed tires. We stay low, crouching down as much as possible to stay out of view of his living room window. I can’t see anyone, but I’m not about to take any chances.
“You’re going to have to push the car,” he says.
“What?”
“I’m going to put it in neutral. That way we can get it down the driveway before we start the engine. I don’t want my mom to hear.”
“Oh. That makes sense,” I say, standing in front of his car.
He goes around to the driver’s side and gets in. I wait for him to signal that he’s ready, and then I push the car.
It starts to roll back and I walk with it all the way down the driveway and around the corner. When it’s far enough down the road, Myles gestures for me to get in.
I buckle and sit quietly, rubbing my knuckles.
He starts the engine, and that’s the only sound between us.
Neither one of us speaks. I know he’s furious with me, which is fine because I don’t want to listen to him complain anyway.
All I need him to do is get as far from Mallory as possible, and I’ll be able to stop the past from repeating itself.
This is already progress. Myles is about to drive four hours away from her.
It’s odd being next to him again after so long.
In some ways he hasn’t changed at all—like how he slouches slightly when he sits or how he’s always tapping his fingers—but at the same time he’s a stranger.
His voice is lower, unfamiliar. He doesn’t wear glasses anymore because now he prefers his contacts, and he smells like he’s discovered Old Spice.
I can’t help but look over at him, trying to figure out what’s going through his mind.
His jaw is tight and his eyes are focused on the road like they’re glued to it.
When we were younger, I used to be proud of how I could get him to open up.
He wasn’t very talkative, but I knew how to get him to rant over the silliest things.
I’d purposely misquote a line from a TV show he liked or casually asked him a question about baseball just because I wanted to hear his voice.
A lump grows in the back of my throat as I push down those memories. I’m not supposed to be thinking about the old Myles. He doesn’t exist anymore. The only person left is the boy who kills my sister. Even if I stop him, it doesn’t change what I know he’s capable of doing. He’s a monster.
The night is black, making the stars stand out. Each one sparkles overhead like little lights strung together, similar to the ones I hung up in my tree house when I was a kid.
I roll the window down to get a better look. I rest my arms on the opening, letting my hair blow in every direction.
For a moment I forget how miserable I am. I listen to the howl of the wind and watch the trees zoom by a million miles a minute.
The window starts to roll up and I jerk away. “Hey!”
Myles glares at me through the corner of his eye. “Don’t make me put the child lock on.”
I grunt, falling back into the seat, and whisper, “I forgot you’re no fun.”
His jaw twitches. “At least I’m not annoying.”
I shouldn't care what he thinks of me anymore, but that stings. He’s never called me annoying before. He used to like how different I was.
I don’t know why it matters what he thinks of me. It’s not like it’ll change how I feel about him.
Once we get to Lancaster, I’ll figure out how to keep him there even if I have to slash his tires or throw away his keys. If we’re four hours away from home, there’s no way he’ll be able to do anything to Mallory.
“Well, the Myles I knew would never steal test answers.”
“The Myles you knew doesn't exist anymore.”
That’s true.
“I didn’t want to,” he mumbles.
My heart burns. He didn’t want to? He has free will, doesn’t he? He doesn’t have to do anything. Is that the same logic he used when he pushed Mallory over the bridge?
I roll my eyes and slump more in my seat. “Yeah, right. You probably do stuff like that all the time.”
His grip tightens on the steering wheel, and his back tenses up. “Just be quiet.”
“Excuse me?”
“I agreed to drive. I didn’t agree to talk.”
This boy. I hate him so much. I don’t want to talk to him anyway.
I rest my head on the seat and watch the dark trees pass. Despite my attempts to stay awake, at some point my tired eyes close.