Chapter 39
MYLES
“So you’re telling me your mom is not only letting you play, but she’s coming to our game too?” Sam says as we walk out of our final class.
I nod.
He tosses his arm around my shoulders. “Your mom is an angel. Will she adopt me?”
“Oh, come on. You’d never give up your mom’s tikka masala.”
He sighs. “True. I can’t live without that, I fear.”
We turn the corner and I notice familiar dark hair ahead of me.
Emma stands at her locker. Her hair is messy like usual, and she’s putting a book in her bag.
In the past I’d turn and walk away. I’d pretend I didn’t see her, but after yesterday I don’t think I can do that. There’s a force trying to drag me closer that I can’t explain.
“I have something I need to do before practice. You run ahead and I’ll catch up,” I say.
“Don’t take too long, otherwise Coach will throw a fit,” he says, walking backwards away from me.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be there soon.”
He gives me a thumbs up and disappears into the crowd.
I walk toward Emma with butterflies in my stomach. My hand shakes at my side.
“Hey,” I say. My voice is too high, and I feel like a little kid all over again.
Her eyes peer over at me briefly. “Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She closes her locker and hikes her backpack on her shoulder. Then turns to walk away.
Anger bubbles in my chest. How can she ignore me after yesterday? I drove hours to find her and bring her home.
I take off after her. I grab her wrist and pull her back toward me. “Talk to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m worried about you.”
She swallows, eyes on her feet. “You don’t need to be.” Then she yanks my hand off and starts walking again.
“No,” I say. I run in front of her and stand in her way. “I’m sick and tired of you pushing me away!”
I don’t know what I expected. I’ve never raised my voice with her before, but her lack of reaction irritates me even more.
She doesn’t look up.
“I just want to talk to you. Is that so wrong?”
She shifts her weight, tugging on the strap of her backpack. “I’m already running late.”
“To where?”
I get the smallest rise out of her. Her eyes meet mine. “Is this an interrogation?"
For a moment, I spot her playfulness. I don’t know why, but my pulse quickens as she looks at me. “It’s just a question.”
“Mrs. Meyers fell yesterday while we were gone, and Mallory and I are going to go visit her,” she says.
That’s actually a good reason to be trying to leave. “Is she okay?”
Emma nods. “Yeah, but she’ll be sore for a while.”
It’s strange having a conversation with her. It should be easy and yet it still feels so forced. She’s talking but not the way she should. She used to light up whenever she told me something. Right now, her light is dim and timid.
Even though she isn’t crying, I can still see the remnants of the girl I saw yesterday. I can’t tear that memory out of my mind. It shouldn’t bother me so much after all this time, but it does.
In some ways she reminds me of myself. I think maybe we aren’t so different after all. I pushed my mom away because I didn’t think she’d understand me, and I was wrong about that. What if I was wrong about Emma too?
I want to be wrong. Maybe she didn’t push me away because she changed. Maybe she pushed me away because she was hurting.
I have to find out the truth. If I don’t, I’ll never stop wondering about what went wrong between us.
“Will you meet me at the tree house at sunset?”
Her brow furrows. “The tree house?”
“Will you?”
Nerves ripple through my arms as I wait for her to answer.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she says, looking past me for a way to escape.
“Please. I promise it won’t take long.”
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll be there.”
The tree house used to seem so magical. When I was little, it wasn’t ten feet off the ground. It was so high in the sky it touched the clouds. It wasn’t made of old wooden boards. It was crafted from the finest wood in the kingdom.
Now, I stand in front of it and that fantasy is worlds away. The paint is chipping off and the shudders on the window are barely hanging on. Moss is growing on the front and new branches are poking through the cracks in the walls.
The rope ladder is lopsided and if I’m being honest, I don’t think it looks very sturdy.
Still, I grab the first rung and climb up through the opening in the floor.
The entire tree house is covered in dust. Old toys are scattered around.
One of Emma’s old dolls lies on the floorboards, faded and matted.
I pick it up and set it on the lid of the toy chest in the corner.
Then I sit in front of the window. The sky is filled with orange and pink hues, streaked through the cotton-candy-like clouds.
After a few minutes, I notice Emma walking around the side of the house. Her hands are in her pockets as she sulks closer.
When she gets to the base of the tree house, she tilts her head up as her finger grazes the rope ladder. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“Don’t tell me you’re scared.”
She scowls, shaking the ladder. “That’s not what I said.”
“Then come up.”
Emma grabs the ladder and it dips when she puts her weight on it. She continues up until she’s nearly at the top. Her head pokes up into the tree house, dark hair spilling over her shoulders.
There’s a ripping noise that fills the air and her eyes grow big. Her hands fly up, holding on to the floorboards. “Myles, help!”
I jump toward her as the ladder falls to the ground in a heap.
She was right. It wasn’t safe.
I grab on to her and pull her up. Her foot catches, and her momentum knocks us both to the ground.
My heart leaps as we’re face-to-face and I can clearly see the long lashes that frame her eyes. My arms are around her as she lies on top of me.
I know my cheeks are burning red. “I got you.”
She scrambles to get up, moving away from me. She tucks her legs up to her chest and pulls her skirt over them. She won’t look at me, but her face is just as red as mine.
Did I just make her blush?
“Looks like we might be here awhile,” I say, staring down at the ladder.
She holds her hands in her lap, fidgeting and unable to sit still. “Great.”
“How is Mrs. Meyers?”
“Good. Well, not—she’s sore, but she’ll be fine.”
I sit up, careful not to be too close. I don’t want to make her any more nervous than I already am. “That’s good.”
“Yup,” she says, nodding.
“Are things better at home?”
She takes a breath and looks out the window toward the house. “We’re figuring it out. Mallory and I talked for a long time last night.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It might sound weird, but knowing she’s been going through a hard time too makes me feel less lonely.”
I know exactly what she means. “That’s not weird at all.”
“She told me what she's been doing,” she whispers. “I saw the homework she’s been copying. Even yours. She feels awful about it, you know. She cried when she showed it to me, but she’s going to talk to Dad and her school counselor about it.”
I’m shocked. Mallory was so afraid to let anyone know about that. She hung my secret above my head as a threat, and I can only imagine she’s been doing that to other people too. “Really? What made her change her mind?”
“I told her I’d go with her.”
That is the Emma I know. She isn’t cruel. She has a kind heart and is loyal. If she’s willing to help her sister like that, I know for a fact she’s still the Emma I grew up with.
“That’s nice of you.”
She shrugs. “She’d do the same for me.”
I’m jealous of her loyalty to Mallory. I can’t help it. That’s how we used to be. We protected each other, and even after all these years I can’t help but miss it.
Emma shifts her weight. “What did you want to talk about.
“Why did you push me away?” I blurt out. The question isn’t going away, and I’m tired of waiting for an answer.
“What do you mean?”
“Back then, why did you push me away?”
Her lips part and her jaw twitches. “Oh.” She rubs her arm. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.”
She shakes her head. “No, it doesn’t.”
“I want to know.”
Emma looks at the opening of the tree house, and part of me wonders if she’s about to try running away instead of answering my question.
She swallows and then she says, “I killed Duke.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “You did.” I knew that part of the story, but it’s what happened after that I don’t understand. How come she didn’t apologize? Why did she ignore and avoid me?
Her eye contact breaks. “So what was I supposed to do? It’s not like I could’ve fixed it.”
“But you didn’t even try.” For some reason this conversation feels familiar as if it’s something I’ve dreamt of. I can’t shake this unexplainable sense of déjà vu.
She bites her lip, refusing to meet my gaze. “I didn’t want to.”
“Why?” I beg.
She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter now.”
My frustration builds, annoyed with how evasive she’s being again. I wouldn’t be asking these questions if it didn’t matter. I’ve spent hours agonizing over these questions. “Why didn’t you try?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s in the past.”
“Why is it so hard to answer that question?” I find myself getting closer. “I would’ve done anything for you. I would’ve forgiven you—”
“I wanted you to hate me,” she says, looking up at me. She says it so quickly I almost miss it. “There. Happy?”
“What?” It’s like she just punched me in the chest.
“I wanted you to hate me because I knew I’d never be good enough for you.”
My blood runs cold, freezing over and halting any flow to my heart. How could she think that? She was Emma. She was the only person I can honestly say I was close to growing up. Did she really think one mistake would erase everything we had?
“How could you think that?”
“Because it’s true. I hurt you.”
“Pushing me away hurt me more,” I say. It flows right off my tongue like I’ve been waiting to say it forever. It was locked and loaded, firing at the first opportunity.