Chapter 14
I wait, hunched in my chair. No response.
I go back to the game, but my mind is no longer in it.
We find new group members and run more instances.
I tell myself Ash is just busy. His mom asked him to wash the dishes, or go with her to the store.
Around ten, I try to call him, something I never do if I can help it, but he doesn’t pick up then either.
I don’t sleep that night. A heavy feeling sits on my chest while I lie in bed; my thoughts ping-pong from one disaster to the next, while I futilely try to reel them back in with rational explanations. Around three in the morning, I finally pinpoint what this feeling is: dread.
The next day is the first in weeks I’ve wanted to go to school.
I’m out the door early, while Mom is still eating her breakfast. Her shocked questions follow me out the door.
At school, I drive past Ash’s parking spot, but his car isn’t there yet.
I park in my own, then walk back to his and wait.
Other students glance at me as they pass by.
I ignore them. I have to focus on my breathing, because when I don’t, it gets short and shallow and my vision starts to tunnel.
When the first bell rings and he’s still not there, I call him.
“Hey, Evie,” he says.
“You picked up.” All the breath gets knocked out of me at the sound of his voice. I squat down in his parking spot, my legs suddenly jelly. “Where are you?”
“Pulling in to school. Why?”
I push myself back up and look toward the street. There’s his storm-green Toyota turning into the lot. I hang up and get out of the way as he parks.
“What happened last night?” I ask as he gets out. “You left the game suddenly and didn’t text me back.”
He fishes his bag out of the back seat. “Yeah. Sorry. I got distracted and didn’t check my phone again.”
He sounds too calm. I grab him, turn him toward me, and look into his face. His pupils are slightly dilated. “Did you take an edible this morning?”
“Only half of one.” He edges past me and starts toward the building. I hurry after him.
“What did your mom want to talk to you about last night?”
He shakes his head. Chews his lip. “My grades.”
It’s bullshit, but I don’t push him. Since the day we made out in his bedroom, I’ve tried not to ask too much of him.
We eat lunch together at school. We play CoH at the same times and always group up.
We have not defined what our relationship is.
For me, it feels like a glass ornament, perfect and beautiful, hanging by a shimmering silver thread.
Anything could snap that thread, and the ornament will fall and shatter.
We pass through the front doors to mostly empty hallways; everyone else is already in class.
“I’ll see you later,” he says, splitting off from me at the first fork in the hallway. He has calculus; I have chemistry.
“At lunch?”
“Sure.”
I watch him walk away, head lowered. My breath comes fast. I can’t move. He disappears around a corner, but it’s as if I can still see him there, very far away from me. Why won’t he tell me what’s wrong? Did I do something? Did he?
“Evie?”
I jump, dropping my backpack. The assistant principal, Mrs. Maddox, stands behind me, hands held out.
“Oh, no! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.” I speak because I have to; I have to get her away from here, away from me. She’s going to write me up for loitering in the hallways or being late to class. “Sorry. I was heading to first period.”
“Before you go, I want to ask you something.” She gives me a small smile.
“You’re not in trouble, I promise. You may have heard that we’re having a school assembly soon.
Since Alissa’s passing, we’ve had a lot of students visit the counseling office with concerning feelings.
We want to address those at the assembly and also memorialize Alissa.
Would you like to take part in the assembly?
You could say something, if you like, and you could either write it yourself or we could write it for you.
Or if you don’t want to talk, you could help with the memorial.
“There’s no pressure, of course. You can say no. We know that you and Alissa were very close, so we wanted to give you the option.”
“I . . . uh . . . sure.” I say it before I can stop myself. It seems my rebellion with Mr. Cox over my book was all the rebellion I had in me; a lifetime of agreeing to what adults ask me to do is a habit hard to break. Especially when I know it’s something that will be expected of me.
“Great. I’ll talk to your mom about it, and I’ll get more details for you. If you want to write up something yourself to say, we’ll have to approve it first, but be thinking about it. Do you need a late slip?”
Mrs. Maddox carries them around in her pockets. I hurry away from her, my mind buzzing with Ash and assemblies and things I’m supposed to know how to say.
My chemistry teacher is annoyed when I walk in, but can’t do anything thanks to the late slip.
I hold my head in my hands for fifty minutes, fanning my hair around myself so I can peek at my phone, but the only notifications I get are from the CoH Discord.
Nothing from Ash. When the bell finally rings, I’m the first one out the door, as if getting to second period faster will somehow make lunch come sooner.
Waiting is torture. I don’t bother trying to join in on conversations with my track teammates, or walk with them between classes.
I can’t focus on what the teachers say. When we’re finally, mercifully released from fourth period, I post up outside the cafeteria.
A river of students streams past me. Ash is taller than a lot of them, so I should be able to see him.
It’s pizza day; the smell of grease and pepperoni makes me sick.
Am I supposed to stand in front of all of these people at a school assembly? Even if I don’t speak, how am I going to be able to stand there and take their stares? Would Alissa do it for me?
Someone taps me on the shoulder. It’s Haley. Our track lunch group waits with her.
“We’re going to the courtyard,” she says. “Do you want to come?”
“I need to talk to someone,” I say. “Go without me.”
Haley’s brow furrows. She knows something is wrong.
“She’s waiting for Whitaker,” Aiden calls from behind her. She glances back, but only for a second. When she turns to me, she blocks Aiden and lowers her voice.
“Is everything okay?”
“Fine.” Over her shoulder, I can see Aiden whispering to the others. One of the other boys laughs, but most of them give Aiden uncomfortable looks.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. For real, Haley, go to lunch.”
“Haley, let’s go,” Aiden says, getting louder, attracting attention. “If she wants to mack on her boyfriend at lunch, let her.”
My hands tighten on the straps of my backpack.
They don’t know that anything happened between Ash and me, but now that we’ve spent time together at school and I walked out of church with him after his blowup and he followed me into the stands at the track meet, rumors have spread.
I imagine swinging my bag off my shoulders and into Aiden’s head.
Haley still doesn’t move. “Screw them, Evie. I can sit with you today. We can find a table in the corner. Unless you really do want to be alone.”
It’s her sincerity that swings the pendulum of my emotions back into gratitude.
No one told her to do this. She’s not performing for anyone.
She can tell that I’m upset and she’s trying to be nice.
That’s all. I rub the heel of my hand across my sternum, attempting to ease out the tightness that has been balled up there all day.
Haley’s always been nice, always kept what we talked about between us.
“Actually, I would like that—” I start.
Then Aiden shouts, for everyone nearby to hear, “Hey, Evie, what’s the pillow talk like? ‘Wow, wish your sister was still here, this would be even better—’”
One two three. I am past Haley, flying at Aiden.
I throw my backpack straight at his chest, forcing him to drop his lunch tray.
Four five six. I launch myself at him, shoving him to the ground.
I am not a creature of carefully placed punches and kicks.
I sit on his stomach, pin down his arms, and grab his face.
My fingernails dig into the freckly skin of his cheeks.
My other hand yanks his hair as hard as I can.
I get right up on him. Fury boils through me, so powerful he can’t throw me off, even though he is stronger than I am.
I am tired of him. I am tired of pretending I’m not capable of great violence toward people who hurt me.
“What did you fucking say, Aiden? I didn’t hear you. Say it again!”
“Get off!”
Blood blooms around my fingertips. I push his head into the floor as hard as I can. “Fucking say it!”
Arms loop under mine and around my stomach, pulling me off.
I call him a piece of shit, a coward, any horrible name I can think of.
Three of the other boys from track hold me to keep me from going after him again.
We have an audience at the cafeteria doors, and teachers have run into the hallway.
One of them escorts me to the front office.
Another helps Aiden off the floor. He’s red-faced, bloody, tears in his eyes.
“Trying not to cry, brave boy?” I yell at him over my shoulder. “I hope those cuts scar!”