41. Fragments
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
FRAGMENTS
Ellie
For one blinding instant, caught in the camera’s flash, we look like every other family. Then the light fades and so does the illusion.
Mom is the first to step away.
Dad follows.
Lucy is already organizing another picture, her voice loud and oblivious. Grandpa tells me I’m the best Queen of Hearts he’s ever seen, even though I know for a fact he’s never seen another in his life. Sloane insists she deserves backstage passes when I become famous.
Everyone laughs. And that’s when I see her.
She’s standing near the back doors of the auditorium, far enough away that most people wouldn’t notice, but close enough that I don’t miss her.
Brooke.
Since her sudden departure from rehearsals, something has felt... off.
She’s dressed casually, almost deliberately forgettable. Half-hidden behind a cluster of parents, watching instead of celebrating. She isn’t congratulating cast members. She isn’t talking to anyone.
She’s just... watching.
I remember the day she disappeared. The awkward explanations. Mrs. Miller stumbling over her words.
A strange knot forms in my stomach.
Then Sloane notices her. The smile disappears from her face so quickly it’s like someone flipped a switch. Her entire body stiffens. She watches Brooke for several seconds before quietly handing Lucy her phone.
“I’m going to the restroom.”
Lucy barely looks up. Nobody else notices, but I do. Without thinking, I follow. The voices from the cast party fade behind me as I slip into the hallway.
I almost call out to Sloane before I hear her voice.
“You’re incredibly brave... or incredibly stupid coming here.”
My feet root to the floor. I edge closer until I can just see them around the corner.
Brooke lets out a tired sigh. “I’m leaving.”
“Leave faster.” The sharpness in Sloane’s voice makes my pulse jump.
I’ve never heard her sound like that. Ever.
“You know nothing about me,” Brooke says.
Sloane laughs. It’s cold and not amused. “I know enough.”
Enough about what? I inch closer.
Sloane folds her arms. “Stay away from Ethan and Claire... and most importantly, Ellie. You should never have come here tonight.”
My breath catches.
Why would Brooke need to stay away from us?
From me?
The hallway is noticeably cooler than the auditorium. I press myself flat against the wall, my breath held tight, trying to stay hidden.
“I’ve been trying,” Brooke says quietly.
“Not hard enough if you’re standing here.”
What aren’t they telling me?
Then Brooke whispers, “I’m sorry. I never should have gotten involved with Ethan.”
The words don’t make sense, disconnected from everything I know.
With Ethan.
My dad.
No.
That isn’t—
My mind races backward.
My vision narrows and the pieces fall into place. My fingers tighten around the bouquet. The flowers crumple, and thorns prick my palm. And something inside me snaps.
I step around the corner startling both women. Sloane’s face loses all color.
“What did you just say?” I ask, my voice louder than I mean it to be.
I take another step forward. “What-did-you-just-say?” I yell, the words bouncing off the hard surfaces of the hallway.
“Ellie—” Brooke begins.
“No!” The word cracks through the hallway like a whip. I point at Brooke. “You.”
She starts to cry, but I don’t care. Not even a little.
“Ellie, please—”
“You—and my dad?” I scream.
Conversation in the auditorium falters, then dies. I hear a collective intake of breath. But I don’t stop. “Answer me!”
Her face crumbles. Good. I want her hurting. I want someone beside me to hurt.
“Ellie,” she pleads.
“Don’t.”
“Ellie, I’m so sorry.”
Her apology makes me furious. “Sorry?” The word comes out as a scream tearing out of me.
Quick, urgent footsteps sound behind me. I step back, bumping into Mom. Her radiant smile from earlier gone, replaced by a mask of confusion. Dad is right behind her, his brow furrowed.
“Ellie?” Mom asks.
Brooke keeps her head down and avoids looking at anyone. I turn to my dad, my body trembling. He looks frozen in a state of shock.
“Please tell me she’s lying.”
His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“Tell me she’s lying!” I repeat louder, the words cracking.
Mom turns toward him, each movement arriving a half-second late, like her body is waiting for instructions that keep getting lost.
I look at my dad, then back at Brooke.
“I hate all of you.”
My eyes sting. I can’t stay here. I drop the flowers that are still in my hand and run. The door slams behind me with a resounding bang.