Chapter 8
Then
The surprise would be ruined if Frances didn’t get the hell out here soon. It had been over forty minutes since the last bell rang and a good fifteen, at least, since the last student straggled out.
What was taking her so long? Arms aching, I shifted my weight to my other foot. It was fine. It would be worth it, in the end.
After last night, I’d decided enough was enough. It was up to me to fix things between us. She didn’t inherit Ruth’s sharp tongue, but Frances was as stubborn as our aunt. There was no reasoning with her when she was angry.
I figured a few days would cool things off, she’d come to her senses, then off to her fancy school she’d go, with me following after graduation. We’d settle into our shiny new roles in our shiny new lives, destined to become the shiny new women I knew we were meant to be.
But last night had been a wake-up call, a slap in the face. The faint snores drifting up from her bed after I’d climbed into my bunk had initially put me at ease. We couldn’t be that out of whack if she was so unbothered.
I’d let myself believe this was no different from any other dumb fight. Like when I’d forgotten to pick her up from the library, and she’d been stranded once it closed. She’d froze me out for a week after, but now we laughed about it.
That’s where I’d thought we were now, in the freeze before the thaw. I’d lain in bed, imagining the heart-to-heart we’d finally have the next morning.
Until I jolted awake hours later—wake up she’s gone she’s gone—aware that something was off. I whispered, “Sister?” She didn’t answer.
I’d slid from my bunk to check first her bed.
Empty. Then I tiptoed through our silent house.
She was nowhere to be found. Not in the bathroom.
Nor the kitchen. Not outside on the porch.
My rule-loving sister had snuck out, and even now I had no idea where she’d gone.
Only those words Frances had yelled at me over the dinner table had kept me from waking up Ruth.
You should work harder on your own life and quit trying to control mine.
It was idiotic that Frances was even considering not going to the Tennessee Math her blond hair slipping from the ponytail, her favorite baggy T-shirt—the one that read WITHOUT GEOMETRY, LIFE IS POINTLESS! across the chest—hanging to the middle of her thighs, her pale cheeks flushed.
It was all so normal.
Except for one thing.
My stomach twisted harder than it ever had.
No.
Her toothpick arms were around my English teacher’s neck, as his grown-man lips found hers. It was only a peck, but the familiarity between them, the lingering look and trailing fingers, said this wasn’t their first kiss. And even if it was? It still wasn’t okay.
The aching pressure behind my ribs grew until it felt alive, like something with tentacles trying to burst free. I worked for each breath.
My sister…my little sister. My baby bird. This couldn’t happen.
I ducked away from the door, pressing my back against the wall.
What should I do?
Burst in there? Scream? Tell Mr. Fortenberry to back the fuck off?
Vice Principal Williams! I’d seen him earlier in the parking lot. Maybe he was still there.
No, I remembered. No, he drove off in his hatchback.
Besides. There was something I understood without needing to be told. Something I knew as if it were carved in my bones.
Without proof, anything I said wouldn’t stand a chance against the word of Puddle Creek High’s favorite teacher.
He was handsome and charming and coached girl’s JV softball and was the teacher in charge of the Shakespeare Club.
And though I had great grades and had never been in any real trouble since fighting in middle school, I was a Robbins woman.
A loner with a bad reputation. My mama was in prison for murder.
The gossip surrounding my family was never-ending.
For fuck’s sake, my nickname was Witchy Milly.
And Frances? She was a shy sophomore, smaller and a full year younger than all her classmates, since she’d skipped third grade. People would crucify her if word got out.
Oh God. She could lose her place at the Tennessee Math & Science School.
A scandal could—no, would—ruin everything. Even if it was unequivocally not her fault.
I peeked back through the window. Mr. Fortenberry cupped Frances’s cheek, their foreheads pressed together. She looked so young.
She was so young.
Bile burned the back of my throat. I turned and sprinted.
I rounded the corner, screeching to a stop to bend over a trash can.
When there was nothing left in my stomach, I spit and wiped my mouth, then sucked in deep breaths, trying to stave off the impending panic attack.
Emotions welled until the physical ache was almost too much.
It felt like that place inside of me—the internal door, the pit—trying to rattle open and pour out.
I sucked in another shaky breath and leaned against the wall, determined not to cry.
Not to lose authority over myself. Control control control.
I had to think.
If we told, I knew exactly how things would go.
My own mama had tried to leave her abuser, and there was no help to be found. When she’d taken matters into her own hands, they had locked her away.
Because society doesn’t care about women.
Especially not teen girls.