Page 10

Dallas

“I haven’t made one of these in a long time,” Evie says as she loops the green strand of embroidery thread around the blue and purple ones.

She could’ve fooled me. Her friendship bracelet looks damn near perfect while mine is peppered with knots and holes. But that’s usually how it goes; Evie is good at everything. Well, mostly everything. She kind of sucks at video games.

“I told Colson I’d make him one,” my tone turns sour, “but I don’t think I’m going to anymore.”

“Why not?” Evie asks, furrowing her brow.

“He took my air pods and didn’t even ask,” I scowl. “They’re mine. I don’t go around taking his stuff. Like he has anything I want anyway,” I mutter with disdain. “I wish he would’ve wrecked his car last Saturday.”

I know he was going to some guy’s house in Hellbranch, where they race sometimes. And maybe that’s why I can’t get back at Colson whenever he takes my stuff; the only possession he really cares about is his car and I can’t even drive.

“Don’t say that,” Evie shakes her head, “you don’t want anything to happen to him.”

She’s right, I don’t actually want anything bad to happen to Colson, but I’m tired of him acting like I’m his lame little sister and then five minutes later asking to borrow something—or just straight up taking it. He’s such a douchebag.

“Fine,” I concede. “Besides, I wouldn’t have wanted you to crash if you were riding with him.”

She casts me a sideways glance. “Thanks, but I wasn’t riding with him. I was actually supposed to ride with the guy he was racing.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Evie doesn’t respond at first, just continues knotting her thread, twisting it in and out of her fingertips with her royal blue acrylic nails.

“Col doesn’t like him,” she finally says. “He was really upset when he found out I was going to ride with him, so I didn’t.”

“You didn’t ride with this guy just because Colson doesn’t like him?” I shriek, “But what if he was cute? He probably was cute, wasn’t he? I can’t believe you. I would’ve told Colson to kick rocks!” Now I’m just talking to myself. “What did he do? Hold you hostage?”

Evie goes quiet again, concentrating on the purple thread she’s knotting across the other strands.

“He asked nicely,” she finally says while the corner of her mouth twitches with amusement.

“Yeah, OK…” I scoff with a doubtful look. “He asks you to do things but just takes my shit. Probably because he likes you more than me, anyway.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Evie counters, “Col and I are the same age, so it’s different. He’s also been my best friend since I met you all.”

I put my head down, trying to quell the surge of jealousy threatening to ruin my afternoon. It’s not fair, and Evie can see it splashed across my face.

“You’re my sister, Dal,” she says softly, “and there are still some things I can tell you that I don’t tell Colson.”

“Like what?” I mutter with a roll of my eyes.

“Like I’m going to Vancouver this summer to visit a guy.”

I perk up, my interest suddenly piqued. “What guy?”

“Just a friend,” she grins, “but he’s the first boy I ever kissed. My parents wouldn’t let me go by myself until I turned 18. But I haven’t told Col about him,” she adds with a side-eye.

My eyes round with excitement, eating up this new secret that no one else knows but me.

“Why doesn’t Colson know about him?”

“It’s—” Evie hesitates, “it’s kind of hard to explain. I will, eventually. So, anyway, what color are you making Col’s bracelet?” she asks.

“He just said to make it the same as yours. Boring… ” I sigh.

“I know he acts like a psycho, Dal,” she finally says, “and he really shouldn’t, but he’ll protect you and fight for you like no one else will.”

“Does he protect you,” I ask dubiously, “from guys like the one you were supposed to ride with?”

Evie doesn’t answer at first, but then gives a faint smile as she continues knotting her thread.

“He tries to.”

●●●

The glass in the picture frame is immaculate. I’ve been wiping it down for about 20 minutes. The miniscule amount of dust collected on it seemed sacrilegious. Finally, I set the photo back inside and clamp the back of the frame on. It’s a selfie I took of Evie, Colson, and I on the front steps of our house. And about two months after I took it, Evie was dead.

This is probably the cleanest my bedroom has ever been. At no other time have I felt the need to methodically go through my room and clean and organize every single object, from refolding my jeans in my closet to dusting and straightening every piece of electronic equipment on my desk and shelves.

Dusting. What the hell is wrong with me?

I need constant distraction, that’s what. The amount of awkwardness that washed over me when I saw Shelby, Carter, Maddie, and Austin walking toward me at Evie’s funeral was enough to make me want to crawl in a hole. I know what Evie would say.

At least they were there…

It wasn’t devastatingly awkward, but it was obvious they all knew what happened in Web Design the other day. I hate forced conversations, probably because I never have any. Normally, I can talk to anyone, no problem. But ever since Colson found Evie, my ability to talk and to know what to say has turned to complete shit. Now I don’t want to say anything, a problem Colson doesn’t seem to have, evident from his violent outburst right next to Evie’s grave.

There was yelling, and when I looked down the hill, Colson was rolling around on the ground with another guy while Scott and a bunch of his friends tried to pull them apart. Except for Aiden. He was standing next to Sydney the entire time even though she looks like she hates him.

At least the whole soccer team was there to break up the fight in the cemetery. Mom and Scott tried getting me into soccer like Colson, but the writing was on the wall. I was fast, but I was small, and those girls would’ve killed me. So, I run. I was on the track team in middle school and, to my utter surprise, I made the team at DRHS.

I’m not a star. I like the sport, but it’s one where it’s easy to get lost in the crowd. I stick with my people, have fun, try to beat my times, and that’s that. It’s not complicated, which is how I like it. But not anymore. Now, I can’t bring myself to set foot on the track. At least no one expects much from a freshman, and the season is all but over since I’m not in any of the tournaments. Just as well.

There’s a knock at my door and I reply with a robotic “Come in.”

Colson steps inside and shuts it behind him. Without a word, he strolls over to my bed and collapses onto the edge, resting his elbows on his knees. When I look down at his hands, two fingers on his right hand are splinted together. There’s also an abrasion on the underside of his jaw and a bruise forming on his temple, but otherwise no visible cuts. I’m shocked, considering how much blood there was. And now I realize it was the other guy’s blood all over everyone. Gross.

“Are you OK?” I ask, adjusting the photo frames on my shelf fractions of an inch.

Colson drags his hands up and down his face. “Yeah,” he replies, blinking hard, “I have to talk to you about something.”

“OK,” I reluctantly let my fingers slide off the shelf instead of continuing my compulsive tidying. I round the end of the bed and sit down on the corner next to him, drawing my knee up to my chest. “What’s up?”

Colson gazes up at my white ceiling that pops against the bubblegum pink walls. Then he glances to the side, toward the head of my bed, and pauses. Evie’s stuffed black dog lays next to my own stuffed sock monkey I’ve had since I was a baby, and I know he recognizes it.

He lingers on it for a few moments, but says nothing before turning his attention back to me. “There was a guy at Evie’s funeral today.”

“You mean the one you pummeled in the cemetery?” I ask before he can finish.

He nods and then reaches into his pocket for his phone. “You need to know who he is,” he says as he starts swiping.

I let out a weary breath. “Why? Isn’t he just some dude who pissed you off, just like every other one?” Sometimes he forgets that I’ve known him for 15 years and I’ve seen all this play out before.

“It’s not like that, Dally.”

“Quit calling me Dally!” I snap.

If he wants to demand something of me, he could stop calling me the one stupid nickname he’s used for years, even going so far as to getting his friends to call me that, no matter how much I hate it.

And then when Colson raises his head, a sudden wave of guilt washes over me. He’s a giant compared to me and now I feel bad because I snapped at him for calling me some dumb nickname. God, what’s wrong with me?

“Colson, I’m not like you, OK?” I sigh. “I’m not going to be a prick to someone just because you don’t like them, especially to some guy I don’t even know and I’ve never seen before.”

“You need to know who he is,” Colson declares, this time with a much sharper tone.

And just like that, the irritation returns. “Like Evie?” I snarl. “Is this the same guy you told her to stay away from just because you don’t like him?” As soon as I say it, Colson locks in on me, his expression morphing into a mixture of shock and fury, but for some reason I don’t take the hint and shut up. “You don’t get to tell everyone what to do just because everyone’s scared of you. I’m not scared of you!”

I start to get up, but Colson grabs the back of my t-shirt and I let out a shriek as he yanks me back onto his lap. My heart starts racing, an image of my dark bedroom flashing through my mind. For a moment, I think he’s going to hoist me in the air and drag me across the room again. But he doesn’t.

“You should be scared,” he growls in my ear, “but not of me.” Colson digs his fingers into my arm and doesn’t even bat an eye while his broken fingers clutch me against his chest. Then he shoves his phone in my face. “ This is who you need to be scared of.”

I squint at the bright backlight and look away, shaking my head frantically. I don’t want to see whatever he’s trying to show me. I don’t want to have any more nightmares in addition to the ones I already have about Evie’s faceless murderer or my own brother who I have to lock out of my room at night.

“I’m not kidding with you, Dallas,” he gives me a jerk, making me yelp, “look at it!”

I swivel my head forward again, and for an instant, I see a fuzzy figure—a guy dressed in a soccer uniform, much like what Colson wears, but red instead of blue. He has black hair that falls halfway over dark piercing eyes, and full lips fixed into a menacing smirk as he glares at the camera. My eyes start watering, blurring my vision, and I begin to focus on the top edge of his phone, refusing to look at the picture anymore.

“You see his face?” Colson asks. “His name is Bowen Garrison— Bowen Garrison, ” he snarls into my ear. “Take a good fucking look at this picture, Dallas, because this is who killed Evie. And he’s going to come after you, too. He’s not going to stop.”

I’m shaking beneath his grip, still unable to bring myself to face what’s in front of me.

“ See him? ” Colson barks, giving me another shake. “Stay away from him. His family will cover for him, the police will cover for him, and he’ll never see the inside of a courtroom. Do you understand? ”

I nod, my face contorting while tears flood my eyes. I just want him to let go of me and stop talking about this. And to my surprise, it seems to satisfy him. Colson’s arm drops and he loosens his grip around my shoulder. I push off of him and stagger away, rubbing my eyes as I try to pull myself back together. But before I can turn back around, I hear my door slam and Colson is gone.

Standing in the middle of my room, I have no idea what to do. More tears threaten to spill down my face, and I’m shaking too bad to go back to whatever the hell I was doing before Colson strolled in here. I pace back and forth a few times before twisting the lock on my door handle and collapsing back onto the edge of my bed.

I hear the faint sound of Colson’s bass blasting from his stereo and then his engine rev. The sounds get fainter and fainter until they disappear altogether. I sit in silence for what seems like an hour until I finally find the wherewithal to reach for my phone. Then I pause, not knowing what to even do. But, as if on instinct, my thumb is swiping through my contacts and before I know it, I’m holding my phone to my ear.

It rings four times before a vaguely familiar voice answers. “Hello?”

“Hi, um…Alex?” I immediately feel like an idiot.

Who just calls up their older brother’s friend out of nowhere? But he’s the only person I feel like I can even remotely talk to about this right now. If I called Shelby, she’d freak out about what Colson said, and then I’d freak out even more.

But Alex knows Colson…

“Who’s this?” he deadpans.

Jesus fucking Christ, he doesn’t even have my number in his phone. Oh, yeah, he only put his number in mine…

“It’s—it’s Dallas,” I croak, clenching my hand in my lap to stop it from shaking, “I…um…” What the hell am I even saying?

“Hey!” To my relief, his tone softens when he realizes it’s me. “What’s up?”

“Um,” I feel myself losing it, “I just…” my heart starts beating faster, like the walls are closing in, “Can you come over?” I blurt out, my filter having completely left the chat.

After a few seconds of silence, I hear Alex’s voice again, this time deeper and filled with concern. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my breathing. “Not really,” I admit.

“Where are you?”

“At my house,” I mumble.

Alex doesn’t miss a beat. “Where are your parents?”

Where are they? It takes me a few seconds to remember. “Out with family…they were in town, for the funeral…” I trail off. That sounds right...I think.

“Want me to find Col?”

I cringe when he says Colson’s name, not wanting to elaborate. Of course, Alex would ask that.

“ No! ” I say much louder than I mean to. “I mean,” I swallow hard, grinding through the next few words, “can you just come?” I ask impatiently, “I don’t know where he is, but please don’t tell him you’re coming here.”

There’s silence except for white noise from wherever Alex is, and the longer he hesitates, the more I start to notice the silence around me. The house is quiet. It’s heavy, still, and eerie. Evie’s door remains shut since the night Colson freaked out and tried to “save” me while Scott wrestled him on the floor of my bedroom and mom had to pry me out of his grip.

Maybe that’s why I just blurted out an invitation—or rather, a plea—for Alex to come to my house. I must be desperate for my own distraction, or just freaking out. Otherwise, I’d never dream of calling up one of Colson’s friends. That’s just weird.

And maybe Alex thinks I’m weird for it.

“Are you there?” I ask, cutting the prolonged silence.

“Yeah, I can come,” he replies, “I’ll be at your house in a few minutes.”