Page 5

Alex

“My house tonight,” Aiden announces before tucking his phone back into his pocket.

The group chat goes on, but I haven’t seen Colson or Mason since Friday when they found Evie.

“Finally,” I reply as we pass the front office on the way to the cafeteria. “If Col’s been at home this whole time, he’s probably going insane.”

How the hell did they even find her?

“Were you expecting this year to end any differently?”

Aiden’s right, none of us could’ve foreseen this, but senior year started on a strange note and just went to hell from there.

He turns and squints at me, “When are you leaving again?”

“The Monday after graduation,” I remind him, even though I’ve already told him multiple times. I think he keeps asking with the hope that I’ll say something different, like I changed my mind. “We still have the rest of the month.”

“You’ve said as much,” Aiden mutters.

He doesn’t like it, but he gets it. Aiden’s father will pay for him to go to school anywhere in—or out—of the country, probably in an effort to turn him into an upstanding citizen. And by upstanding , we all know that translates into reputable , at least to the point where his father doesn’t have to deal with the optics of Aiden’s antics. But I don’t have the same luxury.

Instead, I live on a liminal plane of existence far from poverty, but just far enough away from affluence where my oldest brother, Adrian, makes more than enough money running our dad’s contracting firm to keep us in the house we grew up in, but too much for me to qualify for any meaningful financial aid. My 4.8 GPA will get me into school, but in cruel irony, it won’t get me any money to pay for it.

My guidance counselor—if you could call her that—told me to just take out loans for school.

Idiot.

I’ll never owe anyone anything. Ever. I’d rather die. It’s one thing our dad taught us that Adrian and I do agree on. Thus, enter the United States Marine Corps.

I cast a smile in Aiden’s direction. “You sound like Adrian now.”

Adrian doesn’t get it. It was fine for our dad to do two tours of duty in Iraq, but I’m insane when I see the military as my only avenue to higher education. The only one who didn’t look at me like I was insane when I mentioned it was our vice principal, Mrs. Granger. Her son is a recruiter for the Corps now, which is why by the first day of senior year, I already had my future wrapped up in a nice little box with a neat little bow on top. And as soon as I turned 18, no one could say a goddamn word about it.

Mrs. G is also the reason that my older brother, Luca, and I were able to stay with Adrian after our dad died. She wanted us to finish school, so she made sure we didn’t run into any problems with children’s services. Principals don’t do that; they’re too busy dealing with bureaucracy, doling out punishments, and dealing with bitchy parents. But she did.

“You couldn’t have just waited a week and had seven days of summer, especially now?” Aiden asks.

I’ll never forget looking at my phone in Chemistry and seeing a text from Coach O’Malley in the soccer team group chat that Colson’s missing stepsister had been found— deceased . We didn’t know until that evening that Colson and Mason were the ones who found her. Their phones had been seized.

“I will have a summer, with sun and surf…and 60 other guys.”

“Summer my ass,” Aiden spits with disdain.

“Jealous?”

“Shit, you want to see jealous? Just pass around a picture of me at boot camp to show them who you have waiting at home,” he sneers, “I’ll have your entire platoon beating off to me in no time.”

“Sick fuck,” I laugh, “you should enlist, too, it might do you some good.”

Selfishly, I wish he would, but I know that would never happen here or in any other alternate universe. The thought of Aiden Rafferty waltzing into a recruiter’s office looking like Lurch from The Addams Family with his spiky black faux-hawk, nose ring, and double lip rings beneath each canine is laughable. Almost as laughable as him taking orders from anyone on the planet besides himself.

“Yeah, it would…” Aiden trails off, slowing as we pass the library, “it’d straighten me the fuck out,” he mumbles, gazing through the window at the circulation desk.

Aiden turns and stares through the glass until the two girls sitting behind the desk notice he’s watching them. Then he raises his hand and curls his fingers into a slow, methodical wave. My eyes roll so far back into my head I swear I see Moses parting the Red Sea.

“I need to stop here for a minute,” he says, not breaking focus.

“Minute my ass,” I mumble.

There’s a slim chance we’ll make it to lunch now. That is, if he’s not detained by one of the school security guards first.

Aiden shoots me a devious smirk and backtracks a few feet, throwing open the door and heading toward the circulation desk. I follow him into the library as Sydney Van Doren tracks him across the room. Her short icy blonde hair frames her face like a halo as she eyes him with her usual suspicion. Tyler Nixon casts him the same loathsome look from the chair next to Sydney. Always together, they look like they could be sisters.

Aiden slides his elbows over the desk until his face is less than a foot from Sydney’s.

“I need to talk to you,” he murmurs, barely loud enough for anyone else to hear.

Sydney glances up at him with an expression that falls somewhere between disinterest and disdain. She studies him for a few moments and then looks at Tyler. They both hesitate, exchanging silent commentary. Slowly, Sydney sets down her notebook balanced on her knees and slides off the high-top chair. Then she turns and Aiden rounds the desk, following her through the doorway toward the back office.

With no way of knowing how long Aiden’s business with Sydney will take, I let out an impatient sigh and look around at the empty library. After a few minutes of nothing but silence, my gaze finally falls on the girl sitting next to Sydney’s empty chair.

“Hi, Tyler,” I grin.

Tyler glances up from the book in her lap with her usual startled doe eyes. “Hi,” she replies in her soft voice.

I hold her eyes and study her face, long enough that any other girl would feel the tension and look away. But Tyler doesn’t. She stares right back at me. She looks like that famous photo of the Afghani girl on the cover of National Geographic; the one with striking teal eyes and a severe expression that looks like she’s staring right into your soul, and then burning a hole in it.

No wonder Mason’s been a goddamn wreck all year.

I forfeit the staring contest with Tyler and she goes back to her book while I lament stopping here with Aiden instead of meeting him in the cafeteria. Finally, after another few minutes, Sydney reappears through the back hallway, followed by Aiden. She looks the same, nothing out of place except for a flush across her cheeks. Aiden looks like he’s in a much better mood, which I can only assume means that Sydney’s in a worse one.

Without a word, she returns to her seat next to Tyler and Aiden continues toward the main door without a word. Realizing my ass is about to get left behind, I push off the desk and head for the exit.

“Why did you even stop there?” I ask as soon as we’re in the hallway, “I’m fucking starving.”

“Not me,” Aiden smirks, “I just ate.”

I do a doubletake, trying to read his expression, but it’s no use. He might be my best friend, but he’s still a Rafferty.

“Shit, dude,” I shake my head with a laugh.

Aiden glances at me out of the corner of his eye, “I should’ve been polite and taken that piece of dental floss she calls underwear so she doesn’t have to sit in wet clothes for the rest of the day.”

“If you did anything polite, she’d probably die of shock.”

“You’re right,” Aiden shoves open one of the double doors to the cafeteria, “why disappoint her?”

By the time we arrive, the lines have thinned out and the tables have filled up. But as we cross the room, I see two chairs still sitting empty at our table with Rory Bergin and Josh Maddox. Right behind it is the snack line with its usual stack of pizza boxes from the Angelo’s in town. Except it’s not regular Angelo’s pizza, it’s the undercooked version dictated by the school’s contract with the store. If there are any bubbles in the pizzas after baking, the school gets those for free. Therefore, we end up with Angelo’s evil, doughy twin. But we can buy as many slices of it as we want, so no one cares. As ridiculous as it sounds, I’m sure I’ll be craving that gooey, greasy shit by this time next month. Besides, I can afford it, I kept conditioning even after soccer season ended because I knew I’d be heading to boot camp in the summer.

Aiden heads for our usual spots at the table while I head for the line. I reach into my back pocket to dig out my wallet when I stop short. There’s a girl standing next to the window, her back half turned to the rest of the room. She looks familiar, wearing a tight grey tank top tucked into a pair of loose jeans with rips down the front. Her long black hair hangs over her shoulders, obscuring her face until she reaches up and drags her hand across her cheek. That’s when I see her face is flushed and she’s crying. And then it hits me.

It's Dallas Lutz, Colson’s younger sister.

She’s a freshman, but I’ve known her since she was in elementary school. Granted, know is a relative term. She and Colson live in the same house and she plays video games with us sometimes—at least she used to. But I didn’t even recognize her because now I only ever see her in a hoodie with headphones on while she ignores us. She’s also not wearing her big, black emo glasses. Does she usually wear them to school? I don’t even know.

I glance around, realizing that Dallas isn’t with anyone. Has she always had this lunch period? I never noticed. Regardless, she looks like she’s losing her shit and I can’t just pretend I don’t see her. I spin on the ball of my foot and switch directions, heading straight for her. Before she realizes what’s happening, I wrap one arm around her shoulder and whisk her straight through the nearby door into the stairwell.

The door clangs shut and Dallas whips around, looking up at me with wide eyes. A moment later, she recognizes me and her fear turns to confusion. She swallows hard, blinking as she wipes beneath her eyes.

“You alright?” I ask, knowing perfectly well that she’s not. But what do you say to someone about to have a meltdown in the middle of the cafeteria because their sister was murdered?

Dallas squints at the sun shining through the window across from the stairs, trying to get her bearings. But it doesn’t seem to matter, because she can barely respond.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, only for her chin to start trembling again. She looks down at the speckled tile. “No,” she squeaks, bringing the back of her hand to her mouth as her face contorts and she starts crying again.

Stepping forward, I wrap my arm around Dallas’s shoulders and pull her toward me. After another minute of silently sobbing into my shirt, her rigid body starts to relax. I never realized how short she is. I’m 6’1” and she only comes up to the top of my chest. How the hell is she related to Colson who’s three inches taller than me?

Holding her tight, I rub the center of her shoulders and then squeeze the back of her neck. I don’t remember the last time anyone outside my family cried around me, and even then, I probably wasn’t the one offering any comfort. But I don’t mind right now, maybe because I know what it’s like to go back to school after losing one of the most important people in your life and having to pretend that everything is fine.

I bow my head and press my nose to the top of her head. “You good?” I ask, knowing she’s not, but I don’t loosen my grip until I feel her nod.

She sniffles and finally lifts her head as I reach for her wrist and gently guide her toward the stairs to sit down. She drops her bag next to the railing and collapses next to me, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her palm.

“I know why you’re upset,” I break the silence, “you don’t have to explain.”

“No, you don’t,” Dallas mutters with a shake of her head.

“OK…” I can’t tell whether she wants to tell me about it or wants me to shut the fuck up, “then what is it?”

She takes a deep breath, “There were some girls, in the restroom,” she explains, “and they were talking about Evie and Colson.”

“What about Evie and Colson?” I ask through slitted eyes.

“About Evie’s visitation. One of them said she was only going because the four of you will be there, and she likes Colson…” she trails off, her mouth twisting into a scowl. “Whatever. Gross. And then they started talking about what Evie—” her voice catches and she stops short to collect herself, “what Evie looked like when he found her,” she creaks out in a whisper.

My knuckles go white as I clasp my hands, squeezing them together as a spark ignites in my chest. Evie was murdered and dumped in the woods and some bitch is talking about her burial like it’s fucking Homecoming? And then to make matters worse, she was talking about the state of her goddamn corpse?

I rise from the stairs, “Who was it?” I ask, nodding to the narrow window in the door. “Point them out.”

Dallas looks up at me, eyes wide, and after a few moments, looks down and shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it,” she says quickly.

She thinks I’m going to embarrass her. She’s spent half her life witnessing all the dumb shit the four of us do, including all the fights we get into. Full disclosure—Colson and Aiden start the fights, and Mason and I usually finish them. But she grew up with Colson, so I can’t blame her for clamming up now.

“I won’t do anything right now, I promise,” I assure her. “Just tell me.”

Dallas looks at me apprehensively, but finally rises from the stairs and cranes her neck to peer through the window.

“There,” she points straight ahead, “the girl with the dark hair and pink shirt.”

She’s pointing to my table, where Rory, Josh, and now Aiden are sitting with Jordy Harrington, Layla Cochran, and Jamie Gallt. Jamie’s the one Dallas is talking about.

Two-faced bitch.

“Colson was right,” Dallas says as we return to the stairs, “we shouldn’t have come back today. I’m just not…”

“Ready to pretend like everything’s fine?” I finish her sentence.

Dallas glances up, caught off-guard by my response, but then nods as she brushes her onyx hair out of her eyes.

“And watch everyone else move on while you’re stuck in the same place?” I add.

Her eyes soften, “Yeah.”

“I know what it’s like. My mom died from cancer when I was eight,” I explain, “and then my dad died in a car accident three years ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” her voice hitches and her brow furrows as she looks at me.

“Don’t be sorry, Dallas,” I say with an unexpected smile, “it’s not a contest.”

She can’t get through the lunch line without falling apart less than a week after Evie’s body was found, and she’s the one offering her condolences to me.

Dallas looks down at the floor, between her pink and white Adidas sneakers, and this time she actually smiles. But a moment later, it’s replaced with a confused look.

“Who do you live with?” she asks, much like everyone else does when they find out I don’t have parents anymore.

“My brothers,” I reply. “Adrian’s older, so we were allowed to stay in our house together because he took over our parents’ business.”

While Dallas ponders this, I take the opportunity to change the subject to something other than death.

“What do you like to do, Dallas?”

I’m done being a sad sack, and for some reason I need her to quit being one, too. Maybe it’s because I just realized I’m sitting here with Dallas Lutz in an empty stairwell and after seven years of being best friends with her brother and going to her house countless times, I know next to nothing about her.

“Um, I play a lot of video games, but maybe you already knew that.”

“No, I didn’t know that. So do I.”

“Which ones?” she asks, sounding a bit more interested.

“ Destiny , Diablo, Wasteland 3, ” I reply. “What about you?”

Dallas’s deep blue eyes glimmer with a hint of excitement, “I’ve been playing Witcher 3 a lot, but I really like Dark Souls .”

I arch my brow in surprise, “That’s a serious game.”

“Does that mean you’re not good at it?” she asks with a smile.

I think she just insulted me, but I don’t really care because I’m entertained by her sweet tone tinged with unfettered arrogance. But the answer is yes, I am good at Dark Souls , just like I’m good at a lot of other games.

“I take it that means you are?” I smile back.

“I’m pretty good.”

I cast her a sideways glance. “What does pretty good mean?”

“I got through Sen’s Fortress in 10 minutes,” she raises her chin with pride, “ without dying at the boss.”

Admittedly, I’m impressed. I like this version of Dallas better—the one who seems surprisingly full of herself when it comes to gaming instead of the one sniffling by herself in the corner of the cafeteria.

“Not bad,” I concede, tilting my head as I study her.

I lock onto her eyes and hold them, but after a few moments, the gaze is too much and she looks away.

The electronic ding of the bell sounds and I see people start to rise from their tables through the narrow window in the door. Lunch is over and I still haven’t eaten, but for some reason I don’t really care anymore. Dallas notices the movement in the cafeteria and pushes off the stairs, picking up her bag from the floor. I follow, suddenly dreading the thought of heading back to English and discussing Romeo and Juliet.

I know Shakespeare is supposed to be the pinnacle of literature or whatever, but no one speaks that jacked up, antiquated version of English anymore. Romeo could be telling his girl to choke on his dick and you’d never know it.

Dallas starts wiping her eyes with her thumb as she prepares to exit the stairwell.

“Come here,” I say, motioning for her.

She takes an apprehensive step toward me as I pull the hem of my shirt up until there’s enough slack and cover my thumb with the edge.

“Look up,” I command. When she does, I begin gently wiping my shirt across the underside of her eye to clean off the remnants of her mascara. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You’re not wearing glasses.”

“I got contacts at the beginning of the year.”

“You also never wear makeup,” I add.

“Yes, I do,” she exhales with exasperation, still looking up, “you just don’t pay attention.”

“Apparently not,” I reply and release her face, “because it’s on point.”

“It’s called YouTube,” she retorts, but then her face softens, “and Evie taught me.”

“It looks nice,” I say quickly, not wanting to make her cry again after I finally got her to something that vaguely resembles happiness.

The cafeteria is almost empty, so I wait for the stragglers to clear out before motioning for Dallas to follow me through the doors. Her legs are so much shorter than mine that I have to slow down halfway across the room so she can catch up. Her head is bowed slightly, hiding the remaining flush on her cheeks. I raise my arm and wrap it around her shoulders as she reaches my side, to which she glances up with surprise.

“What class do you have?” I ask as we step into the hallway.

“Um, U.S. History?” She says it like it’s a question, still shocked that I’m touching her.

But she can deal with it. This is what people do when they comfort each other, isn’t it? At least that’s what my family does; everyone yells and cries and then starts hugging each other and refuses to let go.

“Wheeler?” I confirm, sauntering down the hallway as I decide the best route back to her classroom.

“Yeah,” she replies, her shoulders finally relaxing as we approach the stairwell at the end of the hall.

Good, if she’s a couple minutes late it’s unlikely that he’ll care or even notice. I’m sure he’s too busy critiquing the basketball team’s latest game and strategizing plays with whichever players happen to be in her class. It’s all but confirmed when we arrive at the door, a dull roar emitting from the room while two freshmen in Dire Ridge sweats hover around Wheeler’s desk.

“Feel better?” I ask. “And by better, I mean good enough to make it through the rest of class?”

Dallas looks down at the tile with a nod. “It’s fine.”

“Hey,” I lean down and tap the bottom of her chin until she looks up at me, “everything doesn’t have to be fine, only good enough so that people leave you alone when you want them to.”

“Colson said I should lean into being a prick,” she mutters.

“ You? ” I ask, stifling a laugh.

This makes Dallas smile again. “A few days ago he said I was too nice and I should be more of a prick to get people to do what I want.”

Like him, huh?

“Do you want to be a prick like Col?”

Her smile gets wider and she averts her eyes. “No,” she finally says, shaking her head, “you don’t have to be mean for people to do what you want.”

“Well, you might not be a prick, but you definitely aren’t all nice.”

She jerks her head up. “Why not?”

I lean down until my forehead is only inches from hers. “Because nobody who gets through Sen’s Fortress in 10 minutes and survives the boss does it by being nice.”

This time, when I lock eyes with her, she doesn’t look away. Instead, the corners of her mouth stretch into the widest grin I’ve ever seen, revealing two rows of bright white teeth. Her cheeks are back to their normal hue and her eyes practically glow blue after being washed in tears.

I grab a lock of her onyx hair between two fingers and toss it across her neck. “Better get to class, Dallas.”

Straightening up, I turn on my heel and head back to English, wondering if anyone will have died of boredom by the time I arrive. Fucking Shakespeare…

I’ve been in and out of her house over the course of seven years, but I only had to spend 15 minutes with Dallas Lutz in an empty stairwell to know that she isn’t mean. She couldn’t be a prick if she tried. She just wants to be left alone and safe with the things that make her happy. I know that feeling more than anyone.

I also know how it feels to go back to school after a piece of your heart dies and have people ask questions you’re not prepared to answer. I can be a prick like Colson, but Dallas can’t. She still has something bright behind her eyes. Her light hasn’t gone out yet despite the horror and utter injustice of losing Evie.

I can’t let her lose who she was before Evie died. I won’t. Which is why now it’s my job to put that bitch, Jamie Gallt, in her place along with anyone else who makes her feel otherwise.