"He died because of me," I said, swaying on my feet. Some facts weighed heavy. "If you guys hadn't tried to help me, he might-"
"Stop it. Don't take that on yourself." Shadows covered his face. But he reached out, the rough palm of his hand cupping my cheek. The movement, the connection, totally unexpected. "We made our own choices, Edie. Chris would have turned on us next. He wouldn't have even hesitated."
With him touching me, I could barely breathe, let alone speak.
"Do you understand?"
I managed a slight nod and his hand fell back to his side. The loss stung.
My head filled with chaos, a multitude of questions, ifs, and buts. Answers about life and death didn't come so easy. I tried not to think about what remained of the body buried below. About what his family must be going through. Fate was a bitch and luck was no better. Yet we were always searching for meaning, for some hidden truth. What bullshit.
"It's not your fault," repeated John. "If it's anyone's, it's mine. I pushed him into charging at Chris-it was my idea."
The raw pain in his words hurt my heart. I breathed out heavily. "No. You're right; Chris would have turned on you two next."
He said nothing.
"And I'd have been dead too. He wasn't going to stop, and no way were the cops giving him what he wanted. The whole situation was fucked. We just got caught up in it." I shook my head, drank more of the crappy beer. Not that it helped.
"It's not on either of us." Sadly, he didn't sound any more convinced. He took another mouthful of beer, stared up at the stars. "It was all Chris, the fucking meth-head."
Before I could think to censor myself, I blurted the words out. "Sometimes I wish there'd been ammunition in that gun. I know the two of us were basically out of trouble by that stage. The police were there. But . . ."
John's laughter was hollow, unhappy. "Yeah. Sometimes I wish you'd shot him too."
It both was and wasn't funny. Maybe I should be ashamed. Or maybe my sense of humor had taken a turn toward the dark and morbid, and that was okay. I don't know.
"Of course, that would make me a murderer," I mused.
"No, we were still fighting then. Would have been self-defense. Think you'd feel better or worse if you had?" he asked, watching me carefully.
I frowned hard, thinking. "I don't know. I'd have killed someone, but . . . maybe it would feel more like justice had been served, you know? I highly doubt I'd be standing at his graveside drinking a beer."
He nodded.
"I needed to do this, to come here," I said. "Thank you for doing it with me."
"Sure."
"You think things will ever feel the same, like they used to?"
"No." He dropped his empty bottle on the ground and started in on another. "Honestly, I think if it did, we'd be even more messed up than we are already."
I watched the moon, the rich golden glow spreading across the dark. "You know, you just might have a point there."
Officially, the punishment for punching Kara and disturbing class had been the cessation of my allowance. Term of sentence undecided. There'd been a big discussion about how I'd recently been through an extremely traumatic event, but how Mom still felt certain rules needed to be followed. Like not assaulting people, even raging bitches who possibly deserved it. I gave a good blank face and kept my thoughts to myself.
Mom allowed for transport costs to and from school, lunch, and not much else. But it had become a problem since I'd started indulging in the odd late-night drive when I couldn't sleep. John was right: it did sort of help. At first, the lack of money had been no big deal. I'd had a bit of cash squirreled away from Christmas and I'd been off my reading game anyway. But that was then and this was now. New books had been released. New books that I needed. Mostly number three in a YA fantasy series that I'd been dying to read, but had been waiting until all of the books were out.
If anything could fix my gnat-like attention span, this book could. And yes, I could have gone to the library and reserved what I wanted to read. Patience and I, however, didn't get along. Not these days, anyway. If you wanted to do something, then you had to get it done fast. Before some psycho with a gun finishes things. Or a car crash. Or whatever.
Given how unhappy Mom had been over my detention, though, money wouldn't likely be flowing my way anytime soon. And Gran didn't approve of students diverting their energies with part-time jobs. We should all be studying all of the time. But Gran was in Arizona and apart from a weekly grilling over the phone, her power was limited since she no longer paid for my education. Here, for me, things were changing, and it felt good.
"Carrie, does your mom need anyone at the salon?" asked Hang, Monday at lunch.
"No." Carrie shook her head, holding up a slice of pizza to her mouth. "She's got me and an apprentice right now, sorry."
"I need a job," I said.
Hang groaned. "I need one more."
"I have no allowance."
"I dropped my cell in the toilet last night."
"You win." I winced.
"No wonder you didn't return my call," said Carrie. "Dad dropped his in once, ruined a brand-new smartphone."
"Shitty." Sophia grinned and bumped Carrie's elbow with her own. "Get it, get it?"
Face pained, Carrie groaned loudly. "Um, yeah. It wasn't that subtle."
"No, it really wasn't," confirmed Hang. "I'd only give that like a two out of ten, max."
"It was a number two!" Sophia thrust her hands in the air.
"No." Gently, Hang banged her forehead against the table. "My bad. I walked right into that."
"Shame on you for encouraging her," said Carrie, laughing and chewing at the same time. "And as for you, you're terrible, Soph."
"Aw, I'm sorry." Sophia laid her head on Carrie's shoulder and looked up at her. "Do you still love me?"
Sophia's gaze softened. "I suppose so. Yes."
God, they were so sweet together it made my heart hurt. Not that there was anything wrong with being alone. Alone was fine and dandy. It lacked the thrill of being with John, though. Together, hanging out with the right person, had benefits too.
"Where are you going to start looking for jobs?" asked Sophia. She had a part-time gig at a clothes store. Futile for me to ask about openings there, however, since they didn't even stock my size.
Hang shrugged. "Check out the local paper."
"And we should do up some résumés, start handing them out to businesses," I said. "Did you try putting your phone in a bag of rice to suck out the moisture?"
Hang nodded. "It's dead, and my parents won't get me another until Christmas. I can't wait that long."
"It's definitely job-hunting season."
"Agreed."
We bumped fists across the table. Yay, sisterhood. The bell rang and we all gathered our stuff.
"Later," said Sophia, after a quick kiss from Carrie.
Hang and I made our way together through the crowded halls. At least I didn't flinch anymore when we passed Isaac's memorial. I still averted my eyes, however, not that it mattered. All of those dead flowers and photos seem to be imprinted on my memory.
But it wasn't the deceased making me nervous today.
Those were not butterflies in my stomach. Today's mystery meat had probably just given me gas. Deep breaths; seeing John in English was no reason to get all giddy. I clutched a textbook to my chest, calmly talking myself down from overexcited heights.
Someone knocked into me and my book went flying. My head shot up, an apology ready on my lips for not watching where I'd been walking. Except, the sneering girl from the skate park with the long, dark hair stood in my way. Not an accident. And I was not doing this; I was not standing silent and scared, playing the part of her victim. Girls like this have so much, yet they always want more. It wouldn't end here.
"He's mine," she hissed, pretty face distorted with hate.
I cocked my head. "He who?"
"Don't give me that shit. You know who I'm talking about." Behind her, her girl posse smirked, looking me over with great distaste. "Like I'd just give him up to some fat bitch like you."
"Okay, have fun with that," I said, shrugging her off. Presumably this was my new school's version of Kara. Funny how every school seemed to have one.
Except then she turned to Hang to spew some more of her venom. "And if you think Anders is serious about you, you're dreaming, you slope-eyed twit."
"Whoa now," I said, voice firming. I inserted my hefty self between her and Hang. "None of that racist bullshit, thank you."
"Shut up, you stupid fu-"
"I mean, why can't we all just get along? Wouldn't life be better without this judgmental, small-minded crap?" I asked. My voice was cool, nonchalant even. It was as if Chris's gun had been able to reach deep inside my mind and trip some crucial circuit-breaker. And just like that came the nightmares, and the insomnia, and the impatience. But that same switch had changed whatever hold people like Kara had ever had over me. I still didn't like being the center of attention, but I couldn't remember what if felt like to actually be scared of them. It was just gone. "Right, Hang?"