These Things I’ve Done Page 4

  Luckily, it was neither humid nor windy at the moment. The metal bar felt cold and dry against my palms as I boosted myself up.

  “What is she doing? Dara, are you insane?”

  Aubrey sounded breathless and alarmed, like she’d run over here to save me. I didn’t look down or respond, too focused on positioning my feet on either side of the wooden frame. When I got my balance, I slowly stood up and rested my right foot on bar number one. Eight more stretched out before me, looking a lot thinner than they had from the ground.

  “All the way across, Dare-ya,” Travis called, followed by a grunt as someone—probably Paige—smacked him.

  The slight, end-of-summer breeze ruffled my hair. A muscle twitched in my leg. I could sense everyone holding their breath as they stared up at me, waiting to see if I’d fall.

  All I had to do was walk fast enough.

  I moved forward without thinking, and before I even had time to panic I was on the last bar, crouching and wobbling and grabbing the wooden frame so tightly, I knew I’d spend the rest of the night digging splinters out of my palms. But it was worth it for the look on Travis Rausch’s face.

  “That was pretty badass, Shepard,” he said with a tone of grudging respect.

  I smiled as I lowered myself to the ground. Gravel dug into my bare feet, but I hardly felt it through the euphoria. Aubrey handed me my flip-flops and glared at me like she was sorry I hadn’t fallen and broken a few bones. She’d never appreciated my stunts. Ethan gave me a tremulous smile, anxiety giving way to relief.

  But it was Justin’s expression that struck me the most. He looked at me like he’d suddenly remembered the girl whose aim he’d admired in the cafeteria a couple of weeks ago, before Aubrey caught his eye. Like I was someone interesting he should probably get to know.

  Totally worth a few splinters.

  five

  Senior Year

  DR. LEMKE HASN’T CHANGED A BIT IN THE PAST year. He’s still slim and tanned with smooth, parted hair that reminds me of a Ken doll. He also still has that penetrating blue-eyed gaze that makes me feel like my brain is being telepathically dissected.

  “How’s school going?” he asks during our Monday afternoon session.

  It feels strange to be back here, sitting on this leather couch again. The last time I sat here, I was due to leave for Aunt Lydia’s house in a few days and Dr. Lemke had grilled me about my reasons for skipping town. I couldn’t give him any concrete answers. Back then, my thoughts were cloudy wisps, always slipping away before I could get a decent grasp on them.

  My head is clearer now.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him.

  “Last summer, you expressed some concern about going back to Hadfield High and facing your peers.”

  I glance at my chart, which rests on the table beside him, unopened. He obviously studied it before I came in here. “Yeah,” I say.

  Dr. Lemke twists his wedding ring around and around on his finger, a quirk I suddenly remember drives me crazy. “How’s the reaction been so far?”

  “Pretty much as I expected, I guess.” It’s mostly the truth. That awful rumor managed to catch me off guard, but the stares, whispers, and awkwardness—all exactly as I anticipated. “I mean, it’s not easy being back, but there’s a counselor I can go to if it becomes too much.”

  “Good. It’s important for you to have that support.” He stops playing with his ring and grabs a pen, flipping open my chart at the same time. “So. Last time you were here, you weren’t very open to discussing your reason for leaving after your friend’s death. Do you think you’re ready to talk about that now?”

  And we’re back to this already. “There were a few reasons. Three, to be exact.”

  “Can you tell me the first one?”

  I hesitate, and Dr. Lemke’s face drops slightly like he’s expecting me to do what I did last year—clam up and refuse to discuss it. Part of me wants to—talking about those first few weeks after Aubrey’s death isn’t easy—but thoughts of my parents and their drawn, worried faces won’t let me avoid it. They’re paying a small fortune for these weekly sessions, and I owe it to all of us to get the most out of the experience.

  “My family,” I say.

  “Your family . . .” He waves a hand, prompting me.

  “They’re the biggest reason I left.” I scratch an itch on my nose and quickly return my arm to my side. “Mom and Dad and Tobias. They needed a break from me. I was making their lives miserable.”

  “You were suicidal.” He says this like I need a reminder.

  “I only thought about it.” I say this like he needs a reminder. “I never would’ve actually done it. And I’m not suicidal anymore.”

  Dr. Lemke regards me for a moment and then nods. He knows I’m telling the truth. I haven’t wanted to die since I hugged my parents and brother good-bye at the airport over a year ago, when I realized that losing me—even to my aunt and uncle—tore their hearts out. I couldn’t put them through any more stress and anguish. And I knew, even then, I deserved to live with what I did.

  “What’s the second reason?” Dr. Lemke asks when I fall silent.

  I cross my legs to stop them from jiggling. “Cowardice. I wanted to go away and pretend it never happened. Start over somewhere else.”

  “And did you? Start over?”

  My mind drifts back to my time there, living with Lydia and Jared. Attending Somerset Prep. My parents had sent me there out of desperation, hopeful that the new setting would rouse me from my debilitating grief. I gave in for much the same reason—because I was stuck, with no clue how to move forward. Maybe leaving it all behind could be the first step.

  And it did help, for a while. No one there knew about me; I’d made up some elaborate lie about how the lack of satisfactory education in our public schools drove my parents to send me to Somerset Prep because my aunt taught there and could get us a discount on tuition. My aunt and uncle went along with it unquestioningly. I guess they didn’t want any horrified stares or nosy questions either. But a person can only pretend for so long, and denying Aubrey was dead because of me just made me feel like a giant fraud.

  She’s dead, it’s my fault, and there’s no running away from it.

  “I tried for a while, but eventually it followed me there,” I tell Dr. Lemke. “That’s why I came back.”

  “Can you expand on that a little bit?”

  I look down and pluck at a loose thread in the couch cushion, wrapping it around my finger. “I was sort of in a bubble there,” I explain. “I got so good at pretending to be fine, I convinced everyone it was true. I think I even convinced myself at one point. But I wasn’t fine, not really. I was just avoiding dealing with it, and I could do that there because I was so far away from everything here, all the things and places that remind me of Aubrey. She seemed almost like a dream sometimes. A person I knew a long time ago.”

  Dr. Lemke jots something down on my chart. “How did that make you feel?”

  “Guilty,” I answer immediately. “I felt like I took the easy way out and ran away to avoid responsibility. I shouldn’t get to do that.”

  He nods again and goes back to the ring-twisting. Since I became a human girl statue, I notice other people’s gestures and tics all the more. Dr. Lemke’s are especially dizzying. Nod, twist, nod, twist. “What was your third reason for going away?” he asks.

  I see the graveyard, the coffin containing Aubrey’s broken body slowly dipping into the ground. Red-rimmed eyes, not once meeting mine. “Ethan. Aubrey’s brother.”

  “How did Ethan factor into your decision to leave?”

  “I didn’t want him to have to look at me every day. The person who . . .”

  Killed his sister. I want to say the words out loud, but I know Dr. Lemke will probably latch onto it if I do. Those words make people uncomfortable. Killed is harsh, deliberate. It makes me sound like a cold-blooded murderer instead of a girl who accidentally pushed her best friend in front of a truck. Fortunately, Dr
. Lemke lets my sentence trail off without comment.

  “And now? Do you still feel that way?” He sticks his pen into his shirt pocket.

  I think about how quickly Ethan disappeared in the hallway the other day. He stuck up for me, but he barely looked at me and then left without a word. Seeing me probably brought back horrible memories for him. Seeing him wasn’t exactly easy for me either, and he wasn’t the one who did something horrible.

  “Do you think it helped him heal, not seeing you every day?” Dr. Lemke continues when I don’t respond. “Did it help you heal, not seeing him?”

  I shrug, even though for me the answer is no. Escaping was a Band-Aid, not a stitch. The wound tended to reopen with the slightest movement.

  “Well,” Dr. Lemke says as he glances at his watch. My hour is almost up. “It’s a good sign that you came back, Dara. It shows your willingness to face what happened and move on from it.”

  Now I’m nodding, even though the idea of moving on still feels impossible. Even my father thinks my chances are slim as long as I’m here in Hyde Creek, surrounded by reminders.

  Dr. Lemke is right about one thing, though. I’m here to face what happened. I’m here to look into my friends’ eyes, into my family’s eyes, and see the impact of my mistake and the effect it had on those I care about. I’m here to take all their sadness and anger and blame.

  I’m here for Aubrey.

  The school scheduled me for a weekly appointment with Mrs. Dover, every Thursday morning before class. A check-in, they call it. Double the therapy, double the fun.

  Afterward, I head for my locker, eyes sweeping the crowd for Ethan. I’ve only seen him that one time, but I’ve been on guard ever since, waiting for some kind of confrontation. Part of me wishes he’d yelled at me by the music room the other day, just so I’d know exactly where he stands. Where we stand. Right now, I’m still clueless.

  When I swing open my locker, a piece of white paper, folded once like a greeting card, falls out and lands at my feet. It’s not mine. It wasn’t there yesterday after school. Slowly, I crouch down and grab it, unfolding it as I rise back to standing.

  It’s a childish pencil sketch depicting two stick figures, a tall one with straight hair and a smaller one with curls. The small one is flying through the air, mouth gaping open in a silent scream. Beside her is a pickup truck with oversized wheels. This truck is going to hit her and she knows it. The tall figure’s stick arms are outstretched, like she just finished pushing the small one, and she has a great big smile on her face.

  A smile. She’s smiling. As if she’s happy about what she did. As if she’d set out to do it from the very start.

  My eyes prickle with tears, and I crumple the paper into a tight ball. I don’t want to put it back into my locker. I want it away from me, so I shut my locker and carry the ball to the end of the hallway, where there’s a trash can. My skin feels hot and cold at the same time. The moisture in my eyes blurs my vision, causing me to miss the opening of the trash can. I pick up the paper ball and toss it again, carefully this time. It goes in.

  The hallway is starting to fill up, and people are looking at me like they’re waiting for me to lose it. Did one of them put the picture in my locker? Is there someone nearby who’s reveling in my tears and humiliation right now?

  The bell is going to ring soon, but I don’t move. I stay by the garbage because I’m not sure I can concentrate in class with that image in my head. The tall figure—me—smiling. Happy about what I’d done.

  The sketch just confirms what I already know—there are people in this school who believe I’m a murderer.

  A rush of dizziness makes my head swim. I need air.

  Instead of turning left, back to my locker, I turn right and sprint down the stairs. At the bottom, there’s a door leading to the back parking lot. I burst through it and into the sunshine, gulping fresh air like I’d just emerged from underwater. When the dizziness starts to fade, I press my back against the cool brick of the building, close my eyes, and try to pull myself together.

  Several minutes pass before I feel calm enough to open my eyes. When I do, I see two boys in the parking lot a few yards away, sitting on the hood of a dusty black car. One of them is Hunter Finley, a senior. The other is Ethan.

  I squint at them for a moment, trying to work out why they’re hanging out together. All I know about Hunter is that he plays drums and is apparently really good. We travel in different circles, so I’ve never spoken to him before. Most guys like him, with his longish hair and beat-up leather jacket, act like they’re too cool to associate with the rest of us conformists. Hunter is a hard-core rocker.

  Ethan, on the other hand, is a band geek. Or at least he used to be. I’m not quite sure who this Ethan is.

  They’re talking to each other, too busy with their conversation to notice me by the door. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I’m close enough to see them pretty clearly. Hunter is smoking a cigarette, every so often turning his head to exhale away from Ethan. I wonder if smoke still aggravates his asthma or if he can handle it better now. I wonder what’s changed about him that he can sit next to one of the most badass guys in school and look like he belongs there.

  An image of the younger Ethan springs to mind and it hits me again how much he’s grown. Everything is different, from the shadow of stubble on his jaw right down to the way he fills out his jeans. There’s a quiet confidence in the way he’s sitting—back straight, palms pressed to the hood behind him, one foot on the bumper and one on the ground—that he’s never shown before. The transformation is equal parts shocking, disturbing, and fascinating.

  I’m so dumbstruck, it takes me a few seconds to realize the bell is ringing and Ethan and Hunter are now off the car and walking toward the door. Toward me. My first instinct is to panic and bolt for the door, but I resist it and stay put. It’s time to face him head-on and take whatever he decides to throw at me.

  I don’t move or breathe as they approach. The dizziness returns full force, and my mouth feels like the desert. Suddenly I regret coming back here and subjecting myself to this. I must be out of my mind. This is worse than the stupid drawing in my locker. Worse than the staring and whispering and snickering. Worse than the guilt that still feeds on me like a parasite.

  Ethan nods to Hunter, who nods back and disappears inside the school. It’s just us now, alone for the first time in over a year. The first time since Aubrey died. He looks at me without expression, like he knows I’ve been standing here all along, watching him.

  He takes a step toward me and I brace myself for what’s coming. Because if there’s anyone in this world who has the right to scream at me and call me names, it’s Ethan.

  But he doesn’t. Instead, he moves closer and leans against the wall next to me. A subtle woodsy scent that’s both familiar and new hits my nostrils. Silence fills the space between us, and just as I decide to swallow my fear and say something, anything, he beats me to it.

  “I’m glad you’re back.”

  The words sound strange in his new deep voice, and they’re the complete opposite of what I was expecting to hear. I wait for him to add a punch line or a disclaimer, something to let me know he didn’t really mean what he said, but he doesn’t do that either. I turn my head to speak, to say thank you or I’m sorry or both, but the bell rings before I can squeeze the words past my throat. Ethan nods like I said them anyway and goes inside, leaving me alone under the bright sun.

  six

  Sophomore Year

  THE SAME NIGHT I TOOK THE DEATH-DEFYING sprint across the monkey bars, Justin finally asked Aubrey out. By the end of September, they were officially a couple.

  Aubrey and I both refused to hang out with Justin’s junior jerk friends at lunch, so most days, he sat wherever we did. I realized just how much he liked Aubrey the day he willingly joined us at a tableful of orchestra kids. Not that there was anything wrong with Aubrey’s musician friends, but Justin was more of a sports guy. I was into sports
now too, but I felt comfortable at their table. Ethan usually sat there, and Sierra Humphrey, who I’d been friends with for years.

  But Justin was definitely out of his element. When the discussion evolved into complaints about the new orchestra teacher, I noticed his eyes glazing over. Maybe mine were doing the same, because suddenly he looked at me and said, “Have you ever been skydiving?”

  I glanced over at him, thrown by the randomness of his question. “What?”

  “Skydiving. Jumping out of a plane with a parachute strapped to your back. You’ve never heard of it?” His eyes sparkled as he teased me, setting off a warm tingling in my stomach.

  “I know what skydiving is, and no, I’ve never done it. Have you?”

  “Not yet, but I’m doing it next month for my birthday.” He took a drink of his Gatorade. “My brother knows an instructor and he set it up for me.”

  “That’s awesome,” I said, brimming with envy. Skydiving was like the ultimate daring activity—barreling toward the earth at top speed while wearing a parachute that might or might not open. The thought of it gave me chills. “It’ll be such a rush. I’d totally do it if I had the chance.”

  Aubrey’s attention shifted back to us. “Do what?”

  Justin turned to her. “I was just telling Dara about my birthday skydiving plans. She’s all for it, unlike you.”

  She grimaced and bumped his shoulder with hers. He bumped her back, making her laugh.

  “I’m afraid of heights,” Sierra said, overhearing us. “I couldn’t do it.”

  The rest of the table joined in the conversation, everyone discussing whether or not they were brave enough to jump. Well, everyone except Ethan, who was watching Justin and me with a slight frown on his lips. Maybe he was picturing me falling to my death and preemptively blaming it on Justin.

  “I’ll let you know what it’s like,” Justin said, nodding at me. “Providing I don’t die.”