“No. I was mad and threw it away. I wish I kept it. I also got in trouble for using her lipstick brush in her eyeliner pot. They look really similar, if you were wondering.”
“I wouldn’t be able to focus in school tomorrow if you hadn’t told me,” he confirms solemnly.
I laugh. He doesn’t make any observation about how all the memories I’ve mentioned have to do with fighting with my sister. It’s just that those moments, when she was imperfect, seem the most real to me.
“I really loved her,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“I miss her every day.”
“I’m sorry, Beth.” He’s returned to lying on his back. An arm is thrown over his eyes, as if he can’t bear to look at me or feels like he doesn’t deserve to. Either way, it sucks.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I know you are.”
We fall silent again. I’m caught between the past and the present. Looking at the swing, I can almost see Rachel there, pumping her legs furiously and going higher and higher and higher until she was nearly a blot in the sky next to the glaring sun. Yet, there’s Chase at my side. A real live human being who listens to me, scolds me and makes me laugh.
I choose Chase, I tell the shadow. Rachel nods and keeps swinging.
“She had the most amazing serve,” I say quietly. “Even when she was young, like sixth grade, she could put this weird spin on it. Her serves were real flat, like you were always surprised they cleared the net, but once the ball was on the other side, it would curve to the corner. And she was really good at serving it in that sweet spot along the line.”
“How come you don’t play anymore?”
“It wasn’t any fun. Without her, it wasn’t fun.” I hadn’t realized how much I’d looked up to Rachel until she died. “We fought a lot, so I didn’t realize I’d miss her this much.” I stop talking because my throat’s too tight. It hurts to even look at the moon so I shut my eyes. Hot liquid seeps out the corners.
A big warm hand covers mine, and then I hear a muffled curse. Chase slides an arm under my head and pushes my face against his sweatshirt-clad chest.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs over and over.
I want to stop crying, because I know it’s painful for him, but I can’t control the tears. Memories that I’ve pushed down deep bubble to the surface. Rachel showing me how to shave my legs. Rachel French-braiding my hair. Rachel giving me one of her favorite T-shirts when I tried out for the A team at the club. Rachel holding me just like this when my name was not on the final roster.
“I miss her,” I sob, curling into Chase’s arms. “I miss her so much.”
Under the tree with the shadow of Rachel’s legs flying overhead, I let the buried hurt spring out of its hidden place. The pain stretches its tendrils, traveling through my veins until every part of my body aches and shudders under its burden.
This is why I held it in for so long—because it’s too much to deal with. Snot bubbles in my nose. Tears stream out of my eyes like a raging river. Hoarse, ugly sounds growl up through my throat.
When Rachel died, I was scared that tomorrow my life might be snuffed out, too, so I fought my parents. I fought every boundary, every restriction as if it were a noose.
“She was my big sister,” I whisper against Chase’s neck. “She was supposed to protect me forever.”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” He buries his head next to mine.
One hand cups my head to his chest, muffling my sobs while the other moves in wide swaths up and down my back. I lean into him, borrow his strength, because now that the seal is off, I can’t stuff any of this back inside the bottle.
I keep crying. I’m not sure how much time even passes. But he doesn’t ever tell me to hush. He doesn’t pull away. The rhythm of his comforting hand never skips a beat. Underneath my ear, I make out the steady beat of his heart.
He’s alive. I’m alive.
Rachel’s gone.
And I have to let my broken heart heal instead of pretending I’ve been fine.
“Shhh,” Chase whispers in my ear. “I’ve got you.”
Warm breath hits the outer shell of my earlobe, travels down my spine, spreads like a virus, fast and heated throughout my body. I raise my face and see wetness in his eyes.
I’m not the only one in need of comfort. I unfurl my fingers from his sweatshirt and run my thumb across his damp cheek. My fingertips skate along the sharp jaw to land around his neck.
A little pressure, only the tiniest bit of force, dips his face toward mine.
“Chase,” I breathe.
His eyelids flutter shut. So do mine. And I wait. And wait. And wait.
The next thing I know, I’m on my back and Chase is five feet from me, dragging an agitated hand through his hair.
“Chase?”
“I need to go,” he says. He shoves his hands into his pockets. His shoulders cave in as he withdraws from me.
“But...” I’m lost. He was going to kiss me. I know he was.
“I can’t.” He looks toward the house as he says this. “I can’t.”
He can’t what? Kiss me? Hold me any longer? “What? You can’t what?”
“All of it,” he says quietly, this time shifting his gaze to the ground.
I sit up on my knees and extend a hand. “Come back. Talk to me. Please.”
His eyes finally meet mine and I’m nearly knocked backward by the anguish in them. “Your sister never left you, Beth. I took her from you. I don’t deserve to be holding you, let alone standing in this yard. Your dad is right. I need to be kept away.”
“No. Please.” I shake my head. I can’t form coherent sentences right now. I’ve got no rational thoughts at this point. I’m just emotion and feeling.
“I need to go. I’m sorry, Beth. For everything.” He turns on his heel and slips into the shadows.
Stunned, I remain paralyzed on the ground. The chilly earth turning my leggings damp and cold. His goodbye sounded so final, as if he’s never going to meet me again, never even going to acknowledge the connection we have. And we have one, dammit.
I jump to my feet and race after him. “Chase. Chase,” I yell, uncaring that I’m waking the neighborhood. I trample over a leaf pile on the Rennicks’ lawn and then nearly run into the corner of the Palmers’ shed.
“Holy crap, Beth, you’re making more noise than Godzilla in a forest.” Chase appears in front of me, shaking his head in irritation.
“Then stop running away,” I snap.
“You’re mad?” He sounds astonished. The stupid boy.
“Yeah, I’m mad. I just poured my heart out to you and in response, you run away.”
He sighs. “I’m not running away. I just don’t belong with you.”
“Says who?” I push his chest. “And don’t say my parents, because they don’t count.”
“How can they not count?”
“No one counts, Chase. No one but you and me. If you tell me you don’t care about me, I’ll cry but I’ll get over it. That’s your choice. But if you’re pushing me away because guilt is your current girlfriend and you don’t want to leave her, then that’s bullshit. If you feel so wrong about being let out of prison, go back there. Violate your probation and get sent back in.”
His expression turns bleak. “It’s hard to live with myself, so, yeah, I tolerate the stuff at school because it feels right. Because I don’t want to go back to prison, but I feel guilty about that, too. Maybe the punishment should be endless.”
“And that’s going to bring her back?”
“Nothing’s going to bring her back. That’s the point,” he insists, but this time he doesn’t move away.
I poke him in the chest again. “Are you ever going to let me forgive you?”
“I...”
I take a different tack. “If you’re so desperate to make it right for Rachel, don’t you think she’d want me to be happy?”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re trying to manipulate me.”
“I’m trying to make you understand that what happened with Rachel was an accident. I’ve forgiven you. Your response is to walk away and leave me.” My finger stabs him in the chest for a third time.
He captures it, probably trying to prevent me from drilling a hole through his sweatshirt. “There are a dozen other guys at Darling who would be better for you than me.”
“Name one.”
He opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then opens it again. Then closes it.
“Ha,” I declare. I close the distance between us and loop my arms around his waist. “There’s no one out there that would listen to me like you do.”
He relaxes a tad and wraps his arms around me. “You have low standards, doll.”
“Not really. You were my first and I’m a senior, so I’d say I have high standards. You have a low opinion of yourself.”
“Is this where you tell me to climb down off the cross?”
“Do I need to?”
He exhales heavily. “No.”
We stand there for a long time next to the Palmers’ shed. Finally, I let him go. “I need to go in,” I say reluctantly.
“Yes.” He makes no move to leave.
I walk backward, afraid that he’ll retreat into his guilt-ridden shell if I take my eyes off of him.
“What’s your small thing for today?” I ask as I cross the neighbors’ lawn to my own.
“You.”
26
On a Friday morning, I find a wildflower in my locker. An ear-to-ear grin spreads across my face, but I keep my back turned so nobody walking down the hall can see how giddy I am.
“Who’s that from?” Scarlett demands, peeking over my shoulder.
I roll the single stem between my fingers. “I picked it at the bus stop,” I lie, because whatever is going on between Chase and me has to remain a secret for it to survive.