chapter twenty-four-1

I was too afraid to drive her car to school the next day, the early morning chill crawling up my spine as I stared at its red, gleaming paint in the driveway. There was too much of her there. I couldn't flip the turn signals or adjust mirrors and act like maybe Emily hadn't kept Elizabeth Monner in there somewhere. Maybe in the trunk or the back seat. Maybe even when we'd driven home later that afternoon, while I relaxed against the passenger seat and hummed along to the radio. "Hey, Mom?" I called out. "Can you give me a ride to school?" "Sure, I can drop you off on the way to work," she said as she swallowed her sip of coffee. "Is something wrong with the car?" The car was what she had been calling it since Emily had been arrested and I started driving it. Not hers anymore, but still not completely mine. I thought about lying to her, that it wasn't starting or a tire was flat or something, but suddenly it felt exhausting keeping everything to myself. "No," I said. "I just don't want to drive it today. Or maybe anymore, I don't know." My mother placed her coffee mug in the sink with a slight clunk. "Okay, but sweetheart, you should know that we can't afford to get you another car right now. My practice hasn't exactly been thriving the past few months." "I know. I could just start taking the bus or something." She shook her head. "No, I don't think that's a good idea. There's just so much going on, I don't want other kids to start bullying you about it." She paused, rinsing out her mug under the faucet. "I can drive you to school, and maybe when Scoops! opens up again in the summer, we can work something out between that and what we make selling the other car." "I don't know if I'm going back to Scoops! this summer." I shrugged. "The owner probably doesn't even want me to work there. Everyone would probably think I'm poisoning the ice cream or something." "Mrs. Connor loves you!" she scoffed. "And besides, you need a job, Clara. You have to earn money for college somehow, and if you tell me . . ." she said, pointing a finger at me, a teasing smile on her face, "that you're not sure you're going to college next year, you can forget about that plan." She set her coffee mug on the drying rack and dried her hands with a dish towel. I nodded. "I know." I hesitated for a moment before asking, "Mom, why were you there last night?" She paused, like that was something she wasn't expecting me to ask. I wasn't really expecting to ask her either. Then she let out a soft sigh. "I just wanted their family to know how sorry I was for everything that happened. I found the invitation Kolby sent you, and it seemed like a good opportunity." "You know you're neighbors, right? You could've just walked across the street without making a scene at a party." "I've tried. And I'm sorry about making a scene last night." She smiled sadly at me before reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I should've just accepted that what I needed to say wasn't what they needed to hear. Anyway, we'd better leave now if you don't want to be late." I kept glancing around the hallway for Kolby, wondering if maybe he'd waited for me this morning, standing by the front door and listening for the familiar sound of the Mini Cooper's engine approaching his driveway. Or maybe he'd never even considered riding with me, the girl who'd accused his best friend of raping her before her sister murdered him. But I never saw him, not in any of the hallways or at the water fountains or even in the cafeteria during lunch. I looked around, searching for his familiar frame standing in line or sitting at one of the tables. When all I saw were the usual staring faces, I turned away and went into the girls' restroom to hide. When I came out of the stall a few minutes later, just before the bell for our next period rang, I noticed a girl with short brown hair and thick eyeliner standing at the sink. When she saw me standing behind her in the mirror, she hesitated, staring at me. I turned on the tap, running the ice-cold water over my palms like I'd just used the restroom like a normal girl. I was pumping the soap when she finally spoke, uncertainty lacing her voice. "So did Griffin Tomlin really rape you?" ~ I left the restroom with my hands dripping wet, soap suds between my fingers as I stepped out into the hallway. I felt the droplets slipping off my fingertips as I tried to focus on something. A locker door slamming, a voice shouting, the static crackling through the speakers of the PA system. But there was nothing, only the words the girl had said at the sink reverberating through my mind. Someone said they heard Mrs. Tomlin telling her husband about it. She sounded, like, really mad. But did he really rape you, though? You could tell me. If he did. It just . . . it's Griffin, you know? I walked slowly to my locker, noticing random heads turning to look as I maneuvered between people, backpacks bumping against my shoulders. A couple of awkward-looking girls stood near the water fountain, uncertainty on their faces, and a lanky boy smacked his friend's chest to make him look up from his phone as I neared my locker. I hadn't realized it before. I'd thought they were looking at me like they normally did, the way they had since October. Then I lifted my gaze and found him. Kolby stood alone near the turn of the hallway, with his hand clenching the strap of his backpack. There was something in his expression, in his jawline and eyes, that sank deep into my chest, but he kept the distance between us before he turned away. Someone tapped him on the shoulder as he passed, gesturing to me, but he shrugged his shoulder out from under their hand before he disappeared. "Hey, Clara, wait up!" I heard Aniston's voice, a blur of pink appearing from behind me. "I take it from the rumors buzzing around school that Griffin's weird dead birthday party thing didn't go so well. That's okay. I mean, it's not okay okay, but it will be. People just care right now because it's fresh. Like, you know, eating avocados and doing internet challenges." I shot her a look as I opened my locker. She made a face. "I get that people knowing is bad but it's not terrible, Clara. They'll, you know, get over it and it'll—" "You knew." "Knew about what? I found out what happened last night at the party through the rumor mill. Which is fine. I mean, you could've texted me. If you wanted. But, I don't know, maybe you thought it was too late or something, and in that case, thanks for the consideration—" "No, you knew about Emily," I interrupted, watching as she tensed. "You knew that she killed Elizabeth Monner. You knew the entire time and you never told me. I mean, what was even the point of asking me to help you if you were just going to keep things from me?"