he rolls me back over. He gets up and sits away from me, his back against the wall.
“Is something wrong?” he asks. “Are you okay when I get physical with you?”
Suddenly I’m cold. A voice inside says to say nothing, but words catch up and fight in my throat. The stone deep inside me tears through muscle and skin.
“I—I—I need to tell you something. . . .” And I do. Words stumble and fall out of me. Sounds of my mother doing the laundry float upstairs, punctuating the silence while I try to find words. I tell him about Trevor, how scared I was in the dressing room, how I tried to tell Lark, how my mom didn’t do anything once I finally told her.
“It’s like she didn’t get it. She didn’t get how it made me feel. She was focused on other things, like if he went inside me or not, or if she had to take me to the doctor.”
Ian looks at me, then away, resting his head behind clasped hands. It must be a burden to hear this.
“But I like when we’re physical,” I say. I’m shaking now. My breath cuts off so I can only whisper. “I do. I’m not always sure how to respond, but I like when we’re physical. And I want you to like me that way.”
Ian crosses the room and folds me into his arms. He kisses my hair while I lean into him. “Listen to me,” he says. “That Trevor guy is an asshole. He’s a child molester and a pervert. You’re with me now, and nothing like that can ever happen to you again.”
Chapter 21
Lark
I’m monstrous and ugly—part tree, part girl, the color of dirt and bark. Leaves cover my face. I blend in with the woods, like a fallen tree or a stump, a branch torn off by a storm. I stand by the trees by my house, watching Ian and Eve walk from her house to mine. I hear Eve describing the games that we played in the den, how we made collages with scented markers and glitter.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asks, drawing her close.
“Because you liked her,” she says. “Didn’t you?”
I wait to hear what he says. I remember how I used to blush when he walked into class, how he smiled and dropped his head when he took the desk next to mine.
“Only a little,” he says. “I gave up quick. She was hard to get to know. I couldn’t have a conversation with her.”
“Not like with me?”
“No. Not like with you.”
I watch him kiss Eve, and I have never felt more dead than I do now. I remember how I liked his voice, and how his eyes always seemed to be dilated. I didn’t have room for him. I cast out Eve as well because she didn’t keep up with her swimming. I was all about practice and regionals, competitions and grades. The week before I died my mother signed me up for an SAT prep course. I was dead when I was alive, and I didn’t even know it.
Chapter 22
Nyetta
It’s almost noon, but I’m still in bed, wrapped in my blanket. My mother paces the hall and talks to my dad on the phone, describing how she found me collapsed in the woods.
“It was snowing and she was facedown, crying and hallucinating, talking to Lark.” She’s crying like she doesn’t know what to do. Next she’s on the phone to April, telling her the same thing. When she comes into my room, I pretend I’m asleep.
I hear a car in the driveway and a knock on the door. Moments later, my dad walks into my room.
“Hey, you,” he says. “How’re you feeling?” I let him hold me against him and rock me like he did when I was little.
My mom comes in with a tray of soup and crackers, and a glass of apple juice mixed with sparkling water. My parents sit on my bed and watch me eat. The broth trickles down my throat. My throat feels swollen and sore. Either Lark or I broke my window because one pane is patched with brown paper and tape.
“I’ll go to the hardware store later,” my dad says.
“Can I come?” I ask.
“Maybe,” he says.
“After you see April,” says my mother.
“But it’s not Wednesday,” I say. I’m drowsy and thick, like there’s a cloud in
“Is something wrong?” he asks. “Are you okay when I get physical with you?”
Suddenly I’m cold. A voice inside says to say nothing, but words catch up and fight in my throat. The stone deep inside me tears through muscle and skin.
“I—I—I need to tell you something. . . .” And I do. Words stumble and fall out of me. Sounds of my mother doing the laundry float upstairs, punctuating the silence while I try to find words. I tell him about Trevor, how scared I was in the dressing room, how I tried to tell Lark, how my mom didn’t do anything once I finally told her.
“It’s like she didn’t get it. She didn’t get how it made me feel. She was focused on other things, like if he went inside me or not, or if she had to take me to the doctor.”
Ian looks at me, then away, resting his head behind clasped hands. It must be a burden to hear this.
“But I like when we’re physical,” I say. I’m shaking now. My breath cuts off so I can only whisper. “I do. I’m not always sure how to respond, but I like when we’re physical. And I want you to like me that way.”
Ian crosses the room and folds me into his arms. He kisses my hair while I lean into him. “Listen to me,” he says. “That Trevor guy is an asshole. He’s a child molester and a pervert. You’re with me now, and nothing like that can ever happen to you again.”
Chapter 21
Lark
I’m monstrous and ugly—part tree, part girl, the color of dirt and bark. Leaves cover my face. I blend in with the woods, like a fallen tree or a stump, a branch torn off by a storm. I stand by the trees by my house, watching Ian and Eve walk from her house to mine. I hear Eve describing the games that we played in the den, how we made collages with scented markers and glitter.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asks, drawing her close.
“Because you liked her,” she says. “Didn’t you?”
I wait to hear what he says. I remember how I used to blush when he walked into class, how he smiled and dropped his head when he took the desk next to mine.
“Only a little,” he says. “I gave up quick. She was hard to get to know. I couldn’t have a conversation with her.”
“Not like with me?”
“No. Not like with you.”
I watch him kiss Eve, and I have never felt more dead than I do now. I remember how I liked his voice, and how his eyes always seemed to be dilated. I didn’t have room for him. I cast out Eve as well because she didn’t keep up with her swimming. I was all about practice and regionals, competitions and grades. The week before I died my mother signed me up for an SAT prep course. I was dead when I was alive, and I didn’t even know it.
Chapter 22
Nyetta
It’s almost noon, but I’m still in bed, wrapped in my blanket. My mother paces the hall and talks to my dad on the phone, describing how she found me collapsed in the woods.
“It was snowing and she was facedown, crying and hallucinating, talking to Lark.” She’s crying like she doesn’t know what to do. Next she’s on the phone to April, telling her the same thing. When she comes into my room, I pretend I’m asleep.
I hear a car in the driveway and a knock on the door. Moments later, my dad walks into my room.
“Hey, you,” he says. “How’re you feeling?” I let him hold me against him and rock me like he did when I was little.
My mom comes in with a tray of soup and crackers, and a glass of apple juice mixed with sparkling water. My parents sit on my bed and watch me eat. The broth trickles down my throat. My throat feels swollen and sore. Either Lark or I broke my window because one pane is patched with brown paper and tape.
“I’ll go to the hardware store later,” my dad says.
“Can I come?” I ask.
“Maybe,” he says.
“After you see April,” says my mother.
“But it’s not Wednesday,” I say. I’m drowsy and thick, like there’s a cloud in
Similar Books
