that’s why. I’m kidding. I want to give you a ride home.”
“I don’t want a ride,” I said.
“Is that why you’re following me?” He heaved out a sigh, climbed out of the car and circled to my side, and reached for my backpack.
I stepped back and warned, “Don’t touch me.”
“Then go,” he said. “Leave. If you have nothing to tell me, leave .”
I didn’t move.
He stepped forward and tugged my backpack off my shoulder, and I didn’t stop him. He tossed it in the back of the convertible, then opened the passenger door for me. “Get in.”
I stared at the red leather seats. My heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t be here, I couldn’t be doing this, I couldn’t be talking to him like this.
Yet here I was.
Because I wanted to be near the pain I had caused.
He flicked the cigarette butt onto the ground, still watching me.
My brain was telling me to run, but my body craved this.
So I made the stupidest of all stupid decisions. I got in.
Emory slammed the door and went back to his side, where he hurdled his door in a single fluid motion, swinging into the driver’s seat. The engine revved, and we glided through the parking lot.
On the floor in front of me, my shoes nudged aside pink lip gloss, a bottle of moisturizing lotion, a hairbrush tangled with blonde hair.
Her hair.
I began breathing fast, hyperventilating.
She had sat in this seat.
Before I could process that, Emory veered onto the main street and floored it. The acceleration crushed me into the seatback, and my stomach seemed to lag far behind. My hair sailed behind me, whipped my face.
“You’re not her friend,” said Emory. “I knew all her friends. You’re not her friend.”
I shook my head.
“But you knew her?” he said.
“I knew of her.” The words sounded callous, and I wished I could take them back.
In the silence that stretched out between us, I focused on his toned forearms, fluidly shifting gears.
Oh God, what was I doing here?
Did I want to go to jail?
I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together. They felt sticky. Probably honey or something from lunch. I wiped them off on my jeans, but if anything, that only made it spread.
“I think you know something,” he said carefully. “That’s why you ran away when I asked you about her. You know something, don’t you?”
My body went rigid. I said nothing, not trusting myself to speak.
“Leona?” he pressed.
“I can’t be here,” I said softly.
The breeze lifted my hair again, and I caught it in my hand and held it to my neck, feeling sick all over again. I imagined her in this very seat, her golden hair sailing behind her like mine, except in slow motion.
She would have been a sophomore this year.
It was easy to picture, brother and sister, rolling up on the first day of school with the top down, rapping along to the same songs. She would climb out, shake out her long mane, and scamper off to join her friends. Boys would have had crushes on her.
Now that would never happen.
I peeked at Emory and caught him staring at me, getting a nervous jolt of adrenaline. I fixed my gaze straight ahead, face burning hot.
Was he remembering her in this seat?
Was I the first girl who had been in his car since her?
Suddenly, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I didn’t deserve to be in this seat. I didn’t deserve to sit where she sat.
“Stop,” I whispered. “Emory, stop the car.”
“Where do you live?”
“Just stop the car. I’ll walk home.”
“I’ll drop you off at your house.”
“Emory, stop the car!” I shouted, shocked at the sudden edge to my voice.
He slowed down and pulled to the curb, but before I could jump out, his hand closed on my forearm. “Leona,” he said. “If you know anything about my sister, if you know anything about what happened to her, you need to tell me.” There was a desperate plea in his eyes.
“I’ll tell you if I hear anything,” I said. “I promise.”
“No, you don’t understand,” he spat,
“I don’t want a ride,” I said.
“Is that why you’re following me?” He heaved out a sigh, climbed out of the car and circled to my side, and reached for my backpack.
I stepped back and warned, “Don’t touch me.”
“Then go,” he said. “Leave. If you have nothing to tell me, leave .”
I didn’t move.
He stepped forward and tugged my backpack off my shoulder, and I didn’t stop him. He tossed it in the back of the convertible, then opened the passenger door for me. “Get in.”
I stared at the red leather seats. My heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t be here, I couldn’t be doing this, I couldn’t be talking to him like this.
Yet here I was.
Because I wanted to be near the pain I had caused.
He flicked the cigarette butt onto the ground, still watching me.
My brain was telling me to run, but my body craved this.
So I made the stupidest of all stupid decisions. I got in.
Emory slammed the door and went back to his side, where he hurdled his door in a single fluid motion, swinging into the driver’s seat. The engine revved, and we glided through the parking lot.
On the floor in front of me, my shoes nudged aside pink lip gloss, a bottle of moisturizing lotion, a hairbrush tangled with blonde hair.
Her hair.
I began breathing fast, hyperventilating.
She had sat in this seat.
Before I could process that, Emory veered onto the main street and floored it. The acceleration crushed me into the seatback, and my stomach seemed to lag far behind. My hair sailed behind me, whipped my face.
“You’re not her friend,” said Emory. “I knew all her friends. You’re not her friend.”
I shook my head.
“But you knew her?” he said.
“I knew of her.” The words sounded callous, and I wished I could take them back.
In the silence that stretched out between us, I focused on his toned forearms, fluidly shifting gears.
Oh God, what was I doing here?
Did I want to go to jail?
I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together. They felt sticky. Probably honey or something from lunch. I wiped them off on my jeans, but if anything, that only made it spread.
“I think you know something,” he said carefully. “That’s why you ran away when I asked you about her. You know something, don’t you?”
My body went rigid. I said nothing, not trusting myself to speak.
“Leona?” he pressed.
“I can’t be here,” I said softly.
The breeze lifted my hair again, and I caught it in my hand and held it to my neck, feeling sick all over again. I imagined her in this very seat, her golden hair sailing behind her like mine, except in slow motion.
She would have been a sophomore this year.
It was easy to picture, brother and sister, rolling up on the first day of school with the top down, rapping along to the same songs. She would climb out, shake out her long mane, and scamper off to join her friends. Boys would have had crushes on her.
Now that would never happen.
I peeked at Emory and caught him staring at me, getting a nervous jolt of adrenaline. I fixed my gaze straight ahead, face burning hot.
Was he remembering her in this seat?
Was I the first girl who had been in his car since her?
Suddenly, I couldn’t take it anymore.
I didn’t deserve to be in this seat. I didn’t deserve to sit where she sat.
“Stop,” I whispered. “Emory, stop the car.”
“Where do you live?”
“Just stop the car. I’ll walk home.”
“I’ll drop you off at your house.”
“Emory, stop the car!” I shouted, shocked at the sudden edge to my voice.
He slowed down and pulled to the curb, but before I could jump out, his hand closed on my forearm. “Leona,” he said. “If you know anything about my sister, if you know anything about what happened to her, you need to tell me.” There was a desperate plea in his eyes.
“I’ll tell you if I hear anything,” I said. “I promise.”
“No, you don’t understand,” he spat,
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