46
Chelsea and I sit facingeach other in the attic. Everyone is gone and the house is empty. The cold from earlier has dissipated. Heat from the closed windows and doors has begun to accumulate in the house, and it’s concentrating itself in this room. Beads of sweat cover Chelsea’s face, and she pulls off her sweater and scratches the linen tank she’s wearing underneath.
My eyes go to the band around her wrist that she never takes off, the worn hospital bracelet. “Why are you still wearing that?”
“As a reminder,” she says.
“Of what?”
“Of what happens when you’re not careful.” She plays with it, slides it up and down her forearm.
“What weren’t you careful about?”
She smiles with her mouth only. “Words. Friends. Trust.”
“You mean the note.” I rest my chin on my knees. Let her say it.
“It wasn’t a suicide note.”
“You wrote that you weren’t sure how you could live with yourselves anymore. Those were your exact words.”
“It’s a phrase,” she whispers.
I believe her. It was never a suicide note. It was an admission of guilt. That’s why I turned it in when I found it in Chase’s jacket pocket. I don’t know how no one else saw it that way. But people believe what they want to believe. See what they want to see.
“I guess the ‘live anymore’ part made people worried, you know?” I paint my concern. Thick, with deep lines of chiaroscuro. I want her to keep talking.
“But who?” She takes me in. My colors and strokes. My effort.
“Guidance, obviously. Your parents.”
“No.” Her expression tightens. “Which one of you passed that note to the school? It was a betrayal.”
It’s almost too much to handle. The idea that of all things,thiswas the betrayal. “Chelsea, none of us would have betrayed your confidence. It probably fell out of one of our pockets.”
“It wasn’t an accident.” Her voice is sharp and severe. “One of you didn’t trust me. They made me leave school, Emily. They told me I was suicidal, and when I told them it was a mistake, they didn’t believe me. They made me see a therapist, and when I told him it was a mistake, he didn’t believe me either. They locked me in a hospital fortwo weeks, forced chemicals into my body without my consent, and every hour of every day was filled with questions that weren’t really questions because no one ever believed a word I said.”
“Questions about what?”
She stops abruptly and stares at me. We both know about what. Come on, Chelsea. Now or never. Why couldn’t you live with yourselves?
But her face goes blank, then smooth. “It was a nightmare.I was the only one who knew the truth, and they didn’t believe me. They looked right through me like I wasn’t there. Like a criminal. And they started taking things. School, and then home, and then my clothes and phone and privacy.” She’s shaking, and for a second I forget what Chelsea did and I start to feel horrible. “It was a mistake.” Her voice is flat, hollow. “That’s the truth.”
I stare at her, breathless. “Whoever turned you in probably knows that. She wanted to make sure you were okay.” Keep talking, Chelsea. Don’t stop now.
Her shoulders drop. “She. Kennedy did it?”
“I have no idea. But I did wonder. What was the mistake? Why did you write the note? If everyone is so convinced Ryan ran away.” I pause. “Dove into the water, faked his own death. If he’s really okay, why would it be hard to live with yourselves?”
She picks up a candle and lets a drop of wax fall onto her shoe, then presses her fingertip into it. “I don’t know. I guess part of me feels responsible.”
“How?”
She raises her eyes. “You don’t remember last year?”
I nod. “Sure. Chase and Ryan were at each other’s throats. So?”
“It was more than that. Things were falling apart. You were fighting with Kennedy, too. Mila was… there. Ryan said he wanted to be with me, and I told him it couldn’t happen.”