“Jenna knew the poem wouldn’t be enough to keep me happy for long. That letter though? She can sit at my table through the end of exams for that. Let me tell you, this is some juicy stuff. My dad has contacts in publishing who’d be very interested in thestory.”
Sweat breaks out on my neck as I reach for a paper towel to dry my hands. “It’s nottrue.”
She shrugs. “I’m sure a bit of grunt work can uncover the truth. It’s amazing what a detective cando.”
Panic starts deep in my gut, but I swallow itdown.
She smiles, and when she lowers her voice conspiratorially, I almost think it’s genuine. “We all call our parents names, give them hell for their choices. But at the end of the day, it’s our dirty laundry. And it’s one thing to argue at the dinner table but something else for the world to tear down your walls, rip away yourprivacy.”
Her words make me shiver, but I force myself to focus. “What do youwant?”
Her eyes brighten as she moves closer. “I love when you’re not as stupid as you look. If you want your letter back, you’ll back out of themusical.”
“No way. Opening night’s in a week. If I back down, I’ll look like an asshole to the entire cast and crew. Norelli will never cast me in anythingagain.”
“Not myproblem.”
My entire body tingles as if my brain’s stopped sending blood to my fingers, my toes. “You’re doing this for a role. You know how fucked up thatis?”
She smiles. “You’re considering letting your entire family get ripped to shreds for a role. You know how fucked up that is? I warned you,” she goes on. “Don’t take things that don’t belong to you. The role, Kellan, Tyler.” Her eyes flash, and my nails dig into my palms until I swear they drawblood.
She brushes past me but stops at the door. “I’ll give you until this weekend to decide. I’ll have a lot of rehearsing to catch upon.”
15
When I get homefrom school, I run to my room and yank open the drawer, then flip open mynotebook.
The letter’sgone.
The numbness from earlier starts again, this time filling my chest, my arms, mylegs.
I search the rest of the drawer, the one below that. The floor. My books, binders, pockets, even though I know it can’t be inthere.
When I go back through the kitchen, no one’sthere.
The patio’s dark when I shift through the door, closing it after me. I cross to the edge of the pool, staring into the shimmering water. The low buzz of the filter fills my ears with whitenoise.
Jenna didn’t just take my poem—she took myletter.
I tug off one sock, then theother.
She gave it toCarly.
I take the steps one at a time, the water lapping at my toes, then my calves. Then my thighs, soaking the edge of my plaidskirt.
If it gets out, it could ruin myfamily.
When the water’s up to my waist, my Oxford shirt stained dark up to my breasts, I dive, squeezing my eyes shut and pulling myself through the water. When I make it to the deep end, I sit on thebottom.
The blackness and the silence surroundme.
One bubble slips past my lips, thenanother.
My dad taught me how to swim, back before I knew he was my dad. He rented out an entire wave pool so it could be just the two of us so I wouldn’t be embarrassed to be the only ten-year-old who needed waterwings.
I haven’t thought of that in years, butnow—
Something grabs myarm.