ROSALIE
SUNDAY, JANUARY 21
I bike hard from God’s Grace to Bracken Hollow, the burn in my calves and thighs spurring me on, driving me to pedal faster. I need to get to the library early, before the start of my shift. I need to check my email, something I haven’t been able to do all weekend. I can’t stop thinking about the screen shots Amanda showed me Friday night. It didn’t hit me until I’d gotten off the bus. In at least four of the texts, Private called her Princess.
Which is exactly what Pau’s always called her. Princess Amanda.
I don’t want the PI to tell me my worst fears are true. But I have to know.
I pedal harder.
At the library, I wave to Marge, then head straight for an open computer station. I draw in a deep breath as my email loads. There’s a new message from Amanda, from late last night.
Subject: Private
From: Amanda Kelly
To: me
Rosalie!!!
PRIVATE IS BEN GALLAGHER. He was the hit-and-run driver. I have evidence.
We also got another update. Two group messages from this afternoon, to you and my old number. PI Krausse screen-shot them for me:
Your time is running out, ladies.
You need to focus. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.
You both know what you have to do. If either one of you lets the hourglass run dry, there will be blood.
Now that I know it’s Ben writing that crap, I want to strangle him. You were right, Friday night. He’s jealous. He’s trying to bring Carter down, and us along with him. You actually met him the same night you met Carter. Picture all the guys Carter was with. Ben was the tall, awkward one.
This thing is almost over. I can taste it. I’m onto Ben, and now so is PI Krausse.
Take care, Rosalie. For real. Maybe don’t go out alone, okay?
I’ll be in touch.
—Amanda
I close the email and exhale. I don’t know what evidence Amanda has about the hit-and-run, but every molecule in my body vibrates with the hope that she’s right. That all my suspicions about Paulina have been completely in my head. What if it was never a square, or a triangle either? What if it’s just Ben?
I press my eyes closed and try to let myself believe it. If it’s true, by Carter’s birthday, Ben Gallagher will be in handcuffs. I do remember him from that night. The guy Elissa knew from leadership camp. He seemed . . . nice.
I run my palms back and forth across the tops of my jeans and try to get myself together. If Ben is Private, if PI Krausse is on the case, that solves half of my problems. But when Carter gets out of the hospital, my parents will expect to see him. They’ll expect everything to pick up where it left off. And that’s not going to happen. Not with Carter, not with any other boy. Never again.
I know in my heart I can’t go back, make those choices all over again. Can’t do that to Carter, or Amanda, or Paulina. Or most of all, myself. In the end, Pau was right. Graduation is a long time away. And four and a half more months is too much of my life to give to the Fellowship.
I touch the ring on my finger, spin the silver band around and around. In the twelve days I’ve been wearing it, I almost got used to its presence. How my parents think it’s a promise I’ve made about Carter. How it’s another lie. I slip it off and into my pocket.
The computer clock says I have twenty minutes before my shift begins. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to picture myself on the other side of this. Free. Fitted leather jacket, chunky red boots, smile that won’t stop. But all I can see is my little sister’s face, twisted with anger and pain when she learns I’ve left her. When our parents tell her why. In my fantasy, we’re standing face to face in the middle of the pasture at school. Stretching out behind Lily are our parents, Brother Masters, the God’s Grace congregation, and behind them, every member of the FOC, thousands and thousands of bodies strong. Behind me is the barren stretch of woods.
“Homosexuality is a sin,” Lily shouts, small fists balled at her sides. The people cheer her on. “When you choose to walk the devil’s path, you walk it alone. You’re no sister of mine.” A burst of applause, voices joined in approval and praise. These are the voices she’ll hear when I’m gone. I reach for her hand, but the crowd surrounds her, swallows her. The roar is deafening.
My eyes snap open, then blink against the computer screen light. Twelve minutes until my shift. I open up a Google Doc and start drafting a letter to Lily.
• • •
When my shift ends, I remember to call. I ride straight home. I lock my bike in the shed, check in with Dad. Lily and I snuggle together on the den couch, and she reads two whole chapters of Anna, Banana, and the Little Lost Kitten out loud, all by herself. I put water on to boil, make a salad, set the table. I do everything exactly right.
Then after dinner, I close myself in my room and start packing. Clothes, shoes, essentials. I leave the items on my dresser untouched, the photos taped to my walls. On the surface, my room looks undisturbed. When I’m finished, I shove my duffel bag in the back of my closet, where it will stay until I can slip out and lock it in the shed late tonight.
I’m strangely calm. This is how it must be in the eye of a hurricane. Before you’re hurled back into the storm, the stillness feels like floating.