I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Grace’s journal sitting on top of my desk when I finally returned home from the hospital. I shouldn’t have shivered when I ran my fingers over her name etched into the bright pink cover using an orange pen.
I have no idea who left it there for me. Probably Porter or Cameron. But my heart wanted to believe it was Grace.
I thought about opening it up. I thought about reading every word. But instead I walked over to my closet, ballet flats clicking and creaking on the wood floor, and pulled down the brown cardboard box on the top shelf. It was covered in dust, and I felt a sneeze tickling my nose as I balanced the weight in my arms.
I slid off the lid of the box, my fingers catching on the rough edges of the cardboard. The snapshots and notes and slam books were all jumbled together, and I carefully picked up my favorite picture, the one with Maddie and Grace that we took before upper school started, before the world swallowed up our childhood. Our faces were soft and dimpled, our eyes sparkling with possibility. Hope. I unfolded the frame and placed it gently on my nightstand. I wanted to remember the way we’d been, because I was ready to start being the person I’d become. But there was nothing wrong with a little hope.
I carefully lifted Grace’s pearls from around my neck and snapped them into the large velvet box that Ms. Lee had presented me with after Grace’s funeral. I loved the pearls, and I’d miss their cool reassurance on my neck, but it was time to retire them. Maybe someday I’d wear them again. Someday when they reminded me of something other than revenge.
I lifted the journal from my desk and stacked it carefully on top in the box. The pages felt heavy with secrets, and part of me wanted to devour them all. But a bigger part of me knew that I needed to let Grace go. I was happy to have her words, her thoughts nearby. But that didn’t mean I had to read them. Dead or alive, every girl deserves to keep some secrets.
Besides, I had different plans for today. My bruises had mostly faded, and I had that familiar itch that always came with big changes in my life. Thankfully I planned for such occasions, and I had just the thing to scratch it.
I flipped open the small closet next to my bathroom and started digging around for some hair dye. The past seventy-two hours had changed my life. I felt different, so it was only fair that I look different too.
It wasn’t easy to find the right box. I had a few stockpiled, a rainbow of colors I figured I’d need at some point. I felt my lips turn up in a smile when I finally uncovered the right color behind the packages of purple and platinum, blue and green. I ran my fingers over the model on the box, so pretty and happy, like she held the secret to it all. I could use a secret like that.
Because I’d changed. I was never going to be the Kate who rode her bike to the drugstore with her two best friends and stayed up all night laughing and eating Twizzlers. I was never going to be that girl in the picture, but I was ready to go back to being me. Well, the new and improved me, that is.
As I rinsed the dye from my hair, I let a few other things slip down the drain as well. Regret, guilt, revenge, sadness. I’d reserve the right to feel these things occasionally, but I desperately clung to hope instead. Because hope was what moved you forward.