Casey
My sister’s gentle voice snaps me to attention. I lift my head and seek out her gaze.
“W-what?” I stammer. Breathing through the tears, I look from Sloane to our dad. “You buried her?”
He nods to confirm the claim. “We did.”
“When?”
“After you threw out the box. You went up to your room, and we took her out of the garbage and buried her.”
“Why?”
Sloane comes over and wraps her arm around my waist. She’s taller than me, so she’s able to rest her chin perfectly on my shoulder. “Because we knew you’d regret it if she didn’t have a proper burial.”
Another wave of emotion washes over me, weakening my knees. I sag into my sister’s embrace.
“You were right—people do grow up,” Dad agrees, reminding me of what I’d said that day in the kitchen. “And things do die. But the one thing that can never die is your compassion, sweetheart. You can’t change what’s imbedded deep in your soul. You loved that rabbit, just like you’ve loved every other injured stray you’ve brought home.”
“Where did you bury her?” My tears are drying, slowly leaking from the corners of my eyes.
“Your sister picked a nice shady spot on the property behind the far shed, in that fenced-off area where the dogs don’t go.”
My breaths begin to steady. I swallow, speaking through the lump in my throat. “Can you take me there?”
Dad looks startled. “Now?”
“No, we can wait till morning,” I say in a shaky voice. “Just don’t forget.”
“I won’t,” he promises, then grasps my chin with his hand and tips my head up. He searches my face. “Are you okay?”
I manage a nod.
“Are you sure? Do you want me to fix you a cup of warm milk? Hot tea?”
“I’m good,” I assure him, and I’m not lying. I feel like a massive load has been lifted off my chest. Picturing Silver’s body in the trash had ripped something apart inside of me, but those torn pieces of my heart are slowly stitching their way back together. “Let’s all go to bed now.”
“That’s a good idea,” he says.
“I’ll walk you to your room,” Sloane says, taking my hand.
We say good night to our father and go to my room, but rather than leave me to sleep, Sloane follows me in and sits on the edge of my bed.
“We need to talk.”
“It’s late, Sloane. And I just got off an emotional roller coaster. Can we save it for tomorrow?”
“No, we can’t. In fact, this is the perfect time to discuss it. When you’re feeling raw and your defenses are down.”
“That sounds ominous.” Swallowing my annoyance, I crawl back under the covers and draw them up to my neck. “Fine. Talk. I won’t be able to fall asleep right away, anyway.”
“Look, I get that you’ve gone through some rough shit. I do. And you have every reason to be upset and discouraged and anything else you’re feeling.” She exhales, shaking her head at me. “But whatever this act is you’re doing, it doesn’t suit you. This whole bad-girl routine has to stop. It’s not you.”
“It’s not an act. It’s a reaction to finally being completely fed up with the way everyone treats me like some fragile little mouse.” Resentment tightens my throat. “Especially you.”
“So that’s why you’re skinny-dipping with Mila and getting detention? Because your family is smothering you? Well, I’m sorry you’re burdened with people who care about you.”
I feel tired again. Exhausted. Of course. Sloane’s always got to be the martyr. It’s hilarious that she comes in here saying we have to talk about me, but somehow makes it about her.
“I don’t want to fight with you, Sloane.” My eyes start to feel hot again. “I just want you to understand me.”
“I’m trying.”
She scoots to the head of the bed, fishing my hand out from under the covers. I let her, only because her fingers are so warm and I’m suddenly feeling cold. Empty.
“Talk to me, Case. Please. I’m listening.”
My heart squeezes. We’ve always been close. We didn’t have a choice, I guess. Mom was gone, and the two of us were left to navigate a world hostile to girls without someone to teach us how to survive. Dad has done his best, but he can’t possibly understand what we’ve been through. What we will go through. Since we were little, I’ve turned to Sloane to help me figure these things out. For better or worse, she’s been my role model. Maybe that’s why we fight so much lately. She has a hard time looking at herself in the mirror.
“I screwed up,” I confess. “I hooked up with Lawson.”
Her eyes nearly leap out of her skull. She opens her mouth then snaps it shut again.
“And I told Fenn. So, of course, he didn’t take it well. Showed up here last night covered in blood and bruises.”
She drops her head, biting her tongue. Her enormous show of restraint doesn’t go unnoticed.
“I managed to make a mess of the whole thing, and I don’t know how to stop making things worse.”
After more silence than I’m comfortable with, Sloane readjusts her position, sitting cross-legged so she can peer down at me. “In a perfect world, what do you want out of all this?”
“This, what?”
“Well, do you want to be with Lawson?” She looks like she’s holding back bile just getting the words out. It’s sort of painful to watch.
“No. I don’t think so. It just sort of happened.”
She winces, nodding before I’m tempted to traumatize her with the details. “What about Fenn?”
If imagining me with Lawson makes her physically ill, I suspect that entertaining the idea of Fenn remaining an active part of my life nearly kills her.
“He knows what he did hurt me, and he really has tried to make it right. He showed up here last night to come clean and finally admit what happened at prom. And now he’s gone and turned himself in. Might go to jail for what he did. And I know I’m supposed to be angry at him for that night, blame him for leaving me there and not telling me it was him, but I also wouldn’t be alive if he hadn’t shown up. I would have drowned.” My throat clamps shut. “Like Mom.”
“I get it. I feel the same way. I want to hate him, but it’s hard,” she admits, albeit grudgingly.
“I don’t hate him at all. I’ve tried to, and I just can’t. I’m stuck,” I confess. “I can’t move on from him and I’m so completely miserable all the time. He screwed up and he’s been paying for it. But I’m paying for it too.”
Fenn’s greatest fault was trying to be everything to everyone. Protecting me and his best friend, who happened to find each other on opposite ends of a situation Fenn was unlucky enough to stumble into. He tried to do the right thing the wrong way. It was a mistake, and he’s admitted as much.
“He hurt me, but I hurt him too. And I knew what I was doing when I did.”
Sloane goes silent for a moment.
“Okay,” she finally says. “Let me give you the benefit of my experience. Holding a grudge will never bring you comfort. It’s not going to heal whatever wound his betrayal created. I thought I could write RJ off, but all I did was drive myself crazy. At some point, if hating them is hurting you, you have to try forgiveness.”
“I want to forgive him.” I bite my lip. “But doesn’t that make me weak?”
“No,” she says, her voice emphatic. “Not if the apology is sincere. Showing grace to someone you believe deserves it takes serious guts. Even more courage to give them another chance.”
My teeth dig deeper into my lower lip. “It still feels like a weakness to me. Why am I always so quick to forgive people? Like, how many chances did I give Gillian this spring before I finally realized she was a snake? And even now, I can pretend to hold a grudge against her, but I don’t. I told her off at a party, did I tell you that?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“It felt good in the moment,” I admit. “I felt righteous. And then the next day, I felt bad about it.” I laugh at myself. “I can’t even stay pissed at a girl who whispered behind my back when she was supposed to be my best friend. I wish I was stronger about that sort of stuff. Like you.”
“You are strong,” she insists.
“Sure,” I scoff.
“Casey. Look at me.”
I force myself to meet her eyes.
“You’re as strong as I am, maybe even more so. And you don’t need to be like me. We’re different people. You seem to think that my version of strength is the only one. That you’re supposed to be tough and thick-skinned, hold grudges, tell bitches off at parties…”
I snicker softly.
“I will fight my enemies to the death. That’s my strength. But yours? You will kill your enemies with kindness.”
“That sounds so pathetic,” I grumble.
“It’s not. It’s pretty fucking admirable. Kindness is a strength. Compassion, like Dad said. Forgiveness. Your version of strength is patience and resilience. Stop shying away from it. I wish I had even half of your softness.” She sounds embarrassed now. “I’ve been trying to be softer lately. Not sure it’s working.”
Her words give me pause. I’ve always viewed Sloane as impenetrable, this force of nature stronger than any storm. Someone who faces down the world and never flinches. But if I think about it, she has softened a little since meeting RJ. Become a little more tolerant of others. Less rigid. Yet no less formidable. I’d still pick her first in dodgeball over anyone.
“There’s nothing wrong with being gentle.” She throws her arm over my shoulder and brings me in to lay my head in her lap. “Or a little vulnerable sometimes. Doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. I don’t know anyone else who could have endured the year you’ve had and still be standing. Never forget who you are.”
“Okay. And who am I?” I ask with a smile.
“You’re Casey fucking Tresscott, and you’re goddamn incredible.”