19

I COME OUT OF THE MEMORY with this unsettling feeling that I don’t truly know anything about anyone I care about. The pain thrashing inside me isn’t from ghosting into my past; it’s from accepting the truth that one of my best friends has secretly hated me for almost three years. But the worst part about Madison’s lies and scheming is on me. I was so preoccupied with my own crap that I didn’t even notice a change in her. I spent three days a week at ballet practice with her, and two shared classes and lunches at school, and weekend nights, and countless moments in between. How could I have missed her vying for the decay of what meant the most to me?

I try to think back to any moment that I ignored or wrote off because I stupidly trusted her, but the only things I can see are flashes of Madison crying and me yelling at her after discovering her betrayal. I can’t make them stop.

I blink the watery haze from my eyes and see Ethan sitting at his kitchen table with his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of the herbal tea his mom is always trying to get him to drink.

“Ethan.” I say his name with relief until his eyes meet mine. They have a new sharpness to them. Fragmented pieces of what I’ve remembered since the last time I saw him fill my mind. Caleb and the argument on the bridge. Ethan has known about Caleb this whole time. My mouth opens and closes a few hundred times as I try to decide how to deliver the biggest apology in the world when I’m not 100 percent sure what exactly I need to apologize for.

“You’ve gotta believe me, E.”

My mouth clamps shut at the sound of the unexpected voice. I turn my head and see Mica pressing his hands on the kitchen table.

“You’re not alone,” I say to Ethan, and he nods once.

Mica continues. “I followed your girl because she looked tipsy in an unsafe way, and you weren’t around.”

“She told me to wait for her inside,” Ethan replies distantly. His eyes fix on the ribbons of steam floating above his mug. He won’t look at me.

“See, dude? She was hiding something. “Not saying I knew”—Mica holds his hands up and moist imprints of his fingertips evaporate slowly, one by one, disappearing from the tabletop—“but come on, we were both there. I mean nobody could’ve known what would happen after, but you did the right thing breaking up with her.”

Ethan’s eyes flick up to me for a second, then back to the ribbons. “I didn’t break up with her.”

“You don’t need to feel guilty about it, E. She cheated on you.”

An airless gasp escapes my lips. Ethan steals another look in my direction. The sad-confused look from Saturday invades his face.

He straightens in his chair. “She never got a chance to tell her side of the story.”

“Kissing another guy speaks for itself, don’t you think?”

Ethan looks right at me. I don’t know what to say, but I do know I can’t bear him looking at me with those guarded eyes and that frown. I pull the first non-Ethan memory I can think of to the front of my mind. It’s long past our bedtime and Aimée and I are using her mom’s good mixing bowls to microwave way too much cheddar for our “homemade” mac ’n’ cheese. Eleven-year-old me squeals when the cheesy goo bubbles over, and Aimée clamps a hand over my mouth so I won’t wake her parents, but her loud laughing takes care of that.

Right when I’m about to close my eyes and escape to the comforts of my real best friend, Ethan’s voice holds me here. “How do I know the kiss was mutual?” he asks Mica. “You can’t prove she wanted it. Can you?”

Mica grinds his jaw from side to side as if the words are stuck between his teeth. He says, “I know you don’t believe me, but I won’t hold it against you.”

Ethan barks a curt laugh.

Mica shakes his head. “Do you want me to leave?” He’s already halfway to the front door.

Ethan looks up at the broad line of his friend’s retreating figure. “Why won’t you hold it against me?”

Mica stops like he’s come to the edge of a cliff. He turns slowly and flashes a smaller version of his usual wide smile. “You’ve got enough going on without worrying if your friends have your back. Call me if you change your mind about talking.” Mica snaps his letterman jacket closed and leaves. The kitchen is so quiet I can hear the clock above the stove measuring the space between Ethan and me. Tick, tick, tick. Lies, lies, lies.

“I wasn’t going to tell you I saw,” Ethan says at last.

“Oh.” The clock ticks some more.

“Since you didn’t remember, I wasn’t—” He rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to remember that part of us.”

My arms go cold in a slow spread, like someone’s pouring ice water over my shoulders. I look down and it’s dripping from my fingertips onto my leggings and puddling at my feet.

“Neither did I,” I realize. My voice shakes with the cold.

Ethan looks at me for a long minute, until he gets up and walks to where I’m standing at the other side of the round table. I lift my hands to stop him but drop them back down, afraid I’ll splash him. He stops close enough that the puddle surrounding my Mary Janes is dampening his socks—or at least it should be—and wraps his hands around mine, instantly drying the puddle.

“You remembered?” His voice shakes as much as mine did, but I know it’s not from the cold. Both our feet are dry now.

I answer him in a rush in case I melt away again before the words can make their way out of my mouth. “I didn’t at first, but I’m starting to piece it together.”

“And?”

I almost wish the chill of the water was back to numb the pain swelling in me. “Ethan, I don’t want to hurt you—I never wanted to hurt you.” Snow gathers at the corners of my eyes, melts down my cheeks. “I don’t know why I went to the bridge that night—I only wanted to get back to you—but first I had to clean up the mess Madison had made.”

“Madison?”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you the last time I saw you, before I—” I search for the right words to describe how I travel into my memories.

“Before you left me again.”

I say in an adamant voice, “Before I remembered. Madison invited Caleb that night for one reason: to break us up.”

Ethan’s face lights with surprise. “Why would Madison want to break us up?”

“She wants to be with you. Always has, I guess.”

“That’s crazy. She’s going out with one of my friends.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing in hopes of making you jealous or maybe to keep you close.” I pause. “I saw her this afternoon dealing pills to Caleb as some sort of payment for coming to the party. They were prescribed to her, and seeing her when she thinks no one else is around has been…” I cringe at the idea of her hoarding other possessions of mine. “I think she’s depressed or something. Maybe that’s why she planned everything.” I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

Ethan thinks a minute. “How did she know what you were doing?”

“Maybe she saw me at his house,” I say, rubbing my horseshoe pendant for any shred of luck it might still hold. “I went there a few times.”

“When?”

I force myself to look at him. I want to look away, but he deserves more than that. He deserves the straight truth—or at least the parts I remember clearly enough to give him. “That time when I told everyone I was at Joules’s skating competition … and last week when I said I was working on my Psych project. And on my birthday.”

“Your birthday?” He shakes his head, bewildered. “What happened?” I can feel the hurt in Ethan’s voice—it suffocates the pulsing in my chest. I don’t want to tell him any of this. I don’t want to have done any of this.

“It was over before it started, Ethan. It wasn’t like it is with you—I didn’t feel the same.” I pause a moment to gain the strength to continue. “We used to be friends when we were little, and it was easier to talk to him about everything with my parents. I guess he knows me in a different way than you do.”

Ethan’s eyes flicker. “How well does he know you?”

You can do this. “We kissed—I promise that’s it.”

“Sure there isn’t anything else you can’t remember?” He says “remember” with a spiteful bite that stings.

I reply firmly, “Yes. I may not remember every detail, but I’m certain I love you—only you. I know how backward that sounds right now, but it’s the truth.”

He studies my face, waiting for my lip to twitch. It never does. He says, “It must be so strange not remembering what you did.”

“You have no idea.”

“No, I don’t. I remember.” His words cut me in short jabs. He kneads the back of his neck, thinking for so long I wonder if I’ve gone invisible to him, if I’ve gone full-on ghost as punishment for my cheating and lies.

“I know I don’t deserve any favors from you,” I start slowly, “but I need to find out what happened to me. How I … died. And I can’t do it without you.”

Ethan lowers his head, shaking it. “Cassi, I don’t know what happened—I wasn’t there. I’m no help.”

“When you talk, people can hear you.” He tilts his head up, giving me a careful look. “Every question I have is going to stay unanswered forever unless someone asks for me.”

Ethan’s jaw drops. “You want me to be your medium?”

“No. Medium sounds so hokey. More like”—I meet his eyes when I find the right word—“translator.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t look away from me like I expected him to either. I decide to take that as a good sign.

“You have every right to say no, but I think this is the only way to get the truth.”

“And what happens then?” he retorts. “Once you know, what would keep you here?”

I look away from him, not wanting to think about what will happen once I complete my ghostly task. That’s truly what I’m afraid of, what makes the pulsing in my chest quicken. If the reason I’m here is to discover how I died, and I solve the mystery, complete my unfinished business or whatever, I could lose everything a second time. I can’t lose Ethan again, but … I need to know how I died.

“This is what I have to do, Ethan,” I tell him in a whisper. “Find the truth, clear my name, know.” The warm, solid feel of his hand on mine makes me turn to face him again.

“I’ll help,” he says.