TABBY’S BACK HOME, back in her room. She sleeps a lot, wears the same makeup, eats the same food. She spends more time with me than she used to, because she cleared away some of that mess. There aren’t boys anymore, or so she claims. She reads and writes and takes long walks without telling anyone where she’s going. And my parents let her, because they know they’re never going to be able to rein her in anyway.
Things are normal with us, or as normal as they can be. I guess in a way, our family is in a better place now. My parents weren’t thrilled when Tabby told them she wanted to defer college—they accused her of wasting an opportunity—but she pacified them. “College will always be there,” she said, all calm and collected—Tabby is always calm and collected now. It’s like she left her temper back in juvie. “I have to take this opportunity.”
This opportunity—her book. Tabby did tell me she wanted to be a writer, once. I think she was thirteen and I was eleven, and we were new to Coldcliff, and she said something like, I’ll have stories to tell someday. Just wait. My little eleven-year-old body couldn’t begin to comprehend all the messiness that it was about to go through.
I’m in the book, of course. I let Tabby and Aria “interview” me, Aria with her exaggeratedly round Harry Potter glasses that I’m pretty sure are just for display, to make her look cool. I see the glances she and Tabby share and I wonder if Aria has replaced Elle, has replaced me.
I’m in the book but I don’t want to read it.
Tabby hugged me fiercely when she was released after the trial. Her body on mine, pulsing and electric. I couldn’t remember when she got that strong, or maybe she had always been strong, and I just noticed other things about her first. That’s what I’ve realized, through all of this. The world sees what it wants, and makes sure everyone else sees it, too. If you want to know the truth, you really have to burrow. And most people don’t have the energy for that.
“Thank you,” Tabby said. She knew about the shoes.
Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I think about the shoes. If it would have made a difference if I had told the truth, or if I would have wanted it to. They weren’t mine, I imagine myself saying. I never got that close to the creek.
Sometimes I wonder if the worst things people thought about my sister weren’t even the worst things she’s capable of.
I wear Sauconys now. And I run faster than ever. Most of the time, my thoughts can’t keep up.