THE NEXT DAY, Charlie slides into the chair next to mine, her guitar case thwunking onto the floor, but I don’t look up from my laptop. I’ve been sitting in Ms. Rodriguez’s choir room since the final bell, prepping for the Empower meeting. I successfully dragged myself through the day, avoiding Charlie, hiding in the library at lunch, and trying to close my ears and eyes to the incessant whispers and nosy glances.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
And that’s it. That’s literally it. She doesn’t ask how things are going. She doesn’t ask me anything. I can’t seem to push any questions out of my throat either, and we just sit there in a cloud of weird while I pretend to type on my computer and she pulls out the novel we’re reading for AP lit.
“Shmerda?” she asks after a few minutes.
“Huh?” I glance over at her to find her peering at my computer screen, where I have indeed typed shmerda. And also frenisk and mywot. “Oh.” I hit the delete button, the clacking echoing between the acoustic-paneled walls.
“Trying to multitask?” she asks.
“Something like that,” I mutter, hating this bullshit small talk.
She makes a hmm noise and goes back to her book, but she can’t have read more than a few sentences before she smacks it shut and drops it into her lap. “So, I need to ask you something.” She doesn’t turn to face me, just stares straight ahead and twists her fingers together.
“What is it?”
She blinks at the floor, filling her lungs with several deep breaths before releasing them.
“I’m playing a show at 3rd and Lindsley. Tomorrow night.”
“Oh my god. Really? Charlie, that’s huge!” 3rd and Lindsley is a pretty major music venue in Nashville.
She nods. “They’re having this young artists series where a few musicians play every night this month. You have to be between sixteen and twenty-two to do it, and I sent their booking person my demo a few months ago. I guess she liked it.”
“ ‘Guess’? Of course she did. It’s you.”
Charlie waves off the compliment, but crimson spills into her cheeks and she smiles. “I found out a couple weeks ago. Will you come with me?”
“Oh. Really?”
“Of course. Who else would I ask?”
“Are your parents going?”
She frowns and looks down.
“Charlie—”
“I’m not ready for that, Mara. You know I’m not.”
“But your songs are you. They’d love to hear them—I know they would.”
“Yeah. They’re me. Too much me.”
I sit back, rubbing at my eyes. I wish I had the right words to say to her, words that calm all of these fears about her songwriting, but I don’t. I can sing and I can sing well. It’s why I’m at Pebblebrook, though I’m a pair of clanging cymbals next to Charlie, so I get being nervous about performing. But I can’t write songs. I can’t manipulate guitar strings so they seem like an extension of my voice. Then again, maybe I’ve never really tried. All that . . . me, just falling into people’s ears. I shiver thinking about it. Still, my issues about putting myself out there are completely different from Charlie’s. I have no idea what she’s really going through.
“Please, Mara,” she says. “I need you with me. We’re best friends, right? Isn’t that what all of this is about?”
I’m not exactly sure what all of this means, but I can take a wild guess. “Yeah, of course.”
“Then, please. Come with me.”
I watch her, desperation spilling into her eyes as she watches me back.
“You know I wouldn’t miss seeing you on that stage,” I say.
Her shoulders visibly descend. “Thank you.”
After that, we maneuver around each other—Charlie pulls choir chairs into a circle, I turn on the floor lamp near the piano and flick off the fluorescents so the light is softer—everything we’re not saying like a friends forever necklace around our throats.
Naturally, Greta’s the first person to arrive at the meeting. Her fountain of blond hair is twisted into a side fishtail braid and she takes a seat next to me, a navy notebook in her lap and a closed-mouth smile her only greeting.
Empower is a small group. Our numbers vary every week, but our committed regulars are Hannah, Charlie, Greta, Jasmine Fuentes (Greta’s best friend), a willowy ballet dancer named Ellie Branson, and Hudson Slavovsky, Empower’s only dude, who I’m pretty sure comes only because he’s dating Jasmine. Still, he’s a good guy and he contributes a hilarious comic for our monthly issues called Well, Actually.
My stomach flutters as I take in Hannah’s absence. Everyone else is here, including a drama major, Leah Lawrence. Or maybe it’s Landon. She comes so rarely, I forget her last name half the time. I’m pretty sure she wanders in only once every few months to meet some sort of quota for extracurriculars on her college applications.
Everyone gets settled, pulling out water bottles and granola bars, and I use the time to stall, half hoping and half dreading that Hannah will walk through the door.
“She’s not back at school yet,” Charlie whispers, squeezing my arm.
“I know.” And I know why Hannah’s not here. But part of me still hopes this whole situation is some elaborate dream that we’ll all wake up from any minute. I open my laptop, pretending to scan my notes for the hundredth time while I get my breath under control.
“Okay. Welcome, everyone.” I blink at the group, trying to force some life into my voice. This is usually a pretty casual meeting, everyone laughing and talking about their week so far, happy just to be together in a safe space. But right now everyone is silent and fidgeting. On edge. “So, um, this week, our first item on the agenda is to make some decisions about the Dress Code Take—”
“I have an urgent matter that carries precedence over our skirts and tank tops, Mara,” Greta says, her posture snapping straight. “May I?”
“Sure, Greta, go right ahead,” I say saccharinely.
She doesn’t even half-ass a fake smile. She’s gone totally stoic, all business and determination. “I know we’ve all heard about what happened to Hannah and I know we all feel horrible. A few of you have asked me what we can do to help.”
My stomach lurches. I can’t even process what she’s saying before she barrels onward.
“And I don’t want this group to fall apart because of this,” she says. “You’re all really important to me. When my parents were getting a divorce last year, our meetings were the only time during the week that I didn’t feel like pulling out my hair. But I . . .” She sucks in a shaky breath. Is she . . . nervous? “I don’t think Mara is able to effectively lead us during this time.”
I feel all the color bleed from my face. “I’m sorry . . . what?”
“Come on, Mara,” she says. “Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”
“I’m not making anything anything.”
“You had to know this was coming,” Jasmine says. Hudson leans forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes glued to the floor.
Greta sighs, her voice softening. “Look, I know this is hard for you. I’m not trying to be a bitch about this. But Hannah is one of us and this school is already becoming a cesspool of Team Owen.”
“Team . . . Team Owen?” My palms instantly start to sweat and my pulse throbs in my temples. Because I don’t even need an explanation for what she means. Owen is talking, and talking loudly, spreading his story throughout every corner of the school.
“I assume that you’re Team Owen too,” Greta says.
More silence. Not even Charlie speaks up on this one. Everyone’s eyes are on me, waiting.
Waiting for the form of my allegiance. For me to pick a side.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, my voice a brittle whisper.
“Even if I don’t,” Greta says just as softly, “we need to help Hannah. We’re her family at this school, some of her only supporters, and you leading that charge is a conflict of interest.”
I glance around the circle, looking for anyone who might disagree. No one speaks. Ellie avoids my gaze, her ridiculously long eyelashes fanning over her cheeks. Leah just looks uncomfortable, as though she’s really wishing she hadn’t chosen today of all days to attend a meeting. Hudson doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, his shoulders up around his ears.
“I move that we put the dress code project on hold and talk about what we can do to help Hannah, her family, and her experience when she comes back to school,” Greta says. “And that I temporarily replace Mara as Empower’s leader.”
A beat. Then, a familiar voice. “Seconded.”
I turn my head, meeting Charlie’s gaze. She doesn’t look away. She doesn’t smile. Just reaches out and puts her hand on my back. I’m so shocked, I can’t even arc away from her touch.
“All in favor?” Greta asks.
Six ayes echo through the room.
I stand up slowly, clutching my useless laptop to my chest.
“You don’t have to leave, Mara,” Greta says.
“No, it’s okay. I should . . . you’re right. I’m not . . . I should go.”
I stumble out of the room, my eyes already blurring. Getting deposed is not a huge deal. And dammit, Greta’s right. I’m not the right person to lead the group. Hannah is the focus right now and she should be. I know that. But it’s just one more thing screaming at me that I have no clue what the hell I think, who I am, where I stand, why I stand there.
It’s one more thing taking my voice away from me.
I wait for Charlie to follow me, chase after me like we’ve always done for each other no matter what, but the hall is silent, the stale air-conditioned air stinging my eyes. I walk toward the exit, ready to leave, but I can’t. I don’t want to go home. Not like this, when it feels as if something new and raw is trying to break through my skin.
, I text Charlie. The words drip with desperation and maybe that’s totally pathetic, but I need her.
Barely thirty seconds pass before Charlie comes out into the hallway. When she gets close, I turn and lead her out the front doors and into the late afternoon light. The setting sun spills over her hair, pulling up hints of red in all the dark. She faces me, silent, her head tilted and her eyes soft—too damn soft—on mine.
“You voted me out,” I say.
She sighs. “That’s not what I did and you know it.”
I nod, trying to parse out what I do know. What is true. What isn’t.
“Hey,” she says, a whisper. Her hands reach out and wrap around my elbows, fingertips so gentle on the delicate skin.
And suddenly it’s too much. Standing on the vast brick porch, columns rising up on either side of us, Charlie soft and strong in front of me, I can’t hold it in anymore. The dam bursts, releasing days’ worth of tears.
“I think he’s lying,” I choke out through a clogged throat. “Owen’s lying about something or everything and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to do this.”
Charlie’s face crumples. She never cries her own tears. Not really. Even on her worst days, when she swears her voice doesn’t fit who she is and she has no idea how to tell her parents how she feels or thinks about herself, she never cries. Her eyes may well up, but the tears never fall. At least, not in front of me. Only when I break down does she fall to pieces too. Now she bridges the already small space between us, slowly, as though she’s trying not to scare me. But I’m not scared. Not of her. I’m desperate. Desperate for this feeling to go away, and the only solution is Charlie. I slide my arms around her waist and bury my face in her neck, inhaling raggedly. I feel her tense at first, but then her hands are in my hair, smoothing and enclosing.
“I know you don’t,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
“What do I do? Tell me what to do.”
“I wish I could.”
The tears keep coming, my nose pressed against her throat. They’re almost a relief, warm and gentle, and their motion down my face feels like being rocked to sleep. Slowly, I relax, but I don’t let go of Charlie. Her cheek rests against my forehead. All I’d have to do is tip my chin a little and our mouths would touch. I press my fingers into her back, pulling her closer. Pulling me closer. Obliterating any space between us. I can feel her heart pound against mine, and for the first time in days, I feel right. I lift my head, settle my eyes on her lips.
And then she clears her throat and releases me. She keeps one of my hands, but now there’s so much space between us. Too much.
“How do you know?” she asks.
“How . . . how do I know what?”
“That Owen’s lying.”
I take a deep breath and try to clear my head. “We had a family meeting last night, and Mom wanted him to tell me what happened so we were all on the same page.” I hook finger quotes around the last two words. “He just . . . I just know. His whole story makes no sense. Hannah wouldn’t have been pissed about her wrist if she’d wanted to have sex. She would’ve been angry at herself, not him.”
Charlie nods. “I know.”
We stand there in silence, staring at each other. I’m breathing hard, as if I’ve been running laps around the school.
“But it’s more than that. It was like . . . god, I could feel the lie on his tongue or something.” I grip my stomach, trying to hold myself together. “And then later, we played basketball, and it just felt so . . . so . . . normal, and at the same time, it was all wrong. And I couldn’t figure out why and the only thing I can think of is that he actually did . . . that he . . .”
“Shhh,” she says, squeezing my fingers. “It’s okay. Breathe.”
I do, slowly, just like last night during my panic attack, but this time on my own, Charlie’s thumb rubbing circles on the back of my hand.
“He’s my brother,” I say when my chest feels loose enough. “I love him, Charlie.”
She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me, sadness a physical thing between us.
I press my eyes closed. My brother. He’s the boy who smiled softly at me from across the table when I told our parents I was bi, as though he’d always known. He dogged my steps during that horrible summer before freshman year, refusing to let me wallow even when I snarled and screamed at him. I’ve never been without him, could never imagine he’d hurt anyone. I’ve always trusted him.
But the boy from the woods by the lake, the boy strutting through the school halls these past few days, a new sort of story trailing in his wake, a horrible story—that boy isn’t my brother. He’s not anyone I could ever trust.
“I need to see her,” I say. “I need to see Hannah.”
Charlie lifts an eyebrow. “Are you ready for that?”
My heart slams into my ribs. Ready is the wrong word. I’m not ready for any of this. But Hannah wasn’t either. “Do you think she wants to see me?”
“She does. She’s asked about you more than once.”
“Really?”
“She’s been worried. I mean, she’s worried about a lot of shit, but she’s also worried about your friendship.”
“God.”
“Let’s go now. I’ll go with you. I just need to get my stuff.”
“What about the meeting?”
“The meeting is about how to help Hannah.” Charlie twines my fingers with hers. “Let’s go actually help her.”