Sloth

It was better just not to sleep.

But she needed her strength, they were always telling her. For what? she wanted to ask. For tolerating her disgustingly bubbly physical therapist? For avoiding phone calls and turning away visitors? For limping from her bedroom to the kitchen and back again? For zoning out through a Little House on the Prairie marathon because she was too lazy to change the channel? For turning two weeks of recuperation into four, inventing excuse after excuse until she no longer knew how much of the pain was real and how much was just expedient?

Maybe they were right. Because her strength had finally given out. She’d run out of imagined excuses, and the big day had arrived: back to school.

She’d already picked out the perfect outfit: an eggplant-colored peasant top with a tight bodice and sufficiently low neckline, a tan ruffled skirt that flared out at the bottom, and, just for added panache, a thin, gauzy black scarf woven through with sparkly silver.

After a long, too hot shower she slipped into the outfit, certain it made the right statement: I’ m back. She brushed out her hair and mechanically applied her eye shadow, mascara, a touch of gloss, barely looking in the mirror; it was as if she went through the routine every morning, and this weren’t the first time she’d dispensed with her cozy gray sweats since-

Since the accident. Since what had happened.

It still hurt her to say the words. It hurt to think them. And that was unacceptable. She couldn’t afford to indulge in that kind of frailty, especially not today, when everyone would surely be staring at her, the walking wounded, waiting for a sign of weakness.

So she’d been practicing. Every day, she forced herself to think the unthinkable, to speak the hateful words aloud. She whispered them to herself before she drifted off to sleep, in hopes of forestalling the dreams. She murmured them while watching TV, while waiting for the doctor, while pushing her untouched food around on the plate- she had once shouted them at top volume, her stereo turned up loud enough to drown out her voice.

Speaking the truth didn’t make it seem any more real. In fact, it sounded just as strange, just as surreal, each time it trickled off her tongue. And it always hurt. But she was hurting herself, and that gave her power. It made her feel strong, reminding her that there was nothing left to be afraid of.

She said them to herself now, as she hovered in the doorway, gathering her strength to face the day. The first day. She ran a hand through her hair, willing it not to shake. She zipped up the new boots that rose just high enough to cover the bandage on her left calf. She applied a final layer of Tarte gloss, then practiced her smile. It had to look perfect. Everything had to look perfect.

She took a deep breath and held herself very still. And then, softly but firmly, she said it:

“Kaia is dead.”

And with that, Harper Grace was ready to go.

“Haven High!

Haven High!

Haven High!”

Beth Manning did her best to hold back a sigh at the roars of the crowd. When she’d volunteered to organize Senior Spirit Week, she hadn’t taken into account the fact that it would require so much… spirit. That meant mustering up some kind of enthusiasm for the place she was most desperate to leave.

But that was her penance, right?

She forced herself to smile as she handed out the carefully crafted info packets to the rest of the Senior Spirit team. Too many tasks and not enough people meant Beth had been up for two days straight pulling things together; despite a morning espresso and a late-morning Red Bull, her energy level was still in the toilet.

“Lets hear it for the senior class!” she shouted now into the microphone, tossing back her long blond hair and aiming a blazing smile out at the crowd. She pumped her fist in the air, trying to ignore the embarrassment creeping over her. So she sounded like a cheerleader. So what? “Are you ready for an awesome end to an awesome year?” she cried.

College apps were in. Decisions were pending. Grades were irrelevant. And, as tradition dictated, the senior class was treated to a whirlwind of activity: a senior auction, a community service day, a school spirit day, student- teacher sports challenges-day after day of celebration, kicked off by this inane afternoon rally. An official Haven High welcome to the beginning of the end, capped off by a very unofficial blow-out party.

There’d be a lot of hangovers in the next couple weeks.

And a lot of girls weeping and guys manfully slapping one another on the back as the realization began to sink in: High school came with an expiration date.

It couldn’t arrive soon enough, Beth thought, as she announced the schedule of upcoming activities in the perkiest voice she could muster.

Once, she would have enjoyed all of this. Even the marching band’s off-key rendition of the school song. Even the cheerleaders firing up the crowd and the jocks preening under the spotlight. Especially the jocks-one of them in particular. Beth had been eager for college; she’d spent half her life preparing-studying, working, saving, dreaming- but she hadn’t been eager to leave behind everything and everyone she knew. She would have mourned and celebrated with the rest of them, cheered and shouted and wept and hugged until it was all over.

But that was before.

As she stepped away from the microphone to let the student council president make his speech, Beth’s gaze skimmed across the crowd-until, without meaning to, she locked eyes with Harper. Only for a second. Then a lock of curly auburn hair fell across Harper’s face, hiding it from view, and Beth looked away.

One glance had been enough to confirm it: The queen was back. Her lady-in-waiting Miranda hovered dutifully by her side, and in the row behind them, fallen courtier Adam, angling to get back into his lady’s good graces. It was as if nothing had ever happened, and from the self-assured smile on Harper’s face, Beth could tell that was just the way she liked it. Surely it would only be a matter of time before Harper and Adam picked up where they left off-

Stop, she reminded herself. She was done with all that bitterness, anger, and-she could admit it now-jealousy. She was better than that. And she owed Harper the benefit of the doubt, even if her former rival could never know why. She owed everyone the benefit of the doubt; that’s what she had decided on that day last month. When you’ve screwed up everything, not just stepped over but set fire to the line, you needed all the good karma you could get. When you can’t apologize for what you’ve done, and you can’t fix it, all you can do is forgive others, and try to make everything better. And Beth was trying, starting with herself.

Even when it was hard; even when it seemed impossible.

After the accident, things are strange for days. Silent, still, as if a loud voice could break through the fragile frame of reality that they were slowly trying to rebuild. Eyes are rimmed with red, hands tremble, empty spaces sprinkle the classroom-absent faces who couldn’t bear to stare at the chair that will stay empty forever.

Beth wants to stare at the chair in French class, but she sits in the front. So all she can do is tune out the substitute and imagine it behind her. And in her imagination, the seat is filled.

I’m not responsible, Beth tells herself. It has become her mantra. Not my fault. Not my fault.

But that feels like a lie. A comforting lie, supported by cool logic and endless rationales, but a lie nonetheless. There are too many what-ifs. What if Harper had been in the school, rather than in the car? What if Kaia had gone inside, rather than drive away? What if Harper hadn’t had such a reason to escape?

Step one to being a better person: Forgive. She sees Adam every day at her locker, and on the fourth day, she talks to him.

”I’m not angry anymore,” she says, wishing that it were true. “I don’t hate you. Life’s too short.”

And it is. But when she looks at him, all she can think about is his bare body on top of Kaia’s, the things they must have done together. And when he beams and hugs her, she can’t forget that he pledged his love, then betrayed her. He slept with Kaia. She can’t forgive that, not really.

Of course, she forgives Kaia, she reminds herself Of course. Next up is Kane.