“Sure.” He didn’t break eye contact. So many lies had been tossed around at this breakfast I wasn’t sure what was the truth. I just knew my brother was leaving—less than a year after Dad had left for good—and my life was about to change once again.
An hour later, and they were gone. Mom followed him to campus in her car, leaving me behind. Her car was packed full of junk she’d bought for his dorm. She said we’d plan a visit sometime later in the semester.
I walked back inside the house. Dad was gone. Now Brian was gone, too. Mom was coming back. But the two of us living together would be a completely new dynamic. Like two animals at the zoo being regrouped into one cage. She’d struggled since Dad’s death. I hadn’t seen her cry in three months, but that worried me. I was concerned her medicine numbed her more than it should.
They’d been gone maybe ten minutes when I heard a knock at the door. I walked to the front and recognized the petite body bobbing behind the glass.
“Amber?” I asked when I opened the door.
She was facing the road, probably noting what cars were absent from the driveway. Her blonde hair was now shoulder-length. When she heard her name, she turned to look at me. Her eyes were swollen from crying.
“Hi, Dell.” She tried to sound casual and calm, but her appearance ruined that. I hadn’t seen her in weeks. She and Brian broke things off not long after Dad’s funeral. I didn’t know why, and I didn’t particularly care.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, stepping onto the porch.
Amber, by all accounts, wasn’t one to take a breakup lying down. Whatever poor classmate had taken my place as her best friend had probably heard all about it in recent weeks. I didn’t want their relationship details. I’d learned enough after Dad’s funeral.
“Is Brian still here?” she asked, her eyes covered in black smudges.
“He just left for SCU,” I said, leaning against the stoop.
“Damn,” she said, lifting her hands to her temple and lightly pulling on her hair. She was no longer addressing me, rather reacting in front of me. She mumbled, “I really need to talk to him.”
“If he had something to say, I’m sure he would have said it.” I turned to go back inside.
“It’s not about him,” she yelled. “It’s about what I have to say.” She stopped talking and broke into sobs.
I took a step closer. Amber wasn’t her normal, dramatic self. I couldn’t spot one name brand article of clothing. I’d mistaken the darkness around her eyes as mascara. Upon further inspection, I realized her face was bare and the smudges around her eyes were circles from lack of sleep. She wasn’t crying for an audience, as she’d been known to do; she was genuinely sobbing. The type of cry that made even someone like Amber appear ugly.
“What do you have to tell him?” I asked. I’d seen Amber cry over lots of things. She could conjure an almost Mom-level of hysteria, but I’d never seen her like this.
She sucked in three quick breaths and wiped her cheeks. “He’s gone now. That’s all that matters.” She turned and walked into the street.
“Wait,” I said, following her. I’d misjudged. Amber was holding back, which was something she never did. Something was wrong. “Amber, wait. Talk to me.”
She stopped and whipped around. “Just stay the hell away from me,” she said. “You and Brian stay away from me.”
She crossed her arms and pulled her jacket tight across her torso. She marched in the direction of her house and didn’t turn back.
Thirty
Now
Over the weekend, I try to forget about Victory Hills. Each time Zoey or Darcy enters my brain, I push them away. One… two… three. Or when I think about my tense conversation with Marge. Four… five… six. Instead, I focus on Danny. I focus on the baby, which according to the app hasn’t grown much in size. The lungs and brain and organs are forming. The little heart is beating. I don’t sense any of this activity, until a pang of nausea beckons me to the bathroom.
On Monday, I dread entering first block. I dread seeing Zoey. All I want to do is scream at her, let her know I see her for who she is. She might be able to fool her classmates and Pam and Marge. But I see her.
She’s quiet when she arrives, as are all the other students. In fact, I don’t think they’ve been this quiet since the first week of school, or maybe the week of Darcy’s attack. Zoey walks to the back of the room and takes the seat closest to Darcy. Adam’s former seat. When Adam arrives, he doesn’t react. He finds a spot on the front row and looks forward. He clearly doesn’t like that Zoey and Darcy are becoming friends. Zoey must find pleasure in disrupting two lives. Add in mine, and that makes three.
By the time fourth block arrives, I’m sitting alone in my room trying not to retch. I have a horrible headache, further provoked by my inability to eat lunch. I lean back in my seat, close my eyes and take several deep breaths. Just as I’m beginning to feel better, a shriek in the hallway distracts me.
There shouldn’t be any students in the halls, and yet I hear a voice. It sounds angry. I open my door to find Adam and Darcy. Every time I’ve seen him since the dance, Adam has looked defeated, with slumped shoulders and swollen eyes. He looks the same now as he leans against a locker. He wipes his cheeks.
Darcy is the person who yelled, and not because she’s in shock or pain. She’s angry. Adam stands there barely reacting, allowing Darcy to shout through the empty hall.
“What is going on?” I ask, in my best teacher voice. “You two should be in class.”
Darcy hears my voice and turns. Her cheeks
