I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me, but I’m deeply, deeply sorry.
You were one of the truest friends I’ve ever had.
I’m so moved by what you wrote that I think I wanted to lash out at you for it. I was so embarrassed about my part in it. So ashamed that I was manipulated by him too. I lost control, and I never lose control. My therapist says that I was angry at myself for trusting him, for trying to take care of him, and I wanted to take that out on you. (I know it’s ridiculous to mention my therapist in this apology letter, but if I’m going to come clean, I have to give her credit.) I was so jealous of your ability to stand up for yourself. I’ve only been able to do that by pulling other people down. Isn’t that tragic?
Anyway, I’m writing to tell you my story because I saw that other people were writing you too. I saw them putting notes in your locker. So many girls! And I asked them what they were doing.
Sharing stories, they told me.
I have a story too.
It’s about the Initiation.
I’d like to go public with it. Maybe something for the Underground? Maybe something that would call attention to it? So it could finally stop. Maybe you could help me figure out how to do that. I’m not much of a writer. I wouldn’t know the first thing to say.
Maybe we can talk.
Maybe I can apologize to you. You don’t have to forgive me.
—B
55
BLYTHE
I know Ali’s schedule, so I sit outside her last period class. Everything feels blurry. The whole thing like a bad dream.
I keep thinking about what my therapist said. That I wasn’t present in my life. That my ego took over. But mostly it was rage, she said. That I’ve had rage buried for years. About my mom, my dad. About the Initiation. Sean. I have to work on my rage.
Donnie says Ali’s never going to forgive me, and why should she? Why does she need me as a friend after what I did to her? But I have to see for myself. I have to try at least. I have to at least see Ali’s face. Donnie won’t have much to say for the next three months anyway since after that last incident at the cliffs, her mother sent her to rehab. Who knows if she’ll even come back to school.
Me, Suki, and Cate decided to quit drinking even if it’s just for a month. I need to get clear. I need to understand myself. To grab hold of my life.
Ali’s last out the door. And then she sees me.
Everyone walks past me. Because that’s what people do now. They pass me like I’m a ghost. Like I don’t exist. Maybe I like it. Maybe I don’t want to be the center of attention. I don’t want people to admire me. I don’t want people to bow down to me. I’m not a good person. They all know this about me already. They sneer. And I take it. It’s part of my punishment.
Ali walks over to me. I don’t even have to chase her.
“How was Truth or Consequences?” I say.
“What do you want, Blythe?” she says, sharp and cold.
“I fucked up,” I say. “I was so mad at you. I was so angry. So jealous of how strong you were. How strong you are. I wanted you to hurt the way I was hurting. I was hurt for irrational reasons. I thought you owed me an explanation. I thought you owed me coverage. I didn’t think about you. I only thought about myself.”
“It took my neighbor two hours to power-wash that shit off my sidewalk.”
She hovers over me. Like she may kick me. And I’d deserve it.
“I understand if you never trust me again. I’m not a good person—and I’m not saying this because I want you to be, like, ‘No, B, you’re a good person. You’re a great person, B—’”
“For one, I’ve never called you ‘B.’”
“True. True.”
“And I would never let you off the hook like that.”
My face just melts a bit. I can feel it, isn’t that odd? It just falling down, my mouth turning into a deep pout. The corners of my lips tightening.
“I don’t know what to do.” I cover my face with my hands. “I’m so embarrassed for the way I acted. I’m so ashamed.”
I can’t even look at Ali. I can’t lift my hands up without all that horror.
“I can’t make this better for you,” she says.
“I don’t expect you to.”
I wipe my wet face. She stares at me carefully. Waiting.
“I think your story is worth telling if you want to tell it. You mentioned that in your letter. About the Initiation. You can talk to Terrance. Pitch it to him for the Underground. But it’s not going to be easy. Because people are going to look at you.”
“They already look at me, Ali.” I pause. I want to hold on to this moment. I have so much more to say to her. About Sean. About Donnie. About Dev. About how awful I feel. How low and detached I feel. That maybe they should put me in an institution after this. Maybe they will. “Can I walk with you?”
Ali’s mouth just opens. She can’t contain the irony. And she finally smiles. Not a real smile. More like a smirk.
“I have rules to you walking with me.”
“I’m sure you do,” I say, smiling. The first time in weeks. Smiling because of Ali. She really does make me smile. “I’m sure you do.”
The hallways after school have this lingering stink of bodies, all of us crammed in here day after day. But if you stay long enough, about an hour after everyone leaves, there’s this fresh breeze that sneaks through as people open and shut the doors.
The few people who are
