“Finn,” I say, resigned, “it isn’t going to work.”
He doesn’t hear me, or he pretends not to hear me. He keeps pulling himself upright, though his hands are trembling.
And I know: as long as we keep trying to get me out, he’s a target.
“Finn!”
He shakes his head, hard. “I can’t hear you, Ev.”
“You can.”
“No.”
I take a wavering breath. “I’m going to stop.”
“You can’t stop me. Try to come out and stop me.” There’s a hint of panic to his voice.
I love him for being here and I hate him for it, because I need him to save himself. He shouldn’t be here, not for me. “Finn, you have to leave. I don’t know what’s waiting for us in the woods, but you have to get down the mountain and go home.” I pull my cloak a little closer around me. I cradle the crutch closer too.
Finn keeps shaking his head. “No.”
I place my palm against the window, once more. And all the words I want to say, everything I want to tell him, coalesces in two words: “I’m sorry.”
Twenty-Three
Finn
No.
No.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. Not to Carter. Not to Liva. Not to Ever.
Especially not to Ever. Never to Ever. I want all my friends to be safe. I don’t know what I would do without them, but I don’t know how to breathe without Ever.
The two of us celebrated my admission to Drexel together. I picked Ever up from Paper Hearts to go clothes shopping for WyvernCon. Liva was already working on our costumes, of course, but with a three-day con, we usually spent at least one day in regular clothes. In Ever’s case that meant geeky hand-me-downs and modified basics. For me, it was a chic variant of thrift-store goth. I wanted some more weird, quirky black clothes for my wardrobe and was keeping an eye out for lace and velvets.
Mrs. Akashi, who owns the thrift store, always keeps the best pieces aside for me. She knows my tastes exactly and has a good eye for my figure; she finds me clothes that are flattering regardless of whether or not I’m wearing my binder. Mrs. Akashi knows that clothes are a form of radical expression and dressing in all black isn’t scary, but creative. That I refuse to let the world push me into conforming, no matter how much being different occasionally hurts.
My goth style has never been just about the dark or the macabre or the makeup or the music I listen to. It is about discovering my taste and finding a piece of me. And it happens to have a small community built into it. Not so much at school, but definitely online and at cons.
That day, Ever convinced me to try on all the clothes Mrs. Akashi kept aside for me, even the ones I wasn’t immediately sure about. Meanwhile, they made their way through the store like an adventuring party looting a dungeon. They picked out suits and dresses, racer-back tops and the odd black-and-blue kilt. And every time I changed into a new outfit, they did so too. They took pictures of both of us to send to Damien, to show off my new looks before the con.
They didn’t care one bit about how they looked. And I found them gorgeous no matter what they were wearing. I was quite partial to the last option, though: a suit jacket, a blue graphic top, and a kilt, with a bow tie to top it off. The look was far more extreme than anything they’d worn before, but it was made for them. They were positively radiant.
But when I offered to buy the outfit for them as an early birthday present, they made a weird expression, took the clothes off, and handed them back to Mrs. Akashi. “No, thank you. I appreciate it, but…no.”
“This outfit was made for you.”
“I don’t think that’s how thrift stores work, Finn.”
“Ev—”
“No.” An unsteady breath. “No, thank you.”
Mrs. Akashi tried to convince them too, but to no avail.
After the thrift store, I insisted on buying both of us disgustingly sweet cookie dough lattes, and they told me why they’d refused.
Ever stared down at their coffee. “When you said that, I realized you won’t be in town anymore for my next birthday.”
“I…” Right.
“Yeah.” They stirred the drink listlessly.
“I didn’t even think—”
“And you shouldn’t have to.” They picked up the cup, set it down again, and looked at me. Straight on. “I’m sorry. I’m so proud of you, and I don’t want this to be about me. Let’s celebrate you right now, okay?”
“You could come hang out?” I offer.
They shot me a crooked smile. “I’d love that, but we both know that’s not going to happen. It’s not only about the money. I can’t abandon Elle.”
Suddenly, briefly, I hated the prospect of college. I hated the idea of leaving and not being able to fix things for them or make life fairer.
I hated the idea of never properly being able to try us.
“You’ll still be my best friend forever, right?” I asked, my stomach fluttering.
They reached out a hand and curled their fingers around mine. “Always.”
“And it’s only a year. You’ll finish high school soon enough, and then you can come hang out. We’ll take over the East Coast together. Both do internships for Damien, and you can get your game design degree, and I can develop everything you imagine.” They wanted to focus more on the tabletop gaming side of things, and maybe try their hand at writing. I could only see endless opportunities to work together.
They couldn’t meet my eye, but they attempted another smile. “You’re my favorite person in the whole wide world. And I’m happy for you. I truly am. Don’t think less of me for being selfish?”
I took a gigantic sip of my drink, because it was the only way to get rid of the sudden lump in my throat. “Never. And I will always try to be here for whatever you need. If
