Click to Subscribe - By L. M. Augustine Page 0,25

I could tell immediately that something was wrong. I knew it like you know how someone is watching you, or how you know the book you’re about to read is going to be the best thing ever. I knew it—I knew it—and I did nothing.

It was the policeman who told me the news. He showed up at my door, his eyes so empty of life, and he said my dad was arrested and my mom… well, my mom was dead.

At first, I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there, shaking, wanting to scream and cry until this all went away, but I couldn’t find the energy to do any of it. So then I did nothing. I didn’t cry, didn’t beg him to tell me he was lying, that this wasn’t real, that my mom wasn’t really dead. I just looked at him, my jaw set, nodded, said thank you, and shut the door. As soon as he left, though, I fell apart. I cried and cried and cried. The tears quickly turned to rage, then rage to exhaustion, then exhaustion back to tears.

I called Cat soon after. It was the middle of the night and she had a big exam the next morning, but she still rushed over and spent the whole night comforting me, holding me close and telling me it was all going to be okay, that she was here for me and it was going to suck big time, but we would make it through—together. At the time, I didn’t believe her. Hell, I yelled at her more times that night than I have any other. But she was right. She gave me a shoulder to lean on. She made everything so much more bearable and asked for nothing in return.

I shake my head as I turn down my street. It’s sunny out, cloudless and cool and the perfect autumn day. I pull into my driveway, hop out of Dad’s silver Chevy, and walk up the front steps.

Cat was always there for me. Strong when I wasn’t. Positive when I felt hopeless. And the one time she needed me, I turned her down.

I never even gave her a chance.

Chapter 8

The next day is Saturday, and I spend it eating ice cream, filming another vlog, and going over my conversation with Cat in my head again and again. I get nothing from it, though.

I don’t sleep at all that night or the next, and soon Saturday drags into Sunday which brings me right back to Monday. Before I know it I’m standing outside my high school, hoping like hell I won’t run into Cat, at least not yet. Even after two whole days of preparation, I still don’t know what to say to her.

As soon as I burst through the front entrance of the school I fast-walk over to my locker, keeping my head down, not meeting anyone’s gaze. Cat and I are not exactly the most sociable people so it’s not like she told any of them about what’s going on, but still, like with the strangers on the sidewalk, I can’t meet anyone’s gaze without getting that sinking feeling that they know what I did.

I glance around the hallway as I pull open my locker, checking to make sure no one is coming. When there’s no Cat in sight, I let out a deep breath. Thank god.

After another minute I’ve shoved all of my binders into my locker, grabbed my books, and have started to hurry to class. I still haven’t talked to Cat since Friday, but I really don’t know what to say. She just seemed so upset at the time that I’m… well, I’m afraid. Afraid that I might hurt her more than I already have. Afraid that I might ruin our friendship.

Well, at least I have more time to worry about it, I say to myself as I slam my locker shut and start down the hallway. But the second I turn around, I run into Cat, who also seems to be trying to slip past me. My book connects with her arm, and her backpack with my face.

So we stand there, eyes on each other, Cat looking angry and me entirely terrified.

Yep. Just our luck.

“Oh, sorry…” I mumble, staggering back. Once I’ve regained my balance I try to move past her again, hoping like hell to avoid conversation.

“Yeah,” is all Cat says. In that instant, I have an overpowering urge to keep on walking, to hurry up and get