Echoes Between Us - McGarry, Katie Page 0,95

okay? And neither will Miguel. I think it’s a stupid decision, but we’ll respect it. And stop jumping down my throat. I’m part of this group to help. To help you. To help her. To help. I’m not heartless, and I really don’t appreciate the fact that’s how you’re making me feel.”

“She doesn’t want anyone to know!” I whisper-shout.

“I get that,” she whisper-shouts back. “But it’s not my fault your mom told me. I know about the tumor. I’m glad I know, but I’m not to blame because of what someone else decided to tell me. I won’t tell anyone else, and I won’t tell because I understand having a secret. Remember?”

I scrub my hands over my face. I do remember. I remember her fear as she told me she likes girls, not boys. How she was terrified I would reject her and then how she begged me to keep her secret. I did, and now I’m questioning my best friend whether she could do the same. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” she says. “But none of this changes the fact that I’m terrified of death and she’s not and now I’m the one standing over a dead person’s body waiting for a bony hand to reach out of the ground and pull me under.”

“That won’t happen,” says Veronica, and my stomach drops as she walks into the light of Sylvia’s cell. How much did she hear and is she going to blame me? She should. It seems just knowing me is a train wreck no one in my path can avoid.

I study Veronica, searching for any sign that she overheard us. She gives nothing when she’s upset, but that doesn’t mean she did or she didn’t. Veronica is a queen at masking.

“We found the statue.” She jacks her thumb over her shoulder, and there’s adventure in her tone. “Come check it out.”

Veronica’s curls bounce and her red plaid skirt swirls around her thighs as she turns away from us. She wears a heavy jean jacket, one that appears too large for her, and black-and-white-striped leggings with combat boots. She’s damn sexy and with how she looks over her shoulder at me and winks, she’s aware of what I’m thinking.

“Do you think she overhead us?” Sylvia whispers.

“I don’t know.” I follow after Veronica and Sylvia stays by my side.

“Are you going to tell her? That Miguel and I know?”

My insides feel like a garbage pit. There’s no win in this for Veronica. If I tell her then she knows that other people know and pity her. Plus she’ll figure out my mom’s a nuclear waste dump of gossip. If I don’t tell her—that feels wrong, too. “I don’t know yet. Probably. But not now.”

Miguel’s face is lit up by the screen of his cell phone he’s currently scrolling through. “So I found two stories about this statue. The first story is the one we told you about earlier—if you touch Mary’s hands and they’re cold then you die.”

“Super,” mumbles Sylvia.

“The other is that if Mary’s hands are folded and she’s looking down then everyone here is going to live.” Miguel continues to read from his cell. “But if Mary’s arms are outstretched and she’s looking up to heaven, then at least one of us is going to die.”

Sylvia holds herself tight as if the sweatshirt she’s wearing isn’t big or warm enough. “FYI, I hate every single one of you. Stories about religious statues that move aren’t okay and I’m never going to sleep again.”

“So are you guys ready to see how she’s standing?” Veronica asks with an evil little smile, and I can already guess the results.

“Nope.” Sylvia turns her back the moment Veronica shines the light on the statue. “I don’t want to know.” She looks at me. “What’s the statue doing? No, I changed my mind. Don’t tell me. Her arms are stretched open, aren’t they? Forget it, don’t tell me.”

It’s hard to hide my smile, and when it appears anyhow Sylvia glares at me. “You are not cute.”

“I never said I was,” I say, and glance over to find Veronica and Miguel smiling from ear to ear as there is just something amusing about being worked up over a statue.

“Her hands are folded,” Veronica says.

Sylvia locks eyes with me. “For real? Are they? Because if I turn around and her arms are outstretched, I swear to God I will punch you in your stomach.”

“Hands folded,” I confirm.

But as Sylvia starts to turn, Miguel gasps, “She just moved!”

Sylvia