Please Don't Tell - Laura Tims Page 0,31

Would a normal girl be annoyed or flattered? What would Joy do?

“I wanted to tell you, um,” I start. Bad transition. “You . . . you should never feel like you have to live up to your grandfather. That’s a lot of pressure—”

“What are you talking about?” He laughs, but it’s mean. “What do I care what music some old dude made a billion years ago? He’s dead and irrelevant.”

His warmth is gone. I ruined it.

He looks around restlessly, glances at Joy’s goofy smile. He mean-laughs again. “Is this her first time?”

“It’s mine, too,” I say defensively.

“Don’t get all November on me. I like you sweet.” He looks at me more closely. “Lemme pack another bowl.”

This time, when he lights it, I suck in hard, determined to do it right. His face, so close: “Don’t breathe out yet.” I don’t. A fire builds in my chest. My eyes water. I cough loudly. Can’t stop. He pays no attention, takes a long hit, holds the pipe out to me again. I don’t want it. I take it anyway.

My thoughts are tangled. I’m wearing too much makeup. Gross. I’m gross.

“Quit hiding your face.” He pulls at me. No. Don’t look. Even if someone saw what’s inside me, they wouldn’t want to help.

Adam disappears at the end of a long tunnel. Then Joy’s with me. In the grass. “Grace?” She’s the sky. I’m underground. She’s so tall. My eighteen-minute-older sister. Protecting me from monsters. But the real monster’s in me, and while she’s waving her sword, it’s eating me.

I’m vanishing. She presses her forehead to mine, giggling, and I’m still vanishing.

Then, suddenly: bright, bright lights.

“Oh shit!”

Noises. Everyone getting up. Joy’s yanking at me. “Grace. Graaaace. Come on.” Adam’s running. I watch him, sideways. His guitar bouncing on his back. Write a song about me. Shouting. Flashlight beams. Crackling voices. Joy, panicking. “We gotta run, come on!”

I’m in a cage, Joy. I can run in as many circles as I want. I’m still not going anywhere.

“I can’t believe this,” Mom keeps saying. “I just can’t believe this.”

She drives fast, jerking around each corner. Stanwick shuts down after ten p.m. Everyone else in the world might as well be dead.

Joy’s balled up in her seat, shoeless. It’s been—two hours? Three? Everything’s still furry-edged.

Officer Roseby’s chin jutted out when he spoke to Mom and Dad, like he’d done something honorable for the world by putting us in the back of his police car. It was his daughter who got us high in the first place.

“Teenage girls. I’m telling you,” he said, but he didn’t explain what he was telling us. I’ve never heard someone say teenage girls without disdain. What’s wrong with us, that everyone hates us so much?

Mom and Dad are murderously quiet. Guess what! I’m not perfect after all! I got high! I broke a rule! I snort. Joy shoots me a terrified look.

“You’re both grounded for the rest of the summer,” Mom hisses.

But Adam invited me—

Then she says, “I expected better from you, Grace Morris.”

Joy freezes. I freeze.

“Both of you,” Mom amends quickly. Dad rubs the back of his neck. “I expected better from both of you.”

But it’s already settled into us forever. Joy tucks herself against the window. A tear breaks down her cheek.

Rage fills me, hot and bloody. How dare anyone hurt her?

“You are so lucky Officer Roseby decided not to press charges,” Mom continues. “It would have gone on your record. Your college applications, down the toilet. Your futures . . .”

I’m not listening to her anymore. I don’t belong to her. I belong to my sister and she wants me out of my shell.

So I’m coming out.

NINE

October 13

Joy

THE SENIORS SQUEEZE FIVE TO A COUCH IN the counseling room. Kennedy-Ben-Sarah, a few others. People who were at the birthday party, but nobody talks about that.

“Principal Eastman’s going to trial.”

“That girl, Savannah Somerset, her mom pulled her out for the semester.”

Guilt and nausea are almost the same thing. They both overwhelm me.

“Remember, people,” says Ms. Bell, “we’re here to talk about what happened.”

I stare at the faces around me. Nobody stares back. I thought I’d feel the blackmailer’s presence, like an alarm going off.

Ben’s hollow eyed; Kennedy looks like she hasn’t showered in days; Sarah’s usual eyeliner is gone. They’re like this because they loved their dead friend, not because any of them are blackmailing me.

They should have known Adam better. They should have warned Grace.

“Officer Roseby interviewed me yesterday.” Kennedy hugs her knees. “I guess Mr. Gordon’d wanted him to