“So senseless.” Lia’s mom stroked her hair and tucked her into the back of their car. “Her poor parents. I was just talking to her mom yesterday. And for Abby to just…”
Lia could still remember the soft thrill in Abby’s voice as she told Omelet that maybe they would run a little.
“It’s not Abby’s fault,” Lia said quickly. “Even if she wasn’t supposed to be running, it’s not her fault.”
Her mom reached back from the front seat and took her hand. “Of course it isn’t. It’s just so senseless. She had so much ahead of her—she just got that full ride, you know. And now—”
“I don’t want to do this,” Lia said. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
Her stomach dropped. How could she have been so jealous of Abby? She was terrible.
Her dad opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat before her mom could respond. “Home first, and if your head starts hurting, the hospital. Got it?”
Lia nodded. Once home, she stayed curled up in her room, half asleep, for the next three days. The ache didn’t vanish, but the roar in her ears that rose whenever she thought about Abby kept the silence at bay. She talked with Gem a lot, and she texted a bit with Devon. Even Ben called to keep her company.
By the time Abby’s funeral was only an hour away, Lia was trapped between a nausea-inducing dread and a sharp, stabbing fear in the back of her mind of facing the rest of her Lincoln. She had been avoiding the news and the internet. She didn’t want to know what was being said.
“Hey,” Gem said as they met up outside Abby’s church. “You okay?”
Everything felt muffled and distant, as if Lia were watching the procession alone and drowning beneath a thin veil of water. “Don’t leave me.”
“Never,” Gem said.
Lia managed a weak smile. Come May, everyone was leaving with plans and dreams. Everyone except Abby.
Lia sat in the back, Gem on one side and her parents on the other. People milled about, whispering to each other. The casket was closed, and Abby’s parents were sequestered behind the privacy of a sheer curtain that did nothing to block the sound of them crying. Omelet’s soft huffs peppered the proceedings.
Abby’s mom spoke, then Georgia, and one of Abby’s colleagues at the vet office where she volunteered.
Lia couldn’t cry. She stared at the dark wood of Abby’s coffin and kept a tight grip on Gem’s hand. Most of the school had come, and Lia could feel the stares.
“I wonder why it’s closed?” someone whispered behind Lia.
Someone chuckled. “I heard she cracked her head open. I bet they couldn’t fix that.”
“It’s stupid,” the other person muttered back. “A runner. Tripping. To death.”
A rushing sound filled her ears. Omelet’s ah-woo echoed through the room. Someone cracked their knuckles, bones snapping. Breaking. Like Abby’s.
It hadn’t been branches. It hadn’t been branches. None of the sounds she’d heard that morning had been branches.
Lia leapt to her feet and ran out of the church. Her hands shook as she pushed open the doors. Her feet thudded across the marble entry hall, and she shoved her way into the cold. Lia collapsed on the top step of the stairs leading down to the street and pressed her hands against her eyes. The dark behind her eyelids was the same dark in Abby’s dented head. The sunlight burned.
The door opened behind her. Two sets of footsteps stopped next to Lia. Devon and Gem.
“You’re breathing too fast,” Devon said. There was no judgment in his voice, and his fingers brushed her hands. “Try to control it.”
Lia drew a short, shuddering breath through her nose. “How can I control it when something as simple as tripping killed her?”
“Okay, don’t think about that part,” Devon said.
“I need a distraction,” Lia said. “I need to do something. I can’t sit still. I can’t stay home. I can’t just think because I’ll end up thinking about her. And what they’re saying. If they’re saying that stuff here, what are they saying at school? When they’re alone?”
“They’re saying they’re scared,” Gem told her. “They’re saying they’re sad. They’re saying the world doesn’t make sense. They’re saying the game is tainted because Abby was excited about playing it and now she can’t. They’re sobbing in the school bathroom and needing parents to come pick them up.”
Gem sat next to Lia. “They are not those two idiots who were sitting behind us.”
Lia pulled her hands from her eyes and took a slow breath. “I don’t have anything to do. I don’t have anything to think about. They excused me from school, but I can’t not think about Abby if I’m thinking about nothing. Does that make sense?”
“Sort of,” Devon said. “You had a lot of nots in there.”
“I did!” Lia sniffed and laughed, the sound ripping out of her throat until she wasn’t sure why she was laughing at all but it was all she could do to keep from crying. Lia covered her mouth with her hands.
“I need something to do,” she said. “I need something to fill up this space in my head or else Abby will fill it up. Talk to me about something. The game. Is anyone out?”
Devon sighed. “They were considering banning the game.”
“The school isn’t in charge of it,” Lia said. “How could they cancel it?”
“Anyone found playing would get in-school suspension.” Devon wiped Lia’s cheeks with his hand and flicked a damp eyelash aside. “My mom said the PTA brought it up.”
“I bet half of them were those busybodies speculating on what happened before your parents got you out of that park,” Gem said. “The news even interviewed them.”
Lia rubbed her nose. “I saw them when I was leaving.”
“Why were you following Abby?” Devon asked. “We made a deal.”
“I wanted to see what path she would take so we could set up there when the deal was done,” Lia said. “I didn’t want to come back and have nothing.”
Gem laid their cheek against the top of Lia’s head. “You want to keep playing Assassins?”
“What else do I have if I don’t?” Lia asked. “Why was I even there if not?”
“I think you have a lot, but I don’t think you’ll listen to me when I say that,” Gem said. “I’ll keep playing, but no more early-morning solo runs, okay?”