“Josie,” I say, but she ignores me. For a second I think she’s about to take off her jeans, but instead she opens a drawer and pulls out a tank top. She turns and looks at both of us before yanking it over her head.
Noah averts his eyes, but it’s too late. He catches my glance and says, “I’m gonna go,” and then he does, scramming from our room as fast as he can. I’m not stupid enough to think he doesn’t want to see her naked. It’s just that nothing could be worth the tension in here.
We stare at each other. “What are you doing?” I ask.
Josie shrugs. “What’s the big deal?” she asks. She lies back against her bed, staring up at the cylindrical metal casing that keeps my top bunk from crashing down on her. “Why does he always take so long to leave?” she asks. She pats the quilt, clearly wanting me to sit beside her.
I give in and go to her. “Give him a break, Josie,” I say, because she’s always just shy of cruel to Noah.
“You think he deserves a cuddle?” she asks, her pink lips curving into a smile. “It must be why he likes you so much. You’re so nice, Emma.” She says it like an insult, and then shakes her head and sends shiny waves of hair over the pillow. “You’re not in love with him, are you?” she asks, her blue eyes all over me.
“No,” I say quickly, because I don’t think I am, though maybe I could be with more time. Josie turns away. She moves to the window and opens our shades. The sky is the mottled inky color of a bruise, the kind of night that makes me want to press pause as dusk hurtles into darkness, the kind of night that makes me feel desperate. Sometimes I’m not ready for the evening hours with Josie, for whatever she has planned for us, especially when it involves her brother. Chris gets so drunk and picks fights, and it’s embarrassing, really. I tried to say something to her once, but she shut me down before I could even finish my sentence.
“Noah’s one of the good ones,” Josie says as she stares out the window, and I think about how Noah’s good in bed and good at life, but obviously I don’t say that.
Outside, an oak tree is bare, with branches as thin as fingers. Josie cracks the window, and the branches point at us, accusing us of everything we already know is true. “Josie,” I say, pulling the quilt over my legs as cold air rushes into our room. “Really?”
She smirks at me, and then everything switches, and we’re okay. We’re roommates, best friends, practically sisters. Noah could never come between us. And maybe Chris couldn’t, either, especially if she knew it was just a mistake and would never happen again.
Josie comes back to the bed and sits. She pushes her slight body against the bedframe. She’s olive-skinned, looking almost tan even in December, making my body appear ghostlier than ever.
My phone buzzes, and I see a text from my sister. “It’s from Haley, I gotta get it,” I say, reaching for my phone to open the text, but Josie gets it first and puts it in her lap.
“You and Noah are getting serious,” she says.
“Um, I guess,” I say. I’m not really sure about that, but I want it to be true.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asks.
“What do you mean?” The bare skin on my arms feels cold and itchy, and I pull the blanket higher.
“I mean, you know, your art and stuff,” Josie says. “What about our plan to live together in New York after school’s done?”
“What does Noah have to do with that?” I ask. She shrugs, and I try to picture what it’s going to be like when we graduate, when we make it to New York and live in an apartment together and try to get our paintings into shows. But lately when I try to imagine some great future for myself as an artist, I just can’t do it. I try to conjure up the images: me walking the streets of New York City, meeting new people, and painting new things. But no matter how hard I try to fill in the spaces with everything I’ve always wanted, it all looks blank.
NINE
Haley
An hour after Haley and her mom delivered the news to her dad, Haley sat alone on the worn carpet in the Waverly public library and worried about how hard he’d taken it. She was sitting on the floor and leaning against the stacks of books, her butt asleep, when she got a text from Josie’s brother.
Got something to drop off for you from Noah. You home?
Haley exhaled, not wanting to communicate with anyone right now. She pulled her knees tighter against her chest. I’m at the library, she texted back, thinking that would end the communication, but instead Chris shot back a reply.
I can be there in five. See you soon.
Haley sat up straighter against the shelves. Books pressed their spines into hers. I’m on the second floor, she texted back, and then tapped her fingertips against the scratchy carpet. She tried to breathe, inhaling the mustiness of the library she’d loved as a little girl. Her mind had been spinning ever since her meeting with Rappaport. She’d told Dean she wanted to be alone, and when he blanched, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to want to be alone so much, certainly not after what had happened at the police station and then with her father. She still saw her dad’s body like a silhouette in her mind: slumped forward, shoulders heaving as he wept. She knew Dean wanted to be the person to comfort her, and she’d let him, listening as he told her over and over that this was the news she’d been waiting for, the news that confirmed what she knew about Emma’s death to be true. But now she desperately needed to be alone, and to think.
Haley heard Chris before she saw him. It was a quiet library, and the sound of his work boots climbing the rickety stairs made her rise unsteadily. She leaned against a bookshelf, but the angle felt awkward, and as she straightened, Chris emerged and caught her standing there. If she appeared strange to him—waiting in the middle of a row of books, her arms crossed over her chest—he didn’t let on. “Haley,” he said. The carpet muted the sounds of his boots as he walked toward her. When he stopped, Haley was grateful for the few feet he kept between them.
“Are those for me?” she asked, glancing down at the brochures in his hand, surprised at how nervous she felt. But Chris didn’t pass her the brochures. Instead, he brought a hand quickly over his mouth, as if he were brushing something off, and said, “I wanted to talk to you.” He looked morbidly uncomfortable, and Haley waited for him to say something. They’d never been alone together.
“I got called in to the police station,” he finally said, his blue eyes locked on hers, lashes blinking. “We all did, you know?”
“Josie and Noah, too?” Haley asked.
Chris nodded. Why hadn’t Josie or Noah said anything to her? “And?” Haley asked, trying to keep the territorial snap out of her voice. She didn’t want anyone else talking about her sister. Emma belonged to Haley and her parents, not to them.
“I was high that night at the party in the woods,” Chris said, his words hushed.
“You and everyone else,” Haley replied, more gently this time.
“I’m just trying to say that I don’t remember much,” Chris said. “I really liked your sister, but I always thought she, you know, I thought what everyone else thought.”