The Lies That Bind (2 page)

The clock tower showed six minutes after ten. The famous Pemberly Brown landmark had graced the cover of thousands of school brochures, and just looking at it reminded me how close I’d come the night before to having actual, irrefutable proof of the school’s secret societies. I had made it my mission to destroy them and I’d failed. Again.

To add insult to injury, Pemberly Brown was finally breaking ground on a new wing of the school funded by donations made in Grace’s name. The Farrows had pushed for the reconstruction of the chapel, but the Lees had the final say, and to them, a chapel would have brought back everything they were trying so hard to forget. So even though it was Saturday morning, all of the school’s students and faculty were gathering for the dedication ceremony.

And I was late.

My mom would be twisting her rings nervously, a fake smile plastered across her face. Seats would be filled and mine would be empty. People would whisper excitedly about whether the broken best friend would come. I wasn’t ready for any of it. When Grace’s parents had asked me to say a few words at the ceremony, I’d agreed immediately, but I hadn’t really thought about what it would feel like to be here and to be forced to talk about her in front of the entire school.

If I were smart, I would have spent last night writing the most amazing speech of all time, but sadly I was a complete idiot who had opted to spend her evening chasing rich boys in red robes reenacting scenes from an MTV reality show.

I guess being late was the least of my worries.

The site of the ruined chapel came into view and I hung back, observing from a distance. I hoped that if I watched for a few minutes, I’d feel like I’d been there a while, as though I’d gotten that awkward beginning part over with. Women eyed each other and whispered to friends, hands cupped close to their mouths. Men shook hands; guys punched shoulders; girls waved each other over and saved seats.

And then my eyes landed on them: Taylor Wright, Bethany Giordano, Alistair Reynolds, and Bradley Farrow. All of them sat front and center. You’d never have guessed that they were on opposite sides of warring secret societies unless, of course, you knew the story behind the cast cradling Alistair’s left arm. You’d also never guess that each of them had a hand in killing my best friend almost a year and a half ago.

My hand flew to my neck, grabbing for Grace’s pearls. I had slipped them over my neck in the dark, silent morning to remind myself of the real reason I was here today. My truth.

“Kate?” I jumped at the sound of my dad’s voice. The notes in my hand were crumpled and I felt disoriented, like I’d just woken up from some sort of dream. “We’ve been looking all over the place.” His forehead was wrinkled, as usual. I wondered how many wrinkles I had put there. “You ready?”

I mumbled something in response and briefly considered ditching my notes and sprinting into the thick woods that edged the site of Grace’s future wing. Why did I put myself in these situations? I wasn’t ready yet. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be.

“It’s time.” He placed his hand on my shoulder and nodded toward the first row of pristine white chairs where my mom was waiting, a jacket slung over the back of a chair to save my place. The chairs were arranged around a gaping hole in the ground. A ridiculous white ribbon bordered the opening in an effort to soften our memories of what had happened here that night. It didn’t work. The flames that had consumed that old chapel and turned my world to ash were seared in my memory forever.

A large glass vase stood empty on a table next to the podium. After the memorial, 157 written memories, sentiments, apologies, and secrets would be dropped inside, one from each of Grace’s classmates, another Pemberly Brown tradition. Mine was crumpled, the ink smeared in spots, probably illegible, which in my mind was better. Grace was the only person who needed to know what it said, and I wanted to believe that wherever she was, she already knew what I had to say.

As we wound our way to our seats, I tried to ignore the way the whispers stopped when I came close or the way fingers discreetly pointed in my direction. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Dr. Prozac, my pet name for the shrink my parents forced me to see once a month, would be so proud.

“Kate.” Liam Gilmour always said my name like a statement, never a question. On this frigid January morning it sounded more like an affirmation.

“Hey, I’m so glad you’re here,” I said, trying with every last ounce of my being to sound genuine and calm and
okay
. That was the most common question I got. Are you okay? And I’d almost figured out how to fake it.

Liam grabbed my hand and squeezed, seeing right through me. His blue button-down was untucked and wrinkled, but I could tell he’d tried to dress up, which meant much more than anything he could say. The sun glinted off his perfectly messy hair, all shiny golden brown—the kind of color women spent a fortune trying to achieve in expensive salons.

I turned Liam’s wrist over in my hand so I could see the simple orange bracelet everyone wore in honor of Grace. The Concilium, Pemberly Brown’s version of a student council, had asked me her favorite color. Liam was without a doubt one of the best things that had happened to me since Grace died, but something about seeing him wearing that orange band around his wrist reminded me that Grace was truly gone. The finality of it blindsided me.

Liam would never know Grace. He would know things about her. Like the fact that her favorite color was orange, or that she loved to stay up late and watch trashy TV while slurping Diet Coke through Twizzler straws. But he would never be forced to sit through one of her endless knock-knock jokes. He’d never have one of her world-famous playlists dedicated to him. Liam would never really know my best friend.

My eyes filled with tears, and a couple of them spilled over and splashed down on his wrist.

“Hey.” He pulled me into his chest in spite of the fact that my mom and dad were standing less than two feet away. He cupped my cheek and forced me to look into his light eyes. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Kate…” My mom tugged me away from Liam. “It’s almost time. We have to sit down.” The satisfaction in her tone reminded me that she still wasn’t totally sold on my smexy, rumpled boyfriend. I gave him a lingering kiss on the lips so she’d know I was on to her. I heard Liam laugh quietly as our lips met. He knew exactly what I was up to.

“I’ll see you after, okay?” he whispered.

“Okay.” I trotted dutifully after my parents to find our reserved seats.

“Oh, look, there are the Allens.” My mom tilted her head their way, and I looked over just in time to see Seth’s mom lick her finger and swipe it across his face. He noticed me watching, and his cheeks burned redder than his flaming curls before he slapped his mother’s hand away. I shot him a sympathetic smile, and he immediately mouthed what looked like “I love you” at me. It might have been borderline romantic if he didn’t have something brown smeared across his upper lip, no doubt the spot Mrs. Allen had been after.

“When are you going to give that poor kid a chance?” My dad elbowed me, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Um, try never.” I tried to infuse the appropriate level of disgust in my tone but failed miserably. The truth was that Seth was my best friend in the whole world. For a while he had been my only friend. I wouldn’t even be here if not for him, so it was kind of impossible not to love him. Cheeto breath and all.

I was snapped out of my reverie when Headmaster Sinclair took the stage. His hair appeared thinner, the sprinkling of gray throughout more apparent. A hush swept across the grounds before he even uttered a sound. His pinched face was all anyone needed to quiet down.

“On behalf of Pemberly Brown Academy, I’d like to welcome you to the Grace Elizabeth Lee Memorial dedication ceremony. As all of you know, at the beginning of last school year, our entire community was shaken to its core.” His voice remained steady, cold almost, the words memorized to the point of losing all meaning. A secretary had probably prepared his introduction. “Grace was an exceptional student, friend, daughter, the list goes on, and she was taken far too soon in a tragic accident that will never be forgotten.”

I couldn’t help but notice how he hung on the word “accident.” It felt especially meant for me. “But part of moving forward is letting go.” Sinclair’s eyes flicked onto my own for a split second, so quickly that I wondered if it had even happened at all. “While at the same time always remembering. This new space will help us do exactly that.”

The headmaster cleared his throat, looking down for a moment before his gaze met the eyes of the crowd once again. “With that said, Grace’s family and I thought there was no one better suited to share her favorite Grace memory than Kate Lowry, Grace’s best friend. Kate?”

I’d never heard my name sound so sugar-coated, especially out of his mouth. It made me nauseous. Even more so when I watched him drop a tiny folded piece of paper into the glass vase. It didn’t seem fair that his “memory” got to be first. Headmaster Sinclair was one of the Brotherhood’s most powerful alumni, and he had been instrumental in covering up the truth behind Grace’s death last year. The fact that he was at her memorial ceremony pretending to honor her memory made me want to pummel him until there was nothing left except a bloody pair of bifocals. But I wasn’t in the mood to make a scene. Grace deserved more than that.

Instead, I approached the podium and settled for squeezing him hard enough to crack a rib when he wrapped his arms around me in a chilly embrace. Before lowering the microphone, I fished the worn paper from the bottom of my pocket and dropped it into the vase. An illusion of balance was restored.

“Careful,” he hissed. I gave him a demure smile that translated into something slightly more profane than “screw you.” The microphone let out a squeal when I angled it down, and it was as if all two hundred people in the crowd cringed at once. It all seemed so surreal then. Grace’s picture, bare branches scraping the sun-drenched sky, an entire community gathered in mourning. How had I ended up here? Liam must have recognized the panic written across my face because he gave me a wink. And then I got my footing.

I could do this. I had to do this. For Grace.

“As most of you know, Grace Lee was my best friend.” The strength of my voice surprised me. It must have surprised my parents too, because they beamed with pride. A little bit of sadness was mixed in, but mostly pride. “When somebody dies, it’s hard to find the right words. People say the same things—‘She’s in a better place, I’m so sorry, I know how you feel, I’m praying for you, thinking of you.’ I used to say that stuff too, because it’s just what you say.”

I wasn’t even looking at my notes anymore. The only things that seemed to make sense were the words coming out of my mouth.

Seth caught my eye and gave me a little thumbs-up. His small gesture gave me the courage I needed to continue.

“And after a while people start talking about moving on and going back to normal. But it’s not that easy.” Obviously. I had faded pink hair and brown roots. And that was only on the outside.

“Grace and I were like the same person. Everything I remember is connected to her.”

I picked up the framed picture of Grace. “This was taken on our first day of upper school at Pemberly Brown.” I paused for a minute, not sure how to put into words what that morning had felt like, why this picture was so important to me. It had been such an ordinary moment. Grace’s long, dark hair cascaded down her back in waves, and her almond-shaped eyes were laughing.

“I love this picture, this memory, because it captured the moment before…well, before anything, really. There was all this anticipation. All this hope. I guess it’s just how I want to remember Grace.” I mumbled the last words, feeling stupid for even saying them out loud.

My eyes locked with Liam’s and he smiled, cheering me on from his seat. But I couldn’t seem to stop my eyes from raking through the crowd, sifting through the expectant faces until they landed on Bradley Farrow. His mocha skin had turned the color of ash, and his golden eyes were heavy and sad. And just like that, every last one of my words vanished into thin air.

“So, yeah, we should all remember her this way and keep her memory alive.” Good lord, that sounded just as idiotic in my head as it did over the microphone, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from saying it. “So thanks. We’re now going to hear from some of Grace’s other friends.”

I shuffled back to my seat, cursing Bradley Farrow for being a living, breathing reminder of all the ways I’d failed Grace. But today wasn’t about Bradley. It wasn’t even about me. It was about Grace.

I managed to tune out all the noise and focus on the other students sharing their memories of Grace. As I listened, my eyes heavy with tears, I felt thankful that I had the strength to stay, that I didn’t take off into the woods or stand up and scream at the unfairness of the world. As much as I hated to admit it, the broken parts of my heart seemed to be coming together, forming a thick, dark scar. Maybe that’s what moving on felt like.

After everyone said their piece, the president of the school board stood to make the dedication.

“Thank you, students, for that spirited memorial to your friend. I’m sure she would have appreciated it.” She cleared her throat and shuffled her note cards.

“As you all know, in honor of Grace’s memory, the Lees have made an extremely generous endowment to Pemberly Brown. These funds will be used to build a new wing of our school to accommodate our growing student body.”

The audience politely applauded, but the president just cleared her throat.

“These funds were donated on the condition that any student found accessing restricted areas of the school or trespassing on school property after school hours will be immediately expelled. We will not suffer another tragedy.”

She paused briefly, as though waiting for applause, but the crowd was silent. Was she really saying what it sounded like she was saying? Most of the Sacramentum ceremonies were so old and so respected that even teachers turned a blind eye.