This is What Goodbye Looks Like (28 page)

“So make it up to me,” I say, the words escaping before I can stop them.

He raises an eyebrow in a questioning look.

“Take me out to pizza later this week,” I say. “Let’s do something that’ll distract us both from how shitty things are right now.”

It’s wrong to ask of him, but dammit, I’ve already broken every single rule I created for myself about this place. Staying at Harting is no longer about learning how to keep my family together. It’s become a solo mission, a way to keep myself from breaking to pieces.

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Seth says, a smile curling his lips. He looks almost happy like this, and I wonder if maybe asking him wasn’t so wrong, if maybe it really will help us both.

“Great,” I say. Then I risk a glance at the clock on my nightstand and sigh. “I think your class is starting soon.”

He hesitates, and I can picture a mental debate ping-ponging back and forth in his head as he considers whether to ditch.

“You should go,” I say. “You’re not going to be able to retake that test if you miss it.”

He sighs and mutters, “You’re right.” Then he leans forward and gently kisses the top of my head. I think I should be surprised, but all I feel is a comforting heat spread through me.

“Feel better,” he says. “And you’d better finish those apples, okay? I don’t want to have to consider this visit a failed mission.”

I wrap my arms around him, needing to say goodbye, but not wanting to. I breathe in deeply, taking in his unique scent. Fresh snow and tea, cold and warm all at once. “I can take care of myself,” I tell him. “You can quit worrying.”

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he says, brushing his thumb against my cheek. “I just don’t want you to have to keep doing it alone.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Thursday morning, I attend my first spirit rally at Harting. At my old school, spirit rallies were just glorified morning assemblies that meant we got to skip an extra twenty minutes of class. But at Harting? They take this rally stuff seriously.

Everyone in the entire school attends. Period, no exceptions. And instead of twenty minutes of droning announcements that put everyone to sleep, Harting has an entire period devoted to games, updates from all the clubs and sports teams, and awards for the top students. It’s kind of crazy how competitive people get, especially during the game parts—our classes are pitted against each other in everything from three-legged races to trivia competitions.

The junior class must all be on steroids, because they crush the rest of us. I think the seniors are too infected with senioritis to really bother contending, and the sophomores try to win the events, but repeatedly fail. The freshmen are too intimidated to even try winning, so their attempts are feeble at best.

I sit at the base of the gym’s bleachers with Brie and her group of friends, my camera around my neck as the games unfold right in front of me. Seth sits beside me, close enough so our legs press against each other. The gym is full of loud chatter, but the click of my camera’s shutter seems more soothing than ever, and I quickly fall into a rhythm of taking shots as the rally cycles through its planned events for the morning.

Ever since that first afternoon taking pictures with Seth, I haven’t been able to stop. I didn’t realize how much I missed doing photography until I started again, and now I don’t think anything could bring me to abandon it again.

A teacher waves over to us, gesturing for someone to line up at the starting point of the three-legged race. Brie grabs Seth’s sleeve and tugs him to his feet. He gives a surprised yelp, but Brie just laughs and orders Landon to hold Koda while they race.

I wait for Seth to protest, but he hands over his dog and follows Brie to the starting line. The teacher comes over and gives Brie an uncertain look, but she just grins as her leg is bound against Seth’s for the game. A minute later, a whistle sounds the start of the race.

It’s just as ridiculous as I expected—Seth’s a full half-foot taller than Brie, and with his lanky build, each of his steps covers two of hers. Brie loudly informs him that being blind is no excuse for not knowing how to run straight. He snaps back that she’s the worst guide dog ever. But they’re both grinning like idiots as they trip toward the finish line.

They end up falling three times, which makes Koda nearly yank Landon off his feet as she tries to run across the gym and rescue her owner. About half the senior class tries to comfort the dog by calling across the gym at her, but that just makes her start madly barking. By the time Seth and Brie stumble across the finish line, they’re both winded from laughing so hard.

It’s the only game the freshmen don’t place last in.

Seth crumples to the ground in an exaggerated display of exhaustion, and Brie shrieks as she’s pulled down with him, the two of them still bound by the rope. Koda finally wiggles out of Landon’s grasp and races across the gym, licking Seth’s face and inspecting for damage. Brie starts laughing again, and Seth joins her as he scoops her up in a hug.

I lift my camera and capture them like that. Seth and Brie laughing together, and Koda prancing around her owner, her tail wagging. At least a dozen other seniors are crowded around in a loose circle, grinning like idiots as they congratulate their classmates on their spectacular failure. I use a soft aperture, so when you look at the photo, Seth is really the only thing in focus. Him and his smile.

When he smiles like that, he’s inhumanly beautiful. Not because of his sharp features, or because of the cute dimple on his cheek, or because of the handsome face framing it all. It’s his happiness that makes him inhuman, because he’s been shattered, but he still manages to smile like that and mean it.

I have my next picture for Parker’s project. The ninth step of the Hero’s Journey was one I wasn’t quite sure how to capture, despite all our notes—it’s supposed to be the step where the hero is rewarded for all his efforts. But this picture seems to work perfectly.

Harting is a home to Seth, just like he told me. And, the way everyone smiles back at him, I know he’s earned his spot here.

But as I stare at the picture on my camera’s little screen, I wonder if I’m actually helping him by taking these photos. Seth seems so much happier like this, when he’s focusing on the present and not the past. He needed to mourn Parker when he first died, I know that. But maybe now this is what he needs more—people to pick him up and dust him off and help him move on.

I brush my thumb over the screen, touching the picture I captured. I don’t think goodbye can ever be painless, but if it has to be done, it should look like this.

It shouldn’t look alone.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Friday evening, Seth and I head into town to grab pizza. Brie’s other friends decided to stay back this week, citing heavy homework loads as the reason. But I thank Brie on my way out, knowing she orchestrated it so Seth and me would have time alone.

Landon offers to drive us, and the car ride sets me on fire with anxiety, just like always. But when we get there, the restaurant is just as empty as usual, and Nathan cooks us a pizza that’s just as delicious as usual, and I quickly find myself relaxing in the comforting surroundings.

Having dinner alone with Seth is different, but in a good way. Our conversation is just as comfortable as always, although we don’t avoid talking about dark stuff, like we always do when we’re around other people at Harting. By the time we finish eating, the last of my nerves are gone.

After we pay, Seth suggests we head over to the public library around the corner, and I don’t hesitate before agreeing. Over at the front register, Nathan makes a coughing noise that sounds suspiciously like,
“Nerds,”
and I roll my eyes at him. But he just winks and then points between Seth and me, giving a thumbs up. A blush creeps up my neck, and I hurry to follow Seth outside and toward the library.

The icy wind urges us on, and we scurry inside the library, where there’s the warmth of the heater and the comfort of books.

“Their Braille collection is terrible,” Seth says under his breath as we enter the building. “But they have a nice poetry section.”

I nod and head toward that section, following the little signs toward the back left corner. Despite the old-fashioned brick exterior, it’s surprisingly modern in here. The white paint gives the building an airy feel, and the shelves are packed with row after row of hardbound books. Only a couple of people are around, and no one seems to notice us as we head toward the poetry section. Usually, I go straight to the classics section when I step into a library, but I don’t have the desire to immerse myself in fiction tonight. With Seth around, reality seems like a pretty okay thing.

I stop in front of a giant bookcase made of dark wood, which is in the far corner of the library.

“We’re in the poetry section?” Seth asks.

“Yeah.” I lean into him, letting my head rest against his shoulder. He wraps an arm around my waist, and my heartbeat immediately picks up.

He reaches out with his other hand and strokes the weathered spine of a book. “My mom used to always bring Parker and me here when we were little,” he says, his voice suddenly wistful.

I let out a sigh, hoping he can’t hear the pain that squeezes my chest and shortens my breath. Seth has been in a good mood all evening, but I can’t help wondering how much of it’s an act. He visited his parents earlier this afternoon, and since he’s refusing to talk about it, I’m assuming it didn’t go very well.

I tug on his sleeve and guide him over to the little reading nook a few yards away, where there’s a cluster of cushy chairs. I grab Seth’s hand and twine my fingers with his, tugging him down next to me in one of the chairs.

“Do you want to tell me how your visit home went?” I ask, closing my eyes as I lean against him. “I mean,
really
tell me, and not just brush off the question like you did earlier?”

He rests his cheek on top of my head. “This is supposed to be a date,” he mutters. “Not a therapy session.”

“Luckily for you, I’m not a psychologist, so any advice I give is probably just going to screw you up. Hence not counting as real therapy.”

Seth chuckles, but it’s a flat sound that makes my chest ache. He goes silent for a long moment, but just when I’m sure he’s going to stay that way, he murmurs, “I’m so worried about my mom.” His voice is soft, like he thinks that maybe if he just keeps quiet, none of what he’s saying will actually be true. “She’s so angry all the time. My dad keeps talking about divorce, and I honestly can’t blame him. She’s not the same person he married. Not that my dad is, either.”

I desperately search for something comforting to tell him, and end up saying, “It’s not your fault.”

“I know that.” He trails his fingers through my hair, letting it tangle around his hand for a moment before smoothing it again. “I think that’s what’s ruining us. Everyone knows who’s responsible for Parker being dead, and that lady is walking around free. Three years of probation and some community service for a DUI. That’s all she got.” He swallows hard. “I hate her, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” I choke out. I want to add that I hate her too, that she means nothing to me after all the pain she’s caused. But the words won’t come.

A cold, wry smile lifts the corner of Seth’s mouth, and it’s so different from his usual smile that a chill trickles over my skin.

“I used to say I hated lots of things.” His every word is like a flake of obsidian—dark and sharp and hard. “Stupid things, like pop quizzes and traffic. But now I realize I never felt hate before. Not until I heard that woman tell an entire courtroom that the accident wasn’t her fault.”

“She doesn’t deserve to be free,” I murmur.

“She doesn’t deserve to be
alive
,” Seth snaps. “We have a family friend who’s a doctor. You know what he said? That lady probably survived
because
she was drunk. She was too plastered to tense up before the impact, and it’s probably why she wasn’t injured badly.”

A shudder ripples down my spine, and a flare of pain erupts in my knee. For a split second, I’m back in the SUV, every muscle in my body clenched in terror, seeing Parker’s car right there in front of us, bracing for the impact, bracing, bracing...

I force myself to slowly let out a deep breath, and my nerves calm down a bit. But my chest is aching again, the way it did constantly for the first few days I was at Harting.

“You must hate her,” I murmur.

“I hate that lady more than anything in the world.”

“No, not the lady who was driving.”

It’s surprisingly easy to refer to my mom that way—to talk about her like I’m completely detached from her existence. And I guess it’s true, in a way. The woman who killed Parker isn’t the same woman who raised me.

But my next words stick to my throat, and I have to cough a little before I can get them out. “I mean the girl who lied on the stand. The driver’s daughter. You must hate her, too. I mean, you said she’s the reason the jury didn’t convict the driver...”

Seth lets out a slow, defeated sigh. “No.”

“No? You don’t think she’s the reason the driver is free?”