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18

A YEAR AND A HALF AGO (SIXTEEN YEARS OLD)

On the morning of my sixteenth birthday, I wake up with a purple

Post-it note stuck to my forehead. I pull it off , wondering how in the

world she’d managed to stick it there without waking me up.

Congratulations! As of 5:15 this morning, you are offi

cially

sixteen. Proceed to your closet for part one of your surprise.

—Mina

P.S. Yes, you have to wear what I picked out. No arguments. If I

leave it up to you, you’ll just wear jeans. Please, go with me on

this for once. Th e color is perfect.

I shuffl

e to my closet and pull it open. She’s bought me an entire

new outfi t. It’s not a surprise, considering how much she complains

about my fashion sense. I rub the soft jersey dress between my fi ngers.

Its dark red color is nice, but it’s too short.

I pull it out of the closet anyway and see the note she’s taped to it.

No arguments!!!

Rolling my eyes, I layer two camisoles underneath the dress to

cover the scar on my chest and pull on a pair of leggings and knee-

high boots. I’m putting the fi nishing touches on my makeup when

there’s a tap on my door.

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F A R F R O M Y O U

“You awake, birthday girl?” my dad calls.

“Morning, Dad. Come on in.”

He pushes open the door, a big smile on his face. “That’s a pretty

dress,” he says. “Is it new?”

“Mina,” I explain.

Dad grins. “Speaking of Mina . . .” He hands me an envelope. “She

sneaked in this morning. Wanted me to give you this. You girls have

plans today?”

I nod. “You and Mom have me tonight,” I promise.

“Good,” Dad says. “I’ve got to get to the offi

ce. Your mom had to go

in early. But there’s a surprise downstairs for you.” He ruffl

es my hair.

“Sixteen,” he says. “Can’t believe it.”

I wait until I hear his car pull out of the driveway before I do my

morning lines of Oxy.

I’m sure he wouldn’t believe that, either.

Go to the Old Mill Bridge and walk to the middle.

Mina loves birthdays. Trev and I have been trying to top her for

years, always failing. For my thirteenth birthday, she’d gotten my dad

to help her in an elaborate ruse involving a fl at tire, a clown and a

skating rink full of balloon animals. She’d spent an entire year saving

for and planning Trev’s eighteenth. I’d helped her decorate his sailboat

so it looked like it’d been shipwrecked. We fi lled it with presents, and

then sailed it out to one of the little islands dotting the lake. She’d

arranged for Trev to borrow a friend’s boat and texted him coordi-

nates, sending him on a quest to fi nd his treasure, with little chests of

foil-wrapped chocolate coins marking each stop.

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87

Now it looks like I’m in for another surprise of my own.

Old Mill Bridge has long been closed to car traffi

c, with a newer,

shinier version built down the river. I brush my fi ngers over the moss-

covered bricks, looking for something that doesn’t belong.

The fl ash of bright color grabs my eye—a red balloon tied to one

of the stone columns. I walk up and untie it, but there’s no note. I

look around, expecting to see her leap out from somewhere, bounding

toward me, all smiles and trickery and delight.

“Mina?” I call. I search the ground. Maybe the note fell.

But I fi nd nothing.

My phone rings.

“You forget something?” I ask aft er I pick up.

“Pop the balloon,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Are you watching me?” I ask, looking around. I go to the edge and

peer down the bridge, trying to fi nd her. It feels good to lean on the

solid stone railing, take the weight off my bad leg for a second.

“I’ve got binoculars and everything,” Mina says, lowering her

voice, trying to make it sound dangerous and failing when she bursts

out laughing.

“Stalker. Where are you?” I peer behind me, trying to spot her.

“I had to make sure no one took the balloon! I had your dad text

me when you woke up.”

“You could just show yourself,” I suggest. I look down over the

railing and fi nally spot her on the north side, down the trail near the

riverbank. She’s a blur of yellow, her dress bright against the gray rail-

ing. She waves.

“Pop the balloon fi rst, then I’ll come up,” she says.

I dig my keys out and jab the longest one into the balloon. It pops,

and something small and silver falls to the ground, skittering across

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F A R F R O M Y O U

the pavement. I chase aft er it, bending down on my good knee to pick

it up where it’s spun to a stop.

For a long moment, I’m silent, the ring in my hand, the phone

against my ear.

“Soph? Did you get it?” Mina asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, I . . .” My thumb swipes over the ring, over the

word engraved on it. “It’s beautiful,” I say. “I love it.”

“It’s like mine,” Mina says. “We match.”

“Yeah,” I say. “We match.”

I press my thumb against the word, let it imprint on my skin.

Forever.

19

NOW (JUNE)

Dad drops me back off at home. He stays at the curb, the car

idling until I’m safe inside the house. I wait until he’s gone,

then I get in my car and drive to Sweet Thyme Nursery.

I try to distract myself among the rows of plants, leaning

too hard on the cart as I push it along. I breathe deep, gulp-

ing in the scent, rich and earthy and green, and it loosens

something inside my chest that’s been there since I stepped

inside David’s offi ce.

After paying for my marguerite daisies and organic soil,

I smile and shake my head at the girl at the counter who

asks if I need help. The cart’s heavy, but I put my weight

into it, gritting my teeth as my muscles spasm.

By the time I get to my car, my leg’s hurting enough that

I’m steeling myself to go get someone to help me load the

bags of soil into the trunk. Someone honks behind me and

I pull the cart out of the way.

“Hey, Sophie, is that you?” Adam Clarke peers out at

me from his pickup. I’ve known him, like nearly everyone

else at my school, for most of my life. He’d dated our friend

Amber for almost a year, and she used to go on and on

about how he looked like a country music video version of a

Disney prince. Pair the worn baseball cap he always had on,

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F A R F R O M Y O U

his shit-kicker cowboy boots, and a fondness for Wranglers

and John Deere T-shirts with his green eyes, straight nose

and perfect smile and Amber had a point.

“Hi, Adam.”

He looks from my trolley of soil down at my leg and

understanding fi lters through his face. “You need help?”

When I fi nally was allowed back to school after the

crash, Mina had assigned all our friends jobs to make sure

my comeback went smoothly. There’d been a calendar with

color blocks and code names and everything. Amber had

been my bathroom buddy because Mina had a different

lunch period than we did. Cody was in charge of remind-

ing me when to take all my medications, because he was

the most punctual. And because they were the biggest and

in all my classes, Adam and Kyle had carried my stuff for

me and made sure I didn’t fall down.

I’d hated Mina’s little army of helpers at fi rst, but after

the fourth time I got the stupid walker I used back then

stuck in the handicapped stall, I knew better than to refuse

the help. I learned to be grateful for Amber and how she’d

slam the bathroom door shut if anyone tried to come inside.

“That’d be great. Thanks, Adam.”

Adam pulls his truck up next to my car and hops out.

“Planting a garden?”

“Yeah, gives me something to do.” I pop my trunk open,

and he grabs the fi rst bag of soil, placing it inside. “What

are you doing here?”

“Mrs. Jasper buys venison from me and Matt. She makes

jerky out of it.”

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91

“Good season this year?”

Adam smiles, pushing his baseball cap back, black hair

curling against his forehead. “Yeah. It’s been great for Matt.

He’s been getting healthy.” He hefts another bag easily over

his shoulder, dumping it in my trunk.

“What about you?” I ask, because I don’t want the con-

versation veering to me. “Are you going for the soccer

scholarship still?”

“Trying.” He grins. “Pretty much the only way I’m gonna

get out of here. But Uncle Rob thinks I’ve got a good chance.

He’s been on my ass about it. Making me run suicides.”

I wince in sympathy. “I remember he used to have us do

those. My dad thought we were too young. They used to

argue about it.”

“I forgot you played soccer.”

“I lasted a season, and then swimming took over. And

after that, you know . . .” I shrug.

Adam reaches out and squeezes my arm and it takes an

effort not to fl inch. If I don’t see it coming, I tend to jump

when people touch me now. I’m sure David would have

loads to say about it.

“I know things have been tough. But it’ll get better,” he

says earnestly. “You just need to stay clean. You know, my

brother went through the same thing. He relapsed, too. He

really screwed up, stole money from our mom—she almost

lost our house because of it. But my uncle got him on the

right track. Matt made amends, and he’s doing really good

on the program now. Healthy, like I said. He and my mom

are even talking again. So I know if you take it seriously,

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F A R F R O M Y O U

stick close to your family, you’ll be okay. You’re strong,

Soph. Just think about all the stuff you’ve gotten through.”

“That’s really nice,” I tell him. “Thank you.”

Adam smiles. “So, listen, I’m glad I ran into you. Kyle

mentioned that you two kind of got into it last week.”

“Is that what he’s saying?” I ask, trying for casual.

“Look, I know you guys have had your problems. But

really, Soph, that fi ght he had with Mina—”

“What fi ght?”

“I thought that’s what you guys were . . .” He stops

abruptly, red creeping along his cheekbones. “Um, maybe

I shouldn’t—”

“No, you can tell me,” I say, maybe a little too quickly,

because it makes his straight black brows scrunch together,

forming a solid line.

“Look, Kyle’s my best friend—” he starts.

“And Mina was mine.”

Adam sighs. “It’s not a big deal,” he says. “They just—

they had a fi ght the day before she died. Kyle came over to

my place shitfaced afterward. He wouldn’t tell me what it

was about, but he was really upset. Dude was crying.”

“Kyle was crying?” I can’t even picture giant, lumbering

Kyle in tears.

“It was weird,” Adam admits, shaking his head.

“Did he say anything? Tell you why they were fi ght-

ing?” She hadn’t been taking his calls that day. What had

they fought about that would drive him to cry on his best

friend’s shoulder? Was it enough to make him want to kill

her?

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93

“He was so drunk, I could barely understand half of it.

He just kept saying that she wouldn’t listen to him and his

life was over. I think it’s hard for him, you know, because

they fought and he never got to say he was sorry.”

“Yeah,” I say, but now I’m the one with the furrowed

brow, absorbing this information.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Adam says when the

silence has stretched out too long. He grabs the two bags

of soil left in the cart and dumps them in the trunk for me,

brushing his hands against his jeans. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” I say. “Thanks for telling me. And thanks

for helping me with all this dirt.”

“You have someone to help you unload at home?”

“My dad’ll do it.”

“Text me sometime,” Adam calls out as he hops into his

truck. “We’ll hang out.”

I wave at him as he drives off. I get into my car and press

hard on the gas, like if I drive fast enough, I can leave all

the questions behind.