“What if you invite her over? She probably needs a little time to process things with her family, but in the meantime, you could reach out to her. Let her know you’re still her friend and you’re here for her.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Of course she doesn’t mind,” comes Asher’s voice from the doorway. “Why would she mind?”
“Well, things are probably going to be chaotic for Emily and her family. And if she comes over here—”
“We’ll handle it.”
He pats me on the back as my dad wanders into the room, headed straight for his chair. He mutters, “Terrible,” clears his throat, and takes a sip of wine.
My mom returns to the stove, motioning for Asher to help her.
“What’s terrible, Dad?” I plop down into my seat.
“This whole ordeal with the Greer boy.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Asher gathers up the pan with a potholder. “He was very strange. Disturbed, I guess.”
“The Greers have been my patients for years,” continues my dad. “It’s unreal.”
Asher and I nod. His knife punctures a steak still steaming in the pan. As he drops the meat onto my dad’s plate, I watch the bloody liquid seep to the edges. A few drips leak onto the cream-colored tablecloth.
Seth wasn’t always strange and disturbed. I made him that way with the rumor I spread. A little of this destructive part of me leaked out and dripped into his life. And then into Melody’s.
Gideon was right to drop me. I’ve already left my mark on him; he’ll never be the same after all this. Maybe I shouldn’t invite Emily over; maybe I should tell her to get away from me while she still can.
* * *
Emily, understandably, does not attend school the next two days. Over the weekend, she texts me that reporters are camped outside her house. Her devastated parents contacted a lawyer and then hid under their bedcovers. Emily has been doing her best to comfort them and assure them it will all be cleared up soon.
The following week, when the reporters finally fall away like the last leaves of an autumn oak, she agrees to come over for dinner.
I open the front door to find her bouncy red curls hidden beneath a navy-blue beanie. She wears large sunglasses, though clouds block out every last ray. She peeks behind her before ducking inside. I shut the door and pull her into a hug, letting her cry on my shoulder for a change.
But every tear tugs on my conscience. I did this to her. And though I’m certain her brother killed Melody, it doesn’t make it any easier.
At dinner, Asher is charming as usual. Emily nearly starves herself—maybe due to her traumatized state, maybe out of some self-conscious delusion that her eating will ruin her chances with him. Asher makes getting a smile out of Emily his personal mission.
“How did the big decade project turn out?” He flashes his crystal eyes from her to me. Emily practically swoons straight into her full plate of spaghetti.
“I think it went well,” I answer for both of us. “Mr. Samuels seemed to like our old movie clips.”
“I still think you should’ve presented in costume,” Asher says with a devious grin. “You know, bowler hats, gabardine suits.” He winks at Emily and her face suddenly resembles a giant strawberry, bright red with freckles dabbled about.
I laugh. “So we blew it because we didn’t dress like 1930s businessmen.”
“I’m sure you two did fine,” my mom says. “You’ve been hard at work on that thing for weeks.” Fine, not great, the word she would have used to describe any project of Asher’s. Still, my mom is doing her best to make Emily comfortable. She doesn’t think I’m capable of making a friend stick.
She’s right.
“Thanks, Mrs. Pratt,” says Emily, recovering from her spell as a mute strawberry.
My dad, on the other hand, seems confused by everyone’s treatment of the elephant in the room. He’s quiet, refusing to join in the conversation. He keeps squinting across the table at Emily, like she might try to use her knife on someone. I’m not sure if she notices, but my stomach clenches. I can’t wait to flee the dinner table.
“Don’t you two have a big dance this weekend?” my mom asks suddenly. “Sadie Hawkins, right?”
“Mom,” I whine. “We don’t want to talk about that.” I sip my water and look to Asher for help. He sees my pleading eyes and his mouth twitches. I sigh. That twitch only means one thing.
“Oh, but Cass, you must tell us who you’re asking to the dance,” says Asher, a chuckle escaping halfway through his words.
I glare at him. “You know I don’t go to dances.” Especially one where I’d have to watch Gracie throw herself at Gideon all night.
Emily perks up in her seat a little, like she’s enjoying the show. “Why not, Cass?”
I take a bite of spaghetti, just to buy time. How can I explain to someone like Emily, who lives and breathes school spirit—who is on the dance committee—that the idea of a school dance triggers the same physiological response in me as imagining a thousand needles stabbing me in the face?
My noodle has disintegrated to nothing by the time I swallow. “Um, I don’t know. It’s just not my thing.”
My dad sighs loudly and takes a long gulp of wine.
Point taken. “Well, I’m finished. Want to go to my room, Emily?” I look at my mom hopefully, and she smiles her approval.
“Sure,” Emily says, picking up her plate.
“Not necessary.” Asher reaches a hand across to stop her. “You two go. I’ll clean up.”
Asher’s finger must have skimmed Emily’s, because she freezes and stammers, “O-o-k-kay. Th-thanks.”
Once Emily and I settle onto my bed, the topic can no longer be avoided. I hand her one of the sugar cookies my mom baked earlier today and lean back against the bed frame. “So, what’s been happening?”
Emily shakes her head. “Just”—she shrugs—“a lot. And my parents don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t even think they would have gotten Seth a lawyer if I hadn’t mentioned it.”
“Didn’t he ask for one?”
“Well yeah, but just the state-appointed guy. He needs somebody good. This is murder we’re talking about.”
I nod. It’s strange staying silent, pretending to agree while everything in me screams that Seth needs to remain in prison for the rest of his life. Still, that tiny, nagging thought is fighting to surface again. Despite my efforts to smother it, I have to know for certain. “This is ridiculous,” I huff, shaking my head. “What was this supposed DNA evidence they found?” It’s a natural enough segue; the media hasn’t revealed this detail yet.