“Ever—” He starts, his expression waging the battle between wanting to just grab me and kiss me, and wanting to show some restraint and try to talk to me first. “Ever, what did you see? What is it that was so bad it brought you to me?”
And the way he says it, so aware of his age-old position as the discarded one—well, my heart breaks on his behalf.
I turn away, taking in the bleachers, the scuffed wood floor, the basketball net with the hole in the side, allowing for whatever remains of his lure to wear off, so that logic and a long list of questions can stand in their place.
Deciding to be firm and up-front, just state the facts as they are and see where it leads, I turn to him and say, “A while back, you sort of—” I shake my head. “No, not sort of, you definitely alluded to knowing some kind of secret about our shared pasts. It was after you’d been to the Great Halls of Learning for the very first time and everything about you seemed different. And when I asked you what happened in there, you played it pretty vague. But later, you mentioned some stuff about Damen not playing fair in the past, and how all that was about to change because, as you put it: knowledge is power, and, thanks to Summerland, you had that in spades—or something to that effect, and anyway, I need to know what that meant.”
I stand before him, silent and still, waiting for him to respond. Watching as he squinches his eyes together as he rubs the space between them, fingers digging in deep, before he drops his hands to his sides and takes me in.
“Where would you like me to start?” He shrugs, following it with a laugh that’s much closer to harsh and gruff than anything resembling joy.
And I start to say, anywhere, start anywhere you choose, figuring it might be good to let him take the lead on this one, and allow him to reveal the things he thinks I should know. But then I think better. Despite the fact that I know Damen edited all of my lives, which means every last one of them holds some sort of secret he’d prefer I not know, well, there’s only one life—one secret—I really need to know right now.
Only one in particular that brought me to this point—that made me want to kiss him to see where it led.
“The South.” I look at him. “The antebellum South. What do you know about our lives back then—when you and I were both slaves?”
He blanches, like seriously blanches. The light draining from his eyes so fast I can hardly believe I just witnessed that. Mumbling something inaudible under his breath as his gaze darts all around, pausing on the school mascot painted on the wall, while his hands and feet begin a nervous, fidgety dance.
And seeing him react like that, well, I can’t help but wonder if I just unwittingly revealed something he didn’t yet know.
But the thought vanishes just as quickly when he finally turns to me and says, “So, you know.” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “I gotta tell ya, Ever, I’m pretty shocked he’d even tell you about it. I have to say, no matter what I may think of him—that was pretty damn gutsy on his part. Or maybe just reckless, who knows?”
“He didn’t tell me,” I blurt, before I can stop. “Well, not exactly anyway. Let’s just say I sort o
f…stumbled upon something he definitely didn’t want me to see.”
Jude nods, gaze narrowing, changing, as it slowly moves over me. His voice grave and serious when he says, “Can’t say I blame him. It was definitely one of our very worst ones—if not the worst.” He shrugs. “Or at least that’s the way it turned out for me…”
sixteen
On Monday, I skip school again so I can go to Lina’s memorial.
But it’s just an excuse. I would’ve skipped anyway.
Despite Munoz’s claim that a diploma can only help me ensure a bigger, better, brighter future for myself, well, I beg to differ.
Maybe it helps normal people by guaranteeing serious consideration from college admissions boards and prospective employers—but those things mean nothing to me. Even though just a week ago it was important to me too, now I finally see how misguided that was. How I’ve been avoiding the obvious fact that there’s just no point in following the normal course of events when I have a life (and a future) that is anything but.
And it’s time I stop pretending otherwise.
And, yeah, if I’m going to be perfectly honest, then I also have to admit that Damen plays a part in that decision as well—if not the most major part. Because the thing is, I’m just not ready to face him. Not yet. Maybe someday, maybe even soon, but at the moment, that day feels like a long way away.
Though to his credit, he seems to be totally on board with it. Allowing me plenty of time and space to figure things out on my own. The occasional manifested red tulip that appears out of nowhere is his only intrusion, serving as a gentle reminder of the love we once shared.
Still share.
I think.
I twist the cap on my bottle of water and gaze around the living room, looking for at least one familiar face in a very large crowd. According to Jude, Lina had no shortage of friends, and from what I can see it’s true. What he failed to mention is just how diverse they all are. I mean, as much as I love living here, Laguna Beach isn’t exactly known for being a melting pot, and yet every ethnicity you could think of is pretty much present and accounted for. And from the blend of accents that trill all around, it’s clear that many of them traveled from great distances for the chance to say their good-byes.
I continue to stand there, awkwardly dangling the bottle of water by my side as I weigh my options of trying to find Jude to tell him I’m leaving, or hanging out just a little bit longer for appearances’ sake, when Ava waves at me from the other side of the room, and as she makes her way toward me, I quickly calculate how long it’s been since we last spoke. Wondering if she too belongs to the small group of people who feel abandoned by me.
“Ever.” She smiles, leaning in for a brief, warm hug. Her heavily ringed fingers still clutching my arms, her large brown eyes carefully scanning mine, as she pulls away and says, “You’re looking well.” She laughs, the sound of it light and airy as she adds, “But then, you always do, don’t you?”
I gaze down at the long purple dress I designed and manifested especially for this occasion, since Jude strictly prohibited the wearing of black. Claiming that Lina would hate to gaze upon a crowd of people all wearing the same, depressing color. She didn’t want people to mourn her life—she wanted them to celebrate it instead. And since purple was her favorite color, we were asked to show up in some variation of it.
“So, is she here?” I ask, watching as Ava squints and tucks her wavy, auburn hair behind her ear, her whole face changing when she assumes the worst, assumes it’s Haven I’m asking about. “Lina,” I say, before she has a chance to even go there. Haven’s the last thing I want to talk about here. “I meant Lina. Have you seen her?” My eyes grazing over the citrine pendant she always wears, to the embellished purple cotton tunic, the skinny white jeans, and the cute gold sandals on her feet, before meeting her gaze once again. “You know I can’t see the ones who’ve crossed over, I can only see the ones who still linger.”