Frayed (3 page)

Our foster mother doesn’t like me going to the cemetery to visit your grave. Because even where there are good memories, there are bad memories too. And during the dark times, I think a lot about our birth mother. Did you ever wonder what things would have been like if our birth parents were still alive?

Would I be the same broken person I am today? Just how much of that tragedy shaped who I am? I don’t remember much of them. Sometimes when I close my eyes and strain my mind, I can catch fleeting glimpses of what were the happiest times of my life.

All I have to remember my birth parents by are the pictures I keep on my desk, but a picture is a picture, not the real thing. My brain has protected me from the painful memories—just like with the acid incident, which was too traumatic for a barely six-year-old girl to cope with. The doctors all told Diana the same thing: the memories were there, locked somewhere in my brain, and I had the power to remember them. So sometimes, late at night, I lie in bed and think. And think. And wait for the memories to come. I know I had walked into the reception of Diana’s work. I can still remember that I was so short at that age that my legs had hovered a good few inches from the ground when I sat on one of their chairs. I can remember you, Kesley, sitting beside me and fiddling with your hair. We’d been told to wait for our foster mother in the waiting area and not to venture into the corridor. But I think I’d grown bored, and you’d said, “Let’s play a game, Ava. Let’s do something.” We’d wandered into the corridor, and…

Everything goes blank.

It was ironic though. Not remembering much of my childhood was supposed to protect me, but it still hurt, knowing that memories of our birth parents were locked somewhere in my brain, unable to reach them.

You remembered them, Kesley.

I remember the cold winter nights where we’d sit in front of the fire, and you’d tell me everything you remembered about our parents. You told me how our real mother used to sing to me when I couldn’t sleep. She was a good singer, you told me. She used to paint too. Sunsets and brightly lit landscapes, but as her illness grew like darkness within her, her paintings became darker, more twisted. And our father, a kind-faced man, balding, with lines like cobwebs around his eyes when he smiled.

What if my six-year-old self hadn’t been late for school? Would our father still have sped down those icy roads? Would he still be alive now?

What if our mother had seen someone about her depression? Would she still have taken her own life or would she be with me now?

And perhaps the most important question of all—would you still be alive…

The next day started badly—and not just because it had begun to rain, though that was certainly a factor. A thick fog clung around the house like a veil as I slammed the front door shut on my way out. I was already in a touchy mood after the ten-minute lecture from my mom about receiving detention, which, ironically, was going to make me late for school.

Lia’s car was nowhere in sight, and just when I had conceded that I was going to get drenched on the way to school, golden headlights cut through the fog ahead of me. The soft purr of an engine filled the air, so different from the usual growl of Lia’s car. I frowned, squinting through the gloom. A moment later, I saw Jackson’s face through the tinted windows as the car pulled up neatly to the curb.

I stumbled forward past the rusty, old fence and down the sidewalk until I slid into the passenger side of his car, grateful to be out of the rain.

“Thanks,” I said in a voice that sounded like a sigh. “Where’s Lia? She usually drives me to school.” We’d made that arrangement as soon as Lia didn’t have to be supervised while driving.

“At school. She texted me,” he said, and for some reason, there was a tightness to his mouth. Though I couldn’t imagine why. Fog swirled around the car, obscuring everything except the immediate surroundings. I found it made me anxious, almost claustrophobic, so I looked down at my feet instead. Jackson drove slowly, carefully.

“You’re going to be late, you know,” I told him.

“I know.” And then he smiled. “But my track record of arriving late to school is much cleaner than Lia’s, so when she couldn’t come, I offered.”

“Thanks,” I said. We rode the next few minutes in silence.

Jackson took in a sharp breath, as though he had been about to say something but had thought better of it. His brow was pinched into a scowl as he looked at the road ahead of him.

“Yes?” I prompted, curiosity evident in my voice.

“You know Kesley’s old friend is back, don’t you?” Instantly, I stiffened in my seat. Even the mention of Rafe made me nervous. I’d managed to forget about the plane ticket for a short time, but Jackson’s throwaway comment sent me crashing back to reality. I needed to talk to Rafe to clarify things.

“Old friend?” I picked at some of the dried paint under my nails, feigning disinterest. “Who?”

“You know,” said Jackson. “The one with the blue eyes. Ralf or something.”

I smiled despite the situation. He would hate being called that. “Rafe. And, no, I didn’t know he was back.” There was a brief moment of silence before I ventured further. “When did he arrive?”

“A few days ago, I think. That’s what he was telling everyone anyway.”

My blood turned to ice at Jackson’s words, but I made sure that none of the turmoil twisting inside me showed on my face. Rafe was lying when he came back to Circling Pines. What was that supposed to mean—and why? To clear his name or for some other reason?

The plane ticket suggested he came back before Kesley’s death—but my sister’s funeral had been almost a
month
ago.

“You okay, Ava?”

I swallowed. My throat felt too thick. Mouth too dry. Uncontrollable fear pulsed under my skin, shooting adrenaline through my veins. I had to reach down out of sight and pinch my forearm. The sharp pain helped to clear my mind, helped me think more rationally.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I knew I didn’t sound it. “I just… I just didn’t realize he was going to come back after Kesley—” I stopped there, biting down hard on my tongue.

“I want you to stay away from him,” Jackson said. I was taken aback by the hardened edge to his voice, but I dared to shoot him a look. His face was expressionless enough, although a muscle in his jaw ticked.

“Why?” I asked hesitantly.

“He’s bad news. I can feel it.” Under any other circumstances, I would have laughed and asked if Jackson was psychic, but the last thing I felt like doing right now was smiling. Instead, I just stared out the window without replying. I was beginning to wonder if Jackson knew something about Rafe that I didn’t.

The fog was gradually beginning to float away, and the school’s harsh outline was becoming visible through the gloom.

“Just promise me you won’t—” Jackson started.

“Okay, okay, I promise. There’s no need to sound like my mother. One is enough, thanks.” His laughter broke through the tense silence, and I smiled.

Another beat of silence passed before I ventured to speak again. There was something I wanted to know—desperately—but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up without making it sound like an accusation. “How’s May?”

May, Jackson’s older sister and a senior in high school, was the same age as Kesley. Being a junior, I’d always felt intimidated by May and her friends. I regretted asking about May when I saw Jackson’s fingers clench around the steering wheel, but he answered me in a relatively calm voice.

“Better than usual, actually.” Then he added, “I guess as good as she can ever be. Still doesn’t do her homework, and she’s probably going to fail her final exams.”

“What about…
them
?”

He laughed. “
Them?
Their name isn’t cursed, you know. You can say it.”

I grimaced. “I know. I just don’t like them. I don’t get it.”

“You and the rest of the town,” he muttered.

May was part of Circling Pines’s infamous girl gang KARMA. In the past few months alone, their little group had committed more than ten indiscretions at the expense of other people. Usually, these were just small, immature things, like stealing from the local grocery store. Or spray-painting walls. But now and then, something more horrible would crop up. Like an incident a few months ago that left an old woman without her diamond ring and with a very nasty cut over her right eye. Several trips to juvenile detention and many hours of community service later, the girls still hadn’t learned their lesson.

“Right,” I said, wondering how to phrase the harsh accusations in my head. Did I believe them capable of murder? Stealing, assault, graffiti… That was at one level—but
murder
? What could possibly motivate someone to take another’s life?

“Why did you ask then?” Jackson said, hearing the skepticism in my voice.

I turned my head toward him, watching his gaze focused on the road ahead, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

“No reason,” I murmured, sinking farther into my seat.

I didn’t have the guts to tell him my suspicions.

The day rolled along fairly smoothly after that, right up until my second-to-last class of the day: chemistry. Because of strict regulations, the science labs were always closed until the teachers came and unlocked them. I don’t know what they thought we were going to do in there, considering the room was almost empty except for several rows of white desks, a whiteboard, and a few lab benches. Most of the scientific equipment was locked in the back room.

This was my least favorite class—and not because of the subject or the teachers. It was because of the students.

Chatter filled the science lab halls. The bell had rung a few moments ago, and people were gradually floating away to their classes. A golden-brown, curly head was bobbing through the quickly dispersing crowd, heading toward us. My heart clenched in my chest, and I turned away. I didn’t want to speak to Amanda Dawson. A cold animosity ran deep between us, and I didn’t know why.

What had I ever done to her?

Everyone avoided Amanda and her crew, KARMA, as though they were a deadly virus. Rafe’s reputation paled in comparison. Her voice was unnecessarily loud as she headed to the science lab. I gripped my books tightly, afraid she’d make an example of me in front of everyone.

I wasn’t sure I had the courage to stand up for myself.

Not in front of all these people who would be watching me with hungry eyes, perhaps waiting for a bitch fight to take place. That wasn’t going to happen. Not here, not now. Surely, Amanda wouldn’t dare speak to me after what had happened—

“Hey, Ava. How about you move out of my way? You’re kinda blocking the classroom.” There was the jingle of what sounded like teacher’s keys from behind me. I stumbled out of the way but glanced up once I had my back pressed against the lockers beside the lab rooms.

“Where did you get those keys?” I asked her, surprising myself.

Amanda actually looked up, her golden curls bouncing as she moved. Her eyes were the color of deep, rich wood, but after the hours she’d spent in juvenile detention with her cronies, they had developed a colder edge, making them devoid of any warmth or friendliness. Her face used to be rounded and very pretty but now looked sharper and angular, the product of all the weight she had lost.

“Where do you think, honey? I stole them,” she said, her voice like poison. I dropped my gaze to the badly carpeted floor and waited until she’d slid the key in the lock and then I dared to look back up at her. There was a click as she unlocked the door and then it swung open. The class shambled in after Amanda, but I remained outside the room for a few moments.

“We’re not supposed to…” My voice weakened and trailed off at the disbelieving looks my classmates shot me.

“Be more like Kesley, Ava,” said a voice from inside the classroom. Amanda. “Be
fearless
for once.” Her words shot right through me, painful and tight. But the way she’d spoken was as if she’d known Kesley. I pushed down the confusion, the uncertainty, and entered the room, shutting the door quietly behind me. I made my way to my seat beside my lab partner, whose name I couldn’t remember at the moment. Unbidden, my gaze found its way to Amanda. She stood at the teacher’s desk, riffling through class notes. She looked up when she noticed my eyes locked on her.

A nasty grin spread across her lips, making her face look oddly grotesque. She slammed the papers back down onto the desk with a bang and spoke with a deliberately loud voice so it carried.

“Looks like we’re experimenting with acids today,” she said. The quiet talk that had filled the room dimmed as everyone watched Amanda. That was one of her many talents—she could get a whole classroom hooked on her words without even
trying
. My hand, which was lying in my lap, tightened into a fist. I let my caramel-colored hair fall over my face, hiding the left half—the half I knew everyone was going to be looking at right now.

Be fearless. Fearless, Ava. Be strong. Like Kesley.

Amanda eyed the room as if making sure people were paying attention before fixing me with a cold stare. A harsh, bright light seemed to be glaring down on me. Eyes from every corner of the room were boring into me, cutting like knives. That nasty smile twisted into a sneer as Amanda leaned against the teacher’s chair, tilting her head to the side in a mock-sympathetic gesture. She said, “And I would really hate to see you on the receiving end of that again. Wouldn’t you?” Her words slammed into me with the force of a truck. Acid, acid, acid. Never did I want to hear that word again…not after…

Fearless
, I reminded myself.
Be fearless.

The sharp grating sound of the chair against the floor told me I’d stood. I felt blood rush into my ears and a strange light-headed feeling propelled me forward.
Thump, thump, thump
went my heart. Again and again.

I didn’t feel like Ava anymore.

I felt like a character in a movie or book, acting their part.

A ragged breathing sounded around me, magnified in the silence. Was it mine? I think so.
Fearless
, I reminded myself.
Do it. Just do it.
Before my mind could catch up to my movements, I’d rounded the edge of the teacher’s desk and was face-to-face with Amanda. For the briefest, most fleeting of moments, I thought I saw a flash of uncertainty cross her features—but it vanished as quickly as it had come. My fists clenched. Heart pumped. Legs moved closer to her without my brain’s permission. Part of me—the reasonable part that was no longer in control—screamed at me to get away, to stop this before things got out of hand. But it was too late. I was past the point of reasoning with myself.

Amanda took a step backward, closer to the teacher’s cabinet.

My fingers grabbed hold of her collared shirt, and I shoved her back against the glass-fronted cabinets with as much force as I could muster. I hardly registered the shattering sound. Glass fell like rain to the floor, slanting over us in sharp waves. Pain contorted Amanda’s face as a piece of glass slashed her cheek, blood dripping to her chin.

She stared at me, eyes widening in shock.

Before she was able to do more than gape at me in disbelief, I drew back my fist and punched her as hard as I could. Her head snapped to the side, a grunt of pain escaping her lips. Screams and shouts were coming from my classmates, but they sounded faraway, muted, cut through by the sound of quickly approaching footsteps clicking down the hall.

Someone gripped my upper arm painfully, pulling me away from Amanda. And then: “Miss Dawson! Miss Hale! Come with me
now
, please.”

My chemistry teacher led us down the carpeted halls and a few flights of stairs, her clicking heels against the linoleum floor sounding like a death march.

I rubbed my knuckles, knowing there would be bruises.

What the hell had gotten into me back there? Why had I acted like that? I was a
good girl
. I didn’t pick fights. I did my homework, kept my head down. My blood still boiled from Amanda’s words. I cast a sideways glance at her as we crossed the small courtyard that led to the principal’s office. I noticed that her demeanor was cool and confident as she walked just behind me. I suppose a trip to the principal’s office was just like going to buy a carton of milk for her.

But my own insides squirmed and twisted like they were full of worms.

I waited just outside the door to the principal’s office, feeling the sharp throb in my knuckles. Amanda emerged much later, adhesive medical tape clinging to her cheek. I looked away, ashamed, and focused on the principal’s door. I could hear my teacher’s quiet, angry words.