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draped in silver fabric, all shimmer and tanned skin. Mrs. Bishop is

going to freak when she sees how low her Grecian-style dress is cut. “I

was right—the red is perfect.”

She spins around. Her curly hair is looped up in a headband

of silver leaves, little tendrils falling over her bare shoulders as she

T E S S S H A R P E

127

rummages around in the blankets on her bed. She grabs something,

hiding it behind her. “I have a surprise!” She’s practically vibrating in

her eagerness.

“What is it?” I ask, playing along because she’s so happy. I always

want her to be happy.

She holds it out triumphantly.

The cane she’s clutching is painted scarlet to match my dress.

Mina has glued red and white crystals all along it. They twinkle and

catch the light. Velvet ribbons stream from the handle, spirals of silver

and red, twisting and swinging in the air.

“You tricked out my cane.” I reach for it, and my smile is so wide,

I feel like it’s going to split my face in two. I press my hand against my

mouth, like I need to hide it, hold it in, and I do, because the tears are

there, down my face, probably messing up all my makeup. I don’t care,

because she does something that no one else can: she makes my life

pretty and good and full of sparkles and velvet, and I love her so much

in that moment that I can’t contain it.

So I say it because I mean it. Because I have to, there is no choice,

standing there with her: “I love you.”

It’s there, just for a second. I see the fl icker in her eyes, and she

does so well to cover it, but I
see
it, before she hugs me and whispers

against my ear, “I love you more.”

27

NOW (JUNE)

Rachel leaves for her dad’s, promising to call me as soon as

she gets the thumb drive open and I start my morning yoga

practice, but I pushed myself too much yesterday. After my

knee buckles for the fourth time in warrior pose, I roll up

my mat and put it away.

It’s important to know when you’re beat.

My jeans are still on the fl oor where I tossed them last

night, and when I pick them up, the envelope the thumb

drive had been in falls out of the pocket.

There’s a piece of notebook paper folded inside that I

hadn’t noticed it last night. I unfold it and see unfamiliar

handwriting:

Please, babe, just answer the phone. We have to talk about this.

All I want to do is talk. I promise. Just answer the phone. If you

keep ignoring me you’re not going to like what happens.

I turn the note over, but it’s not signed.

It doesn’t matter. It has to be from Kyle.

If you keep ignoring me you’re not going to like what happens.

I read the sentence over and over again, stuck on it, like it’s

on an endless loop in my head.

“Sophie?”

T E S S S H A R P E

129

I look up from the paper in my hand. Dad’s standing in

my doorway, frowning.

“Sorry. Yeah?”

“I was just saying I was heading out,” Dad says. “I’ve got

an early lunch with Rob. Your Mom already left. Sweetie,

are you okay? You look pale. I could cancel—”

“I’m fi ne,” I say, but my ears are ringing. Already, I’m

cycling through the possible places Kyle would be right

now. “I just pushed myself too much. My knee hurts.”

“Do you want some ice?”

“I’ll get it,” I say. “You don’t have to cancel, Dad. Go to

lunch. Say hi to Coach for me.” I need Dad out of the house.

I have to fi nd Kyle. Where would he be, right now? At home?

“Okay,” Dad says. “You’ll call me if it gets bad?”

I smile, which he seems to take as a yes.

I wait, Kyle’s note crumpled in my fi st, until Dad and

Mom drive off in their separate cars. Then I pick up my

phone and punch in Adam’s number. I pace across the

room as it rings.

When he fi nally picks up, I can hear laughter and bark-

ing dogs in the background. “Hello?”

“Adam, hi. It’s Sophie.”

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you knew where Kyle’d be right

now,” I say. “I found a necklace of Mina’s that I think he

gave her. I wanted to give it to him to make up for being

such a bitch last week. I wasn’t sure where or when he was

working this summer.”

“Yeah, he’s probably at work,” Adam says, and someone

130

F A R F R O M Y O U

says his name, followed by more male laughter. “Wait a

second, guys,” he calls. “Sorry, Soph. He’s at his dad’s res-

taurant, not the diner, the seafood place out on Main . . . the

Lighthouse.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Adam says. “Hey, give me a call

next week. The team’s throwing their bonfi re out at the

lake. We’ll hang out.”

“Sure,” I say, not taking it seriously. “I’ve got to go.

Thanks again.”

I drive too fast, gunning it as the yellow lights switch to

red, barely pausing at stop signs, careening around corners.

Our downtown isn’t much because our town isn’t much.

The good and bad parts are kind of squished together, the

courthouse and the jail a block from one other, the liquor

store and the Methodist church kitty-corner from each

other. A handful of restaurants, a diner tucked across the

railroad tracks, and a few pay-by-the-week motels that were

a breeding ground for trouble. I slow down only when I see

the Capri M-tel, the blue-and-pink neon sign with the miss-

ing
O
.

The Lighthouse is right next to it, so I park quickly and

bang through the doors, not caring if I’m drawing atten-

tion. Kyle is leaning on the counter, watching the basketball

game on the fl at-screen on the far wall.

The restaurant is almost empty, just a few tables full. I

march past them and up to Kyle as his mouth tightens.

“I need to talk to you.”

T E S S S H A R P E

131

“I’m at work.” He glares at me through his fl oppy blond

hair. “If you go psycho in here—”

“Take a break to talk to me, or you’ll fi nd out how psycho

I can get.”

He glances around, then at the people at the tables.

“Come on,” he says, and I follow him through the kitchen

and out the back way, behind the restaurant, where there’s

a fenced-in area for the Dumpsters. It smells awful out here,

like grease and fi sh and garbage, and I breathe through my

mouth, trying to block it out.

“I can’t believe you.” Kyle rounds on me as soon as the

door closes and we’re alone. “What’s your problem?”

I hurl the note at him, slapping my palm on his chest.

“Want to explain that?”

He grabs it from me, scanning it. “So what?”

I fold my arms and plant my feet. “Tell me what you and

Mina fought about the night before she died.”

Kyle is the defi nition of an open book. He’s crap at hid-

ing his emotions, and his mouth drops for a second before

he remembers to close it. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is when you’re leaving Mina threatening notes right

before she gets murdered!”

“Bullshit,” Kyle says. “This wasn’t a threat. I just wanted

her to call me back.”

“You threatened her. ‘If you keep ignoring me you’re

not going to like what happens.’ Who says that to their

girlfriend?”

Kyle goes red, his puppy-dog eyes hardening. “Shut up.

You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

132

F A R F R O M Y O U

“Then explain it to me. Tell me what you guys were

fi ghting about.”

“You need to leave it alone,” he warns.

“Not gonna do that.”

“Fuck you.” He starts toward the door, and I plant myself

in front of him and push him hard. He’s over six feet and

thick with muscle, but it feels good to do shove him. As he

stumbles, I move toward him again, but he recovers his bal-

ance and grabs my wrists easily. “Stop it, Sophie.” Then he

lets go of me and steps back, holding his dinner plate–sized

hands out in front of him. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

I lunge for him again, but he darts out of the way. I come

down too hard on my leg and nearly fall.

“You’re such a pain in the ass,” he mutters as he grabs

my arm to steady me.

“Tell me,” I insist. I’m panting, adrenaline ricocheting

through me. “Why were you fi ghting?”

“Don’t,” he says. “Just don’t.”

“What did she tell you that made you so angry? What

were you threatening her with?” With each question, I push

him, and he just takes it. I’m right in his face, inches away,

standing on my tiptoes. I have to grasp the chain-link fence

behind him to stay steady. My leg is shaking, but I try to

ignore it. I won’t fall in front of him. “She cared about you.

She even let you sleep with her! Why would you—”

“Shut up!” he yells, and I gasp, fl inching at the raw note

in his voice. His brown eyes shine, like he’s about to cry.

“
Shut up.
There’s only one of us here who was fucking her,

and it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

28

THREE YEARS AGO (FOURTEEN YEARS OLD)

“We are so late,” Amber says, grabbing her soccer bag out of her

Mom’s car.

Mina glares at her, pulling the walker out of the backseat and

unfolding it for me. “Chill out,” she says sharply.

“Coach is gonna kick our butts. We have to warm up.”

I nudge Mina. “Go. I can get to the bleachers by myself.”

“No,” she replies.

“Amber, go,” I tell her. I don’t want her to be pissed at me for mak-

ing her late. She hadn’t even wanted me to come, but Mina insisted.

Amber nods, taking Mina’s bag with her.

“I’ve got it,” I insist when Mina doesn’t go with her.

Mina looks over her shoulder. The girls are already on the fi eld;

she’ll get in trouble if she doesn’t hurry. “Hey!” she shouts, waving

across the parking lot. “Adam! Kyle!”

“Mina—”

“If you want me to go, then you let Kyle and Adam help you,” she

says to me.

I roll my eyes and grab the handles of the walker, heaving myself

up, leaning on it. The doctors are making me use it for extra month

before I can switch to the cane. I can’t believe I’m actually looking

forward to a cane, but I am.

134

F A R F R O M Y O U

The boys come over, and once Mina’s reassured they won’t let me

fall off the bleachers, she tears off toward the fi eld, her hair streaming

behind her.

Kyle looms over me. His jeans are an inch too short—he’s already

bigger than everyone else in our grade and hasn’t shown any signs

of stopping. He keeps a hand hovering behind my back during the

torturous minutes it takes to get to the bleachers, like he’s afraid I’m

going to just pitch over at any moment.

“Where’s your dad today?” Adam asks as I sit down on the bottom

bleacher. “Uncle Rob’s short a coach.”

“Emergency root canal,” I say.

“Is that even a thing?” Kyle asks.

“I guess so. You guys can go sit up at the top, if you want. I’m fi ne

here on my own.”

“Better view from here,” Kyle says with a grin.

It makes me smile back. I dig in my purse, coming up with a bag

of M&M’s, and we pass it back and forth as we turn our attention to

the soccer fi eld.

The girls are getting ready to start, warming up on the side of the

fi eld. Mina’s dark, curly head is bent as she touches her forehead to her