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I’m not strong enough.

Ten months. Two days.

The next day, both my parents are out of the house by eight,

off to meetings and appointments. I set out the mat on my

bedroom fl oor and go through my regular asanas, but I

can’t focus—or rather, unfocus. Now that I have something

to go on, the urge to track down and interrogate everyone

who ever knew Jackie is fi erce.

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F A R F R O M Y O U

But I can’t do that. Jackie had a little sister and parents

and people who love her, who miss her. Who might object

to someone snooping around.

I’m not Mina. I’m not good at making people comfort-

able or getting them to talk. Even before the crash, it wasn’t

one of my talents.

I’m fi nishing up my practice, sitting in lotus pose, breath-

ing long and slow, when the doorbell rings.

I check the window before going downstairs. Trev’s

F-150 is parked outside my house, andmy fi rst instinct is to

change. I’m in shorts and a tank top. It’s stupid. It’s not like

he hasn’t seen me in less; in nothing at all.

The bell rings again.

I take a deep breath and walk down the stairs.

“I need to talk to you,” he says as soon as I open the

door. He brushes past me, not waiting to be invited in.

He turns, trapping me against the door and stares me

down. “Kyle stopped by last night,” he says.

Shit. I should’ve made Kyle promise not to go to Trev.

“He told me the drugs weren’t yours. That he lied about

Mina telling him that you two were going to score. That

you’ve been telling the truth this whole time. That Mina

was investigating Jackie Dennings’s disappearance, and

that’s why you were at the Point.”

I cross my arms, planting my bare feet on the Spanish

tile. It’s cool, solid, and I tilt my chin up and meet his eyes.

“Is that what Kyle says?”

Anger darkens his face. “No, Sophie, you don’t get to do

that. I just spent eight hours tearing my sister’s room apart

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185

with Kyle, trying to fi nd some threatening notes he’s claim-

ing she got. Don’t pull that shit with me. Not about Mina.

Tell me the truth!”

“I tried,” I spit out. “I wrote you, when I was at Seaside.

I explained everything. But you sent the letter back

unopened. You didn’t seem interested in the truth then.” I

can’t hide the resentment in my voice. I don’t want to.

He looks down, disarmed for a moment. “There were

drugs at the scene. The pill bottle had your prints on it.

Detective James was sure it was a drug deal. What was I

supposed to think? You’d lied to us for years.
Years
, Sophie.

Just six months away to get clean, and I’m supposed to for-

get that?”

“I don’t care that you didn’t believe me,” I say. “Not

anymore. Not after everyone else turned on me. I care that

you didn’t believe in
her
. She
never
would’ve taken me any-

where to get drugs. And you should’ve known that—you

should’ve known her!”

My voice rises with each word, until I’m yelling at him,

jabbing my hand in the air with each sentence.

“Don’t you . . .” He steps toward me, then thinks better

of it and backs away instead, until he’s right up against the

front door.

I hold my ground. It’s been months since he sent the

letter back, but my anger feels fresh, pushed down and

ignored.

“You let me down,” I say. “And you let her down by

believing that she’d allow me to relapse like that—like she’d

even help me score. Are you kidding me? She’s the one who

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F A R F R O M Y O U

ratted me out the fi rst time. What the hell were you think-

ing?” I’m yelling, my voice rising and rising, like my rage

has no limits.

This time, he doesn’t back away. He stands up straight,

and sweat trickles down my spine when he glares at me. “I

was thinking that I didn’t know who the hell you were any-

more,” he says. “You lied to us for years. You pretended to

be fi ne, and we fell for it. I fell for it. And it started to make

me wonder what else you were lying about. When you

went to Portland, Mina spent the next two months just . . .

wrecked
. I’d never seen her like that. Not since Dad . . .” He

rubs a hand over his mouth, his shoulders pressing hard

into the door, steeling himself.

“I tried to tell myself she was worried, she missed you.

You two were always your own little dastardly duo. Like

sisters. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? You and Mina. You

weren’t sisters. And you weren’t just friends, were you?”

He’s searching my face, looking for a hint of the truth.

He knows.

Ohgodohgodohgod, too late, too late, too late.

“Were you in love with Mina?” he demands, and I can

hear it, the dread in his voice. “Was she in love with you?”

I don’t know how to answer that last question. I wish

I did.

“Kyle told you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Trev breathes, and I realize that Kyle

hadn’t
said anything—instead I’ve just confi rmed it, this

long-ignored fear, the deeply buried
what-if
in Trev’s mind.

He’s gone pale beneath his deep summer tan. He leans

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187

against the front door like he needs it to hold himself up.

I wish we’d done this in the living room so he could sit

down—so
I
could sit down. My legs are trembling, and my

palms are slick with sweat.

“Jesus Christ,” he says again, shaking his head, staring

into space like I’m not even there. “This entire time . . .” He

looks back at me. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“It was none of your business.”

“None of my . . .” He lets out an incredulous half laugh.

“You know I love you. Don’t you think you should’ve men-

tioned that you don’t like guys? This whole time, I’ve been

telling myself you just needed . . .” He trails off. “Never

mind. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” He shakes his head

once and turns away, going for the door.

“Hey.” I catch his arm.

It’s a mistake to touch him. I know it instantly. There’s

no excuse. No fresh shock of Mina’s death. No drunken

night and fl imsy shirt.

It’s just him and me. The two left standing. He is the

only other person who misses her the way I do, who shares

half my memories of her, who’s loved me the exact opposite

way she did: steadfastly and openly.

He doesn’t pull away. He can’t, so I have to. For both

of us.

“You didn’t make it up,” I say fi rmly. “You and me.

There’s chemistry. Or whatever you want to call it. There’ve

been times, moments with you . . .You didn’t make it up,

Trev. I promise you.”

“But you’re into girls.”

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F A R F R O M Y O U

“I’m not gay, I’m bisexual. There’s a difference.”

“And Mina?”

My silence answers for me, and then he does, too.

“It was Mina this whole time, wasn’t it?”

I give him the only thing I can: the cold, hard truth. The

one that’ll rewrite every memory he has—of him and me,

her and me, the two of them, all three of us: “It’ll always be

Mina.”

40

FOUR AND A HALF MONTHS AGO (SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD)

The bathroom is empty. Mina is in front of the mirrors, rifl ing through

her makeup bag.

I stand there, furious and enraged and every other angry word I

can think of.

She won’t even look at me. Just starts applying lip gloss like we

really are in here to freshen up.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“I’m putting on lip gloss,” she says. “Do you think its too dark

for me?”

“Mina!”

She fl inches. The tube falls out of her hand and onto the brown tile

fl oor. Wide eyes meet mine in the mirror before she looks away.

“What are you doing?” I ask her again.

“Nothing,” she mutters.

“Nothing? You’re trying to set me up with Trev.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she asks, quick and defensive, like I’ve

insulted her brother. “Trev’s sweet and he’s good and he’s honest. He’d

be a great boyfriend.”

“He’s
Trev
,” I say, which should explain everything.

“He loves you, you know that.”

Of course I know that. It’s why what she’s doing is so twisted. She

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F A R F R O M Y O U

is not this stupid—but she is exactly this smart. If I’m with Trev, I’m

off -limits in a way that’ll keep her from crossing any line. It’s the only

thing that’ll stop her. Stop us.

I want to scream at her. I want to apologize to Trev, because there

might have been something between us if Mina hadn’t ruined me for

anyone else. I want to run out of here and slam the door behind me so

hard the tiles crack.

I want to press her between the sinks and run my tongue along

her collarbone.

“Why are you doing this?” I step toward her, and she backs away,

but I just keep coming until her shoulders knock against the mirror.

I use Mina’s size to my advantage, that stretch of height I have over

her. I get in her space and stay there. I’ve never done this before, the

aggressive thing. The initiation part has always been the guy’s job, but

now, it’s diff erent. I’m diff erent. I can do anything. I can be anything.

I can draw the back of my fi nger down the soft skin of her neck

and let the sound she makes twine deep in my stomach and stay there.

So I do.

“Sophie.” It’s a warning, a gasp. “I just—I want things to go back

to normal. Things need to go back to normal.”

“They can’t,” I say.

She licks her lips. “We can’t do this.”

“We can,” I say.

“But Trev . . .” She trails off . “My mom. Everything. It can’t work.

You and me—it’s not right. You and Trev is right. It’s normal. Every-

one expects it. I’m trying to help.”

“You’re trying to hide,” I say.

“I can hide if I want.”

“I’m saying you don’t have to.”

T E S S S H A R P E

191

She jerks out of my hold. “Of course I do!” she bursts out. “What

do you think? That everything’s going to be fi ne if I tell my mom I’m

a lesbian? She’d call in an army of priests to start praying. How do

you think Trev will feel when he fi gures out the girl he’s been in love

with forever screwed his little sister? And everybody at school—do

you remember what happened to Holly Jacobs? Do you want
DYKE

spray-painted on your car? Because that’s what’s waiting for us, Soph.

Hiding is safe. Choosing Trev is safe.”

There are tears in my eyes, down my cheeks. There’s nothing to

say to convince her. We don’t live in a big city. Mina doesn’t come

from a family where such things are accepted. She’s right, her mother

would
call in a priest. And Trev—no matter what happens, Trev will

always get hurt.

Nothing I say will change her mind. Years of loving her taught me

that. I hate how trapped she is, how trapped she’s made me.

“Trev loves you,” she says in the horrifi ed quiet that hangs between

us. “He’d be good for you.”

“I love Trev,” I tell her. “I love him enough that I can’t do that to

him. I can’t use him to hide because it’s safe or because you want me to.”

“Be smart, Sophie,” she says, and I hear more warning than plead-

ing in her voice. A wariness that’s never been there before. “Choose

him.”

I walk away from her—it’s almost easy, like another person is con-

trolling me—but when I get to the door, I turn back. She stands at the

mirror, watching me through the refl ection, and I meet her eyes.

“I’ll choose you,” I say. “No matter how hard it is. No matter what

people say. Every time, I’ll choose you. It’s up to you to choose me

back.”

As I close the door behind me, I hear her start to cry.