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41

NOW (JUNE)

Trev is quiet, leaning against the front door for an endless

stretch of time.

There is nothing either of us can say.

There is nothing left to say.

There is just the truth, fi nally out in the open. I can see

the weight of it settling on him, dragging him down. I hate

that I’ve done this, hurt him this much, but at the same

time, an undercurrent of relief pulls at me.

He’s all I’ve got left—my best friend by default. The quiet,

steady presence in my life that’s been there for so long, I’d

be lost without him. I’ve taken advantage of that steadiness

so many times, and I hate that I can’t stop now.

He comes alive suddenly, like he’d been frozen by the

truth I’ve thrown at him. He straightens against the door

and starts talking fast, a staccato burst of sound from a

grim mouth: “If it was never about drugs, I have to tell my

mom. The police—”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But if you think you have a lead—”

“I have
nothing
,” I say. “I have Mina’s notes on an almost

three-year-old cold case. I don’t have any evidence that

T E S S S H A R P E

193

proves she was being threatened. I can’t go to Detective

James and be, like, ‘Hey, here’s a break in the investigation

you think I’m hindering.’”

“But if Kyle explains that he lied, they’ll have to believe

you.”

“No, they won’t. There were drugs at the scene. My

fi nger prints were on the bottle. As far as Detective James

is concerned, I’m a liar who’s still covering for her dealer.

Some notes that Mina wrote about Jackie’s case aren’t going

to change that. But fi guring out who was sending Mina

threatening notes
will
. Whoever got rid of Jackie killed

Mina—and I’m going to fi nd him.”

“Are you crazy?” Trev asks. “Mina died because she

got too close to fi guring it out. And now, what, you want

to launch an investigation? Do you have a death wish or

something?”

I step even further away him, a fl inch I can’t control.

He’s too wrapped up to notice the hurt I’m throwing off. Or

maybe this is what I’ve pushed him to, this kind of heart

twisting that once was Mina’s specialty.

“I’m doing this for Mina. Do you really think Jackie’s

still alive, after three years? That bastard in the mask killed

her. And then he killed Mina because she was too close to

fi nding him out. He has to pay.”

“Yes, he does. But that’s what the police are for. You’re

gonna get hurt if you keep this up,” Trev grits out.

I take a deep breath. “I’m not Mina. I’m not going to

keep secrets. I’ve got Kyle and my friend Rachel helping

out. But to get the police to listen to me, I need proof Mina

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F A R F R O M Y O U

was looking into Jackie’s disappearance, that she was being

threatened because of it. You and Kyle didn’t fi nd the killer’s

warning notes, did you?”

Trev shook his head.

“So I have to put together a list of people who knew

Mina was investigating Jackie and then narrow it down to

the likely suspects.”

Trev runs his hands through his hair. “This is insane.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I can’t sit around and

hope that the cops will fi gure it out. I understand that

you’re trying to move on or whatever, but I can’t do that.

Not yet.”

It’s exactly the wrong thing to say to him—I know it

before the words are out of my mouth. His gray eyes widen,

and his cheeks fl ush beneath his tan.

“Move on?” He spits out the words like they’re poison.

“She was my baby sister. I practically raised her after Dad

died. I was supposed to be there when she got what she

wanted out of life. She was supposed to be the aunt to my

kids, and I should’ve been an uncle to hers. I wasn’t sup-

posed to lose her. I would’ve done
anything
for her.”

“Then help me!” I snap at him. “Stop yelling at me and

help
me already. I’m doing this with or without you, but I’d

rather do it with you. You understood her.”

“I guess I didn’t understand her at all,” Trev says, and

it hits me all over again that Trev didn’t just lose Mina. He

lost me, too—this shining, bright idea of a me that never

was.

I want to touch him, to comfort him somehow, but I

T E S S S H A R P E

195

know better. I settle for going toward him a few steps, close

enough to touch.

“You understood her,” I say. “As much as anyone could,

you did. She loved you, Trev. So much.”

Trev had been Mina’s favorite person. Her second con-

fessor, after me. I think, if I hadn’t been at the center of this,

she would’ve told him the truth about herself.

Maybe he would have made it easier. If she could have

basked in his acceptance, it might have given her enough

strength to break free.

I don’t know. I can’t ever know. Thinking about is maso-

chistic, like the hours I spent in rehab, spinning a perfect

version of our lives, where she tells everyone and it doesn’t

matter, a future fi lled with prom dresses and slow dances

and promises that never get broken.

When he looks at me, I feel exposed. For the fi rst time

since I’ve come downstairs, I’m acutely aware of how little

I have on. How bright the hall lights are, and how my scars

shine white and pink.

There’s a clicking sound, and Trev steps forward, away

from the front door just as my dad opens it.

There’s a long, uncomfortable moment when Dad’s eyes

fl ick over my face, tear-stained and too red, to settle on

Trev, looking just as bad.

“Trev,” Dad says, and it’s like he’s seven feet tall instead

of fi ve foot eight.

“Mr. Winters,” Trev says.

I shift from foot to foot, clenching my fi sts at my sides to

keep from scrubbing at my face.

196

F A R F R O M Y O U

“Sophie, is there a problem here?” Dad asks, still not tak-

ing his eyes off Trev.

“No,” I say. “Trev was just leaving.”

“I think that’s for the best,” Dad says.

Trev nods. “I’ll just—Well, good-bye, Sophie. Bye, sir.”

The door’s barely shut behind him before Dad is turning

to me, opening his mouth. “Just a second,” I tell him, and

I slip out the front door after Trev before Dad can stop me.

He’s already walking down the path.

“Trev!” I call.

He turns.

From where I stand at the bottom of the porch steps,

it’s like an ocean between us, this new knowledge that

stretches us so far from each other.

“The interviews,” I say, lowering my voice. “The ones

that Mina did about Jackie. They’re recorded.”

His eyes widen, and he takes a step toward me almost

automatically.

“I can’t listen to them alone,” I confess.

Trev nods. “Tonight?” he asks.

Relief, sweet and simple, rushes through me.

He’s always giving me what I can’t ask for.

“Tonight,” I say.

42

THREE AND A HALF YEARS AGO (FOURTEEN YEARS OLD)

“I can do it myself,” I say, clutching the bottle of vitamin E oil.

“No off ense, but your hand still looks like raw hamburger.”

Mina is not patient or soft . She grabs the bottle, ignoring my pro-

tests. It’s normal, her being bossy and my falling into line, so I shrug

my robe off one shoulder as she settles behind me on my bed.

I bite my lip, looking down at the carpet. I can feel her eyes on my

shoulder where metal dug into the skin, mangling it. Her fi ngers don’t

linger as she gently smooths the oil over my scars with determined

effi

ciency. “This stuff smells like my grandma.” She gets up and moves

to my front.

“Lavender,” I explain. “Mom got it at that natural health food store

in Chico. Here, let me.” I try to grab the bottle away from her, but she

dangles it out of my reach. “Nice,” I say. “Way to taunt the gimp.”

“I dare you to call yourself that in front of your mom. She’ll fl ip.”

Mina smiles wickedly at me.

“She’d probably just send me to the shrink for another six months.”

“She means well. That whole week you were in coma-land, she was

freaking out. Soap-opera style. It was intense.” Her fi ngers trace over

the top of my shoulder, the new rough landscape that my body has

become.

“She keeps acting like things are going to go back to normal.”

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F A R F R O M Y O U

“Well, that’s stupid,” Mina says. “Things are diff erent. But it

doesn’t mean they have to be awful.”

“I feel awful, sometimes,” I whisper. “I mean, look at me.” I hold

my arms out, my robe slips all the way off my shoulders, and the scar

on my chest, a raw split of skin, is even uglier in the light. “I’m gross.

And it’s not like things are going to change. She needs to realize that.”

“Oh, Soph.” Mina practically defl ates. She sits down on the bed

next to me. “What happened to you was horrible,” she says. “Beyond

horrible. And it isn’t fair or right that Trev and I came out of it fi ne and

you . . .” She trails off . “But
gross
?” She presses her hand against my

heart. Her thumb brushes up against the edge of the scar on my chest.

“This isn’t gross. You know what I think when I see this?”

I shake my head.

Her voice drops. She’s whispering, a secret for just the two of us: “I

think about how strong you are. You didn’t stop fi ghting, even when

your heart stopped. You came back.”

The unspoken “to me” hangs between us. We both hear it, but

neither of us is brave enough to say it.

“You don’t . . . you don’t ever wish they hadn’t saved you, right?”

Mina asks. She’s staring hard at her hand, like she can’t bear to be

looking in my eyes if I give the wrong answer.

I can’t tell her the truth. She’d be almost as scared of it as I am.

“Of course not,” I say.

The truth?

I don’t know.

Maybe.

Sometimes.

Yes

43

NOW (JUNE)

When I get back into the house, Dad is waiting in the

hallway.

“What was that about?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say.

“Sophie, you’ve been crying.” He reaches out, and I

move away when his hand makes contact with my cheek.

“Did Trev say something—”

“We were talking about Mina,” I interrupt. “I got sad.

Trev wasn’t—I was just sad.” I rub at my arms, stepping

farther away from him. “What are you doing home? Did

you forget something?”

“Your shots are today,” Dad says. “Didn’t your mother

tell you?”

“Oh. She did. I forgot.”

“I thought I’d take you.”

I can’t stop the hesitation that passes over me, and I can

tell he’s hurt by it. It’s the barest fl ash in his lined face, but

it’s there.

I remember, suddenly, all those days he took off work so

he could drive me back and forth to physical therapy. How

he’d sat in the lobby doing paperwork while I bullied my

200

F A R F R O M Y O U

body into working better. How he’d always wrapped his

arms around me afterward.

“Sure,” I say. “I’d like that.”

On the drive to the doctor’s offi ce, we talk about ordi-

nary things. About the soccer team that Dad’s dental offi ce

sponsors, how he’s thinking about retiring from assistant