“Yeah. It might sound weird, but knowing she’s been going through a hard time too makes me feel less lonely.”
I know exactly what she means. “That’s not weird at all.”
“She told me what she's been doing,” she whispers. “I saw the homework she’s been copying. Even yours. She feels awful about it, you know. She cried when she showed it to me, but she’s going to talk to Dad and her school counselor about it.”
I’m shocked. Mallory was so afraid to let anyone know about that. She hung my secret above my head as a threat, and I can only imagine she’s been doing that to other people too. “Really? What made her change her mind?”
“I told her I’d go with her.”
That is the Emma I know. She isn’t cruel. She has a kind heart and is loyal. If she’s willing to help her sister like that, I know for a fact she’s still the Emma I grew up with.
“That’s nice of you.”
She shrugs. “She’d do the same for me.”
I’m jealous of her loyalty to Mallory. I can’t help it. That’s how we used to be. We protected each other, and even after all these years I can’t help but miss it.
Emma shifts her weight. “What did you want to talk about.
“Why did you push me away?” I blurt out. The question isn’t going away, and I’m tired of waiting for an answer.
“What do you mean?”
“Back then, why did you push me away?”
Her lips part and her jaw twitches. “Oh.” She rubs her arm. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.”
She shakes her head. “No, it doesn’t.”
“I want to know.”
Emma looks at the opening of the tree house, and part of me wonders if she’s about to try running away instead of answering my question.
She swallows and then she says, “I killed Duke.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “You did.” I knew that part of the story, but it’s what happened after that I don’t understand. How come she didn’t apologize? Why did she ignore and avoid me?
Her eye contact breaks. “So what was I supposed to do? It’s not like I could’ve fixed it.”
“But you didn’t even try.” For some reason this conversation feels familiar as if it’s something I’ve dreamt of. I can’t shake this unexplainable sense of déjà vu.
She bites her lip, refusing to meet my gaze. “I didn’t want to.”
“Why?” I beg.
She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter now.”
My frustration builds, annoyed with how evasive she’s being again. I wouldn’t be asking these questions if it didn’t matter. I’ve spent hours agonizing over these questions. “Why didn’t you try?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s in the past.”
“Why is it so hard to answer that question?” I find myself getting closer. “I would’ve done anything for you. I would’ve forgiven you—”
