Sam peers over his shoulder as he jumps off the last step, racing away from me.
“Sam, get back here!” I yell.
He runs in front of the cars lining up to drop off students and flees to the lush lawn in front of them.
A gust of wind blows through my hair, sending strands into my mouth, but I push myself to run faster. I ignore my burning lungs and reach my hand out inches away from Sam’s back.
“If you have something to say, say it to my face!” I yell. My fingers graze the back of his gray jacket.
He slows down like maybe my words sunk in, but just in case, I grab his jacket and yank him back with all my might.
Sam falls backwards onto the ground, his long legs kicking in the air. He scrambles to sit up. “Was that really necessary?”
I cross my arms, jaw clenched and eyes narrow as I point a glare at him. “You deserved it!”
He scoffs, rubbing his face. “You still have a temper I see.” He stands, brushing off his pants, but the grass stains aren’t going away.
I shove him. “How could you?”
He stands his ground this time, towering over me. He takes in a breath. “You lied. And I finally found the proof.”
I roll my eyes. Not this again. I look up at the full clouds coating the sky as the anger in my chest resurfaces. “Why is it so hard for you to accept the truth? Myles killed Mallory!”
“Didn’t you see the picture!” He tugs at his hair. Then his hand drags down his face. “I’ve known there was something wrong from day one, but you can’t deny the picture. You were with him that night!”
“No, I wasn’t!” I yell. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull?” I point to myself. “I didn’t see him until I was walking home that night and I saw him push Mallory over the bridge! He even confessed!”
“I know you were with Myles. Just admit it!”
“Why would I lie about that?” I pull on my jacket to keep my hands busy enough I don’t knock him to the ground again.
His nostrils flare as he breathes in. “We both know Myles could’ve had your testimony thrown out of court if he wanted to, so you tell me why he chose to stay silent.”
My psychiatric evaluation.
My face burns. How dare he bring that up. “I know what I saw!”
“Really?” He raises an eyebrow and steps closer. “You really think you can trust your own memory?”
No one believes me and that’s one of the most frustrating parts of this. Everyone, including the psychiatrist, believes I created a made-up story of running away instead of acknowledging the events leading up to my sister’s death.
“It’s a coping mechanism,” they said.
But it isn’t true. People claim I was here the whole time, but they’re wrong. I ran away for three days because I wanted to see my mom and Mallory refused to take me.
If Myles wanted to, I’m sure his lawyers could’ve used my lapse in memory to discredit my testimony, but Myles corroborated my story. “He confessed!”
“He’s lying!” Sam strikes the air with this hand and his back tenses up. “Anyone with an ounce of brain can see that!”
Sam is just as infuriating now as he was a year ago. “Let it go, already! Myles is behind bars where he belongs.”
His brow softens and his jaw shifts. “You don’t really believe that.”
I do. I hate Myles.
Sam shakes his head. “You know”—he holds his hands up—“I’ve spent months trying to wrap my mind around what really happened that night and every thought leads to the same place.”
I raise my chin. “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”
