“I’m not making anything anything.”
“You had to know this was coming,” Jasmine says. Hudson leans forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes glued to the floor.
Greta sighs, her voice softening. “Look, I know this is hard for you. I’m not trying to be a bitch about this. But Hannah is one of us and this school is already becoming a cesspool of Team Owen.”
“Team . . . Team Owen?” My palms instantly start to sweat and my pulse throbs in my temples. Because I don’t even need an explanation for what she means. Owen is talking, and talking loudly, spreading his story throughout every corner of the school.
“I assume that you’re Team Owen too,” Greta says.
More silence. Not even Charlie speaks up on this one. Everyone’s eyes are on me, waiting.
Waiting for the form of my allegiance. For me to pick a side.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, my voice a brittle whisper.
“Even if I don’t,” Greta says just as softly, “we need to help Hannah. We’re her family at this school, some of her only supporters, and you leading that charge is a conflict of interest.”
I glance around the circle, looking for anyone who might disagree. No one speaks. Ellie avoids my gaze, her ridiculously long eyelashes fanning over her cheeks. Leah just looks uncomfortable, as though she’s really wishing she hadn’t chosen today of all days to attend a meeting. Hudson doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, his shoulders up around his ears.
“I move that we put the dress code project on hold and talk about what we can do to help Hannah, her family, and her experience when she comes back to school,” Greta says. “And that I temporarily replace Mara as Empower’s leader.”
A beat. Then, a familiar voice. “Seconded.”
I turn my head, meeting Charlie’s gaze. She doesn’t look away. She doesn’t smile. Just reaches out and puts her hand on my back. I’m so shocked, I can’t even arc away from her touch.
“All in favor?” Greta asks.
Six ayes echo through the room.
I stand up slowly, clutching my useless laptop to my chest.
“You don’t have to leave, Mara,” Greta says.
“No, it’s okay. I should . . . you’re right. I’m not . . . I should go.”
I stumble out of the room, my eyes already blurring. Getting deposed is not a huge deal. And dammit, Greta’s right. I’m not the right person to lead the group. Hannah is the focus right now and she should be. I know that. But it’s just one more thing screaming at me that I have no clue what the hell I think, who I am, where I stand, why I stand there.
It’s one more thing taking my voice away from me.
I wait for Charlie to follow me, chase after me like we’ve always done for each other no matter what, but the hall is silent, the stale air-conditioned air stinging my eyes. I walk toward the exit, ready to leave, but I can’t. I don’t want to go home. Not like this, when it feels as if something new and raw is trying to break through my skin.
Please come out here, I text Charlie. The words drip with desperation and maybe that’s totally pathetic, but I need her.
Barely thirty seconds pass before Charlie comes out into the hallway. When she gets close, I turn and lead her out the front doors and into the late afternoon light. The setting sun spills over her hair, pulling up hints of red in all the dark. She faces me, silent, her head tilted and her eyes soft—?too damn soft—?on mine.
“You voted me out,” I say.
She sighs. “That’s not what I did and you know it.”
I nod, trying to parse out what I do know. What is true. What isn’t.
“Hey,” she says, a whisper. Her hands reach out and wrap around my elbows, fingertips so gentle on the delicate skin.
And suddenly it’s too much. Standing on the vast brick porch, columns rising up on either side of us, Charlie soft and strong in front of me, I can’t hold it in anymore. The dam bursts, releasing days’ worth of tears.
“I think he’s lying,” I choke out through a clogged throat. “Owen’s lying about something or everything and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to do this.”
Charlie’s face crumples. She never cries her own tears. Not really. Even on her worst days, when she swears her voice doesn’t fit who she is and she has no idea how to tell her parents how she feels or thinks about herself, she never cries. Her eyes may well up, but the tears never fall. At least, not in front of me. Only when I break down does she fall to pieces too. Now she bridges the already small space between us, slowly, as though she’s trying not to scare me. But I’m not scared. Not of her. I’m desperate. Desperate for this feeling to go away, and the only solution is Charlie. I slide my arms around her waist and bury my face in her neck, inhaling raggedly. I feel her tense at first, but then her hands are in my hair, smoothing and enclosing.
