“Owen’s the only one talking right now,” Charlie says. His name sounds strange in my ears, like when you repeat a word over and over again until it loses all meaning. “That’s all.”
“He does love to talk,” Hannah says flatly.
“Okay,” Charlie says, inhaling deeply. “Let’s talk about something else, just for a little while.”
“Good idea,” I say.
But then the three of us sit there in silence. Hannah lays her head in my lap, and my fingers move through her hair, pulling gently at her strawberry strands. They’re knot free and smooth, nearly straight with slick grooming, as though her mother took a vigorous brush through them.
And Hannah let her.
Somehow, my sadness doubles.
“Let’s watch something,” I say. I pull Hannah’s computer closer. “What’ve you been watching?”
“The Avengers,” Hannah says. She moves off my lap and scoots her butt down, burrowing into her covers and sighing heavily as she tucks the comforter up to her chin.
“Perfect.”
The three of us pile closer together, Hannah in the middle, and I hit play on the movie. It picks up midexplosion, trucks flying through the air and some guy in a red suit zipping around the sky and babbling sarcastically. I try to let the bright colors and pretty people numb my thoughts, but I can’t stop thinking.
I don’t know if I would’ve even told anyone if Charlie hadn’t found me.
Emotions collide—?relief that maybe the state won’t press charges, because then we can all move on from this sooner than later. And then I hate myself for that thought, because if you separate the person who did this to Hannah from my family, I’d be calling for his blood.
And then there’s my own silence, my own fear, my own story. Mr. Knoll and his smug smile, the way he just stood there, totally invulnerable. He held all the power. He could call me a stupid little bitch, and I couldn’t do one damn thing about it.
How different would the past three years of my life have been if someone had walked in, if someone had found me as I ran out of that classroom, tears a blinding mess all over my face?
If I’d confided in the mother who’s always been there.
I feel a tap on my shoulder and glance over Hannah, who is burrowed deep in the covers half asleep. Charlie smiles at me, her arm stretched underneath Hannah’s neck to reach my shoulders, her fingers fiddling with the ends of my hair.
I could tell her. I could tell Charlie anything. I have told her everything. Everything except this. But it’s been so long, and the only thing that can come of a confession like that is embarrassment that I waited three years to open my mouth.
The ending credits are just starting to roll when a knock sounds on Hannah’s door. Hannah jerks beside me, then relaxes, sitting up a little as her mom sticks her sandy blond head into the room.
“Hannah, is that Charlie’s car? Ask her if she wants to stay for—”
Mrs. Prior’s voice chokes off as her gaze finds me. She stands completely frozen in the doorway, perfectly pressed into her pencil skirt and tailored blouse. She’s the epitome of put-together. Expect for her expression, which can be described only as horrified, her mouth a wide chasm and growing wider. Then, suddenly, it snaps shut, the clack of her teeth colliding echoing through the quiet room.
“Everything all right, Melanie?” Mr. Prior says, coming up behind his wife and peering into the room. Whereas Mrs. Prior’s face went white, crimson spills up Mr. Prior’s neck and over his cheeks, bulging out his eyes.
Hannah kicks down the covers and climbs over Charlie and off the bed. “Dad. Don’t.”
“Get out,” Mr. Prior says through gritted teeth. He pushes the door open and Mrs. Prior moves out of his way, her face still wan and her arms curled around herself.
I blink at him, confused, while Hannah shakes her head. “Dad—”
“I said, get out of my house!” Mr. Prior’s eyes are still pinned on me.
Oh, god.
He’s talking to me.
Hands shaking, I push the covers off my body and swing my feet to the floor. I expect my legs to crumple underneath me, but somehow they hold me up and drag me closer to the door.
“How dare you come here,” Mr. Prior says.
