I open my mouth, but I can’t tell if it’s to say something or simply a shocked reaction. Either way, Charlie presses one fingertip to my bottom lip, stilling all my thoughts.
“You don’t have to say anything right now. I didn’t come here to get back together. I know you’re confused and feel lost right now and I don’t want to add to that. I just came here to tell you the truth, because you deserve it and because I can’t ask you to do the same if I won’t. I know it’s not the same as telling your parents about what happened to you. It’s not even in the same universe and I can’t really compare them, but I wanted you to have this. This part of me, no matter what you need to do with it. I feel as if you might like Alex and I don’t want to—”
“I don’t like him. I mean, not like that.” I take a breath, my thoughts whirling. “He’s a good friend, that’s all. We did kiss, but . . . we’re not together. We won’t be.”
She presses her eyes closed and nods.
“What . . . what about Tess?” I ask.
Charlie laughs lightly. “Tess is a friend. She wanted more and I couldn’t do it.”
My fingers tighten around Charlie’s. But before I can say anything, she untangles herself from me and moves toward her bag. Reaching a hand inside, she pulls out a scarf bright with Gryffindor burgundy and gold. It must be what she was knitting at the Fall Festival, except now it’s complete, long and soft and perfect. Stepping back toward me, she loops it around my neck.
“For me?” I ask, running my hands down the velvety thread.
“For you.”
“But . . . I’m a Ravenclaw.”
She laughs and smoothes one hand over my hair. “Beauty and strength,” she whispers.
My eyes widen. “That . . . that song is about me?”
“That song is about us. All of us.”
And then she bends down and kisses me on the lips, a whispery and familiar brush of her mouth that’s gone before I can lean into it. She backs away from me and I know she’s trying to give me space.
But I don’t want space from Charlie. I never have, even when it was scary, and it’ll probably be scary for a long time. I don’t know when I’ll be ready for more than kissing, with anyone, and I know I need help, need to talk to someone about all of this. But ever since I met her, I’ve wanted as little space as possible from Charlie. And right there, I see another type of girl, the type who breaks up with the person she loves because she’s scared.
Scared of giving her trust away.
Scared she’s damaged, never enough.
Scared of giving someone else power to hurt her, to touch her, to lie to her, to do something so shocking and unexpected that she’ll never recover.
And I’m not sure I ever will recover from what Mr. Knoll did. Not fully. It’s changed me forever, but changed doesn’t have to mean broken. And I know my family will never be the same either. My brother’s and my connection has been altered, never broken but twisted into something I never expected, never wanted. We’re no longer the twins in the sky, and I have to figure out how to live with that. How to be his twin sister and hate what he did all at once.
But I can have this.
I can be honest about this.
Charlie’s back is to the wall as she watches me roll all of this over and over in my head. I wonder what I look like to her, a fractured girl piecing herself back together. This process of becoming whole again isn’t because of Charlie and the fact that she loves me, but it’s not not because of her either. Because she takes care of me. Just like she takes care of Hannah, and I want to take care of them. That’s what friends do.
Charlie’s eyes never leave mine as I walk toward her. I cup her face in my hands and a little tear slips down her cheek. I smile as I brush it away with my thumb. My own eyes are dry—?I’ve never seen Charlie cry alone. But maybe, after everything she and I have been through, together and separately, she’s a new type of person too.
“I lied too,” I say. “About us.”
She heaves a shaky breath and nods, more tears spilling out of her. But her shoulders round forward a little, letting go of her neck. For the first time in weeks, I realize how heavy my lie was. My fear. Charlie wore all of it like a wool scarf around her neck in the heat of summer. I hurt her. My best friend in the world. I hurt her and I hurt myself.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell her. And I’m not sure if I’m talking about us or something else entirely. I’m not sure if I’m talking to Charlie or talking to myself or talking to some girl with wavy hair I don’t know smiling up at her teacher.
Charlie shakes her head and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Don’t. You weren’t ready. I get that.”
I lean my forehead against hers, not sure exactly what or who she’s talking about either. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For believing me.”
