Carrie closed her eyes, hearing Tiffany’s words in her mother’s voice again. Reliving that shame and humiliation was too much, and she hated herself for wanting to run off into the woods to throw up. She didn’t want to be that girl anymore.
“Tiff!”
Tiffany shut up at last. But not until she got out the last word. “Because everyone always wants tosaveher.”
She was right. Tiffany presented herself as a prize to be won, but Carrie inspired others to sympathy. The nice girl from the wrong side of the tracks who just needed a chance. It was probably why people had been so shocked and titillated by The Photo. Carrie had broken their unspoken social contract.
To her surprise and delight, Jason rounded on Tiffany, a flush rising up his neck. “Stop harping on Carrie, Tiff. If you have to blame anyone, blame Mikey. Carrie didn’t make him hit Russ.”
Instead of shrinking from Jason’s anger, Tiffany’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Oh. I see how it is. I hope you’re very happy together.” She looked from Jason to Carrie and back again, and then stalked off.
Carrie’s face heated. Jason seemed to deflate. “Tiff—” he said tiredly. There was no conviction behind the name, only a syllable uttered out of habit.
He let out a tired groan and turned to Carrie. “Sorry. We’re going to have to go after her. Not because I want to make up, but because we have to stay together.”
Carrie nodded, although she dearly wanted Tiffany to leave them alone. “I understand.”
They set off through the woods, following the bright beacon of Tiffany’s swinging ponytail. “Listen,” Jason said, fidgeting with the compass in his hand. Was he nervous, too? Carrie’s stomach fluttered. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d spoken to each other one-on-one, if ever, without Tiffany’s close scrutiny.
“About the photo—Tiff! Stay to the left! You’re veering too far north!”
Tiffany answered with her middle finger, but she redirected her current course.
“About the photo—” Jason continued. Carrie held her breath with anticipation. Was this finally it? The moment she’d been hoping for?
He scratched his head. “For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about how things went down.”
The apology drifted to Carrie’s feet like a deflated balloon. How many years had she longed for those words? For him to recognize the magnitude of what he’d done? And now that he’d saidI’m sorry,it had no effect on her. It didn’t lift the weight of her regrets.
Her therapist had warned that simple words wouldn’t be enough, and she couldn’t depend on them for closure. Words wouldn’t change the past. All she could do was focus on the present.
“I don’t know what else I can say,” he added. “I should’ve and could’ve handled it better.”
Carrie’s throat felt like it was full of broken glass. “Yes, you should have.” Her voice squeezed out in a small and pained drip. “But it was a long time ago. I’d like to forget it and move on.”
“Yeah. Me too. We good?”
She turned to him with an angelic smile. The Care Bear smile. The Jordan Knox smile. Tiffany was wrong. Carrie didn’t need saving. She was doing a good job of saving herself. “We’re good.”
Jason smiled back and then bumped her shoulder companionably with his. “High school, huh? Best and worst time of our lives.”
The affectionate gesture completely took her aback. She laughed in surprise, her cheeks warming. “Yeah. Best and worst. But it taught me how to take my knocks and get up again.”
Jason chuckled, no doubt thinking of his time on the football field. “Me too. Literal—”
A dark figure came barreling through the trees and slammed right into him.
Carrie screamed. Tiffany turned around and yelped as Jason collapsed, grunting from the impact.
“Jason!” Carrie cried.
“Run,” he croaked under the weight of his attacker.
Tiffany was a frightened hare, paralyzed in place. Carrie moved first, but instead of running, she raised the bread knife. Recognition suddenly flashed in Jason’s eyes. He weakly lifted an arm as if he could block her. “Wait! Carrie, don’t! It’s Patrick!”
Patrick sprawled on top of Jason, their startled faces mirrors of each other.
“Patrick!” Carrie lowered the bread knife. What on earth had happened? She barely recognized him. His clothes were filthy and his hair a nest of cedar needles and cobwebs. “Oh my gosh. We thought you were Russ.”
