My fists were clenched around the steering wheel. “Yes.”
“Nice song, huh? Not really my genre. I still mostly listen to gospel because I’m not as cool as you young folks but …” He shrugged. “Anyway. Her story means a lot to people. You know that. Why would you try to take that away from them? From Sarah?”
“Because it wasn’t her necklace,” I said. “And she didn’t say anything to—”
Brother Lloyd waved a hand to silence me. “Calm down. Calm down. I know you’ve been through a lot, Leanne, but that’s no reason to lash out at others. And especially no reason to say these things about Sarah, who isn’t here to defend herself.”
“I need to go,” I said, more firmly this time.
“All right,” he said. “But before you do, please hear me out. I’m not trying to bother you. I mean it when I say I’m just concerned. If word gets out that you’re saying these things … people aren’t going to take too kindly to it.”
“You mean if you and the McHales tell anyone I’m saying these things.”
“Well, I don’t see why we ever have to speak of it again if I have your word it won’t be going any further. If you don’t plan on telling these lies to anyone else, then—”
“They aren’t lies. And I won’t promise that. I want people to know the truth.”
Brother Lloyd sighed and bowed his head. “I’m sorry to hear you feel that way. I hope you change your mind, but in the meantime, my congregation will be praying for you.”
And as I drove away a minute later, headed back down the street and past his church, I couldn’t help but think about how much that last sentence had sounded like a threat.
So I know I said I was focusing more on Sarah than the other victims, but I’m starting to realize that I’ve told you a lot about who she wasn’t and almost nothing about who she was.
Sarah was always an extrovert. She loved people, loved attention, loved to be the girl making everyone either laugh or fall in love with her. For about a month in sixth grade she was obsessed with astrology, and she took great pride in being a Leo. I, on the other hand, was a Cancer. “That’s why you’re such a hermit,” she’d tease. “You’d never leave the house if it wasn’t for me.”
She wasn’t wrong. I had the best time when we stayed in, usually holed up in her bedroom, and watched movies or played board games. I liked it most when it was just us. But Sarah always wanted to go places, do things, be seen. And I was always dragged along.
Maybedraggedis a harsh word. I chose to go wherever she did, because the alternative of spending time without her was too painful. Her parents always joked that we were “joined at the hip,” and there were times when I wished that were literal. Sarah was my only close friend, the only person I felt totally at ease with, and there were times—especially in middle school—where I lived in constant fear that she’d find another friend, a more outgoing, enthusiastic girl that she liked more than me.
So wherever she went, I followed.
Looking back, maybe our friendship wasn’t always the healthiest. Sarah could have a bit of a domineering personality. Like the time when we were nine and she insisted on cutting my bangs.
“I’m not sure,” I told her. “My mom might get mad.”
“She won’t when she sees how good it looks,” Sarah insisted. “You’d look so much better with bangs. And I know what I’m doing. I saw how to do it on the internet.”
“I don’t know, Sarah.”
“Trust me,” she said, already wielding a pair of scissors.
I did not look better with straight bangs and, yes, my mom was mad. I wore butterfly clips in my hair for months, waiting for it to grow out. Sarah, however, maintained that it was a worthwhile adventure for us both.
“At least we both learned something,” she said. “You learned that bangs aren’t for you, and I learned that cutting hair isn’t as easy as it looks.”
Sometimes her overwhelming personality got us both in trouble, but other times, I was grateful for it. Like when we were in seventh grade and some boys started picking on me.
I was an awkward-looking kid. Too tall. All knees and elbows. Angles and no curves. Actually, I guess not much has changed now, other than my hair. Back then it was long and stick straight with not even a hint of volume. Sarah, on the other hand, was already beautiful, even without the makeup stash she started keeping in her locker that year. There were a lot of jokes about Sarah only being nice to the “ugly girl” because she felt bad.
“Lee’s lucky Sarah is a good Christian,” we overheard Evan Samuels saying during lunch. “Because clearly that’s just charity.” That, being our friendship.
It was a stupid insult made by a twelve-year-old boy, but it still stung.
Sarah, never one to shy away from conflict, marched right over to the boy and said, loud enough for all his friends to hear, “Maybe you’re the one who’s lucky I’m a good Christian. Because it’s the only thing keeping me from kicking your ass.”
Evan was so stunned (I doubt a girl had ever threatened to kick his ass before) that he didn’t say a word as Sarah walked back over to me, looped her arm through mine, and said, “Come with me to get an extra slice of pizza.” Like nothing had just happened.
Even though she was always trying to push me into doing more with my appearance—from failed attempts to curl my hair to raiding my closet and telling me that nothing I owned was “flattering to my body type”—if anyone else talked about my looks in even a slightly negative way, Sarah was there to shut it down.
