Halley is staring at me, her face a mixture of confusion and betrayal. “You’re Genevieve Grace?” she asks.
I can barely look her in the eye. “I was going to tell you tomorrow. I swear.”
“She was.” Elliott rests one hand on the small of my back.
“I don’t understand,” Tazmyn says. “How can you be here kissing some other guy? Didn’t Dallas Kade write this song for you? I mean, it’s been less than two months since he died. What’s wrong with you?”
Halley turns away from the opening in the rock. I push past Tazmyn and go after her, with Elliott right behind me. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, Halley,” I say. “I came here to get away from everything that happened, but the day we met I saw your bracelet and I figured you were a fan and . . .”
Halley spins around so fast she nearly falls in the water. “And what? Did you think I would gossip about it? Now I get why you’ve been so quiet all summer. You know, I could’ve helped you if I had known.”
“Looks like she found help from someone else,” Tazmyn says coolly.
“Enough.” Elliott’s voice carries through the night. A couple of people by the coolers stop talking and look over at us. “You don’t know Genevieve,” he continues. “You don’t know what she’s gone through.”
“Clearly, she’s suffering greatly.” Tazmyn’s eyes drop to the level of my waist, with Elliott’s arm hooked protectively around it.
“She’s right. I shouldn’t—I’m sorry—I have to go—” I pull away from Elliott and hurry across the river, almost falling twice on the slippery rocks.
“Do not post that photo,” I hear Elliott saying as I reach the paved trail that leads back to the parking area. And then, “Genevieve, wait!”
I don’t wait.
I don’t turn around.
I hit the parking lot and keep going. When I reach Zion Canyon Scenic Drive, I accelerate into a sprint as best I can in my soggy tennis shoes. The road is completely black, with only the faint outline of cottonwood trees illuminated by the moon. I’m miles away from the entrance to the park, but I don’t care. My breath catches in my throat as I push onward. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have thought going to a party with a bunch of kids my own age with Elliott was a good idea? I should’ve known something like this would happen.
All the hashtags I’ve been running from flash through my head: #Hypocrite, #Coward, #Liar, #ControlFreak, #JealousBitch, #Killer. My brain adds one more to the list: #Slut. My shoes rub against my heels, chafing my skin to the point where I have to slow down. I peek over my shoulder, but all I see is darkness. In front of me, something moves in the roadway—a porcupine. Yellow eyes glow as it stares me down for a moment before scurrying across the road and down into the underbrush.
I can just barely see the entrance to the Grotto Picnic Area ahead when I hear the sound of a vehicle. Elliott pulls up next to me and flashes his lights. He pulls over alongside the dark road and gets out.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “You should go back to the party. You’re Halley’s ride home.”
“Halley is fine,” he says. “She can catch a ride with Tazmyn and Nephi.”
“I’m fine too,” I say. “Really. I don’t mind walking home.”
“Do you realize how long of a walk it is? It’d take you over an hour.”
“It’s not like I have anywhere to be.”
“Well, I’m not letting you walk. It’s dark and you’re not even wearing light clothes. You could get hit.”
“Maybe I should get hit,” I say. “Maybe that’s what I deserve.”
“Why? Because you made a mistake? Because you kept something secret? Because you kissed me?”
I shrug. All of the above?
“No one deserves to get hit,” Elliott says. “Get in the truck, Genevieve.”
“I’m fine,” I say again.
“Get in the truck or I’m calling Rachael,” he says firmly.
“You’re going to narc me out to my stepmom? Some friend.”
“Some friend is right.” Elliott opens the passenger door.
I don’t want to be around anyone right now, but I’d rather deal with Elliott than stress out Dad or Rachael, who may or may not decide my distraught state and disheveled appearance warrant a late-night call to my mother.
“Fine.” I step up into the truck and Elliott shuts the door behind me. I wrap my arms around my middle and turn away from him as he slides into the driver’s seat and heads down the road. I don’t say anything until the park’s exit comes into view. Then I sigh. “I’m sorry I ran off. I just couldn’t deal with it. Tazmyn’s probably right, you know? Maybe it is horrible of me to have feelings for you so soon after Dallas died.”
“You can’t control how you feel,” Elliott says. “Though if you don’t want to act on your feelings, I totally respect that. But don’t let some friend of Halley’s, or the internet, make that decision for you, okay? You decide what’s right.”
I bite back tears. “You’re one of the only things that has felt right all summer.”
Elliott reaches out for my hand and wraps his fingers around it. “Then don’t let strangers take that feeling away from you. You don’t have to be miserable for the rest of your life just because you survived. Or because you fell asleep. Or because you lied.”
When I don’t respond he continues. “Sorry it took me so long to catch up with you. I was talking to Halley. She’s trying to convince Tazmyn not to post that picture.”
“Why? It’s the truth.”
“It’s our truth,” Elliott says. “Maybe you have things that the public deserves to know, but they don’t need to know about you and me. They don’t have any claim to your personal relationship with Dallas. That’s your business, just like we’re our business.”
“I don’t even care,” I say. “It’s such a tiny thing compared to the other stuff I’ve done. Let her post it if she wants to.” And I mean it. It’ll just be a preview of things to come. “Does Halley hate me for lying to her?”
“No,” Elliott says. “She doesn’t understand why you would keep everything a secret, but that’s because she doesn’t know the things that I know.”
“I really was going to tell her tomorrow. First my dad, then everyone else.”
“I know.” Elliott turns off the main road onto the street where Dad and Rachael live. He pulls up across from the house. “I think you’re going to feel a lot better after you talk to your dad.”
“Maybe.” Right now the word “better” seems very far away. A mirage. An illusion. An impossibility. “Thanks for the ride.” I slide out of the truck and head across the street.
Elliott follows me to the door. “Genevieve, wait. I don’t want to leave you like this.”
I reach up to touch the caribou pendant hanging in the hollow of my throat. “Thank you for loaning me this.” I start to pull the black cord over my neck.
Elliott grabs my hand. “Keep it,” he says firmly.
“I can’t ke—”
“At least until you’ve dealt with stuff. That pendant has given me a lot of strength over the past few years. Maybe it’ll work for you too.”
Tears hover on my eyelashes. All I can do is nod.
Elliott pulls me into a hug. The two of us stand on the porch for what feels like forever. His arms are tight around my back and my head is tucked firmly under his chin. He smells like hair product and river water, a hint of smoke from the party clinging to his shirt. I wish I could melt right into him. I wish I didn’t have to let him go.
He pulls back and grabs my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “You want me to come over tomorrow, be with you while you talk to your dad?”
I shake my head. “I can handle it.”
“Okay. But remember I’ll be here.” He touches the pendant around my neck. Then he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “And here. Call me anytime.”
I squeeze his hand. “I will. I know. And thanks.”
Elliott brushes his lips against my forehead and gives me one last look before he turns away from me.
I watch him walk down the driveway and hop back into his truck. Then I turn and open the front door to the house, stepping quietly inside so as not to wake Dad or Rachael. Turns out I needn’t have bothered. The lights are all off, but Dad is sitting on the sofa, staring at the television. He blinks sleepily when he sees me.
“I can’t believe you’re still awake,” I say. “I thought you’d be exhausted after your trip.”
“You haven’t heard, have you?”
“Heard what?” My muscles go weak at the sound in my dad’s voice. I reach out for the edge of the sofa to steady myself. I lower my body to the cushion next to him. “Is it Rachael? Mom? Did something happen?”
“I know you’ve been worried about the possibility of having to testify in a wrongful death lawsuit,” Dad says quietly.
“Oh. I’ve actually kind of come to terms with that. What I wanted to talk to you about—” My words fade away as Dad holds up a hand.
“Glen Kade left me a message earlier tonight,” he says. “There isn’t going to be a lawsuit. You won’t have to testify.”
“Okay.” I pause. “Well, I think that’s good. I know the Kades don’t want to profit off Dallas’s death. I’m sure they only considered it because drinking and driving groups and crazy Kadets were pressuring them.”
“Yes,” Dad says. But it’s as if he didn’t even hear me. He’s staring past me at the television, which is on mute.
I spin around, my heart sinking into my gut when I see the headline splashed in red across the bottom of the screen: “Dallas Kade Fandom Responds to Brad Freeman Suicide Attempt.”