I didn’t find out what people were saying about Kellie Gaynor until the start of the summer, about a month and a half after the shooting.
I’d had Mom take me to visit Ashley in the hospital. She’d gotten my number from Sarah’s parents, and even though we hadn’t known each other well at the time, she’d sent me a message to see how I was doing. She was the one in the hospital, the one going through physical therapy and adjusting to her new wheelchair, but she was checking on me.
We’d texted back and forth for a few weeks. That’s when the text chain between the five of us had gotten started. Ashley was the one to bring us together. She’d been the one to reach out to all of us, to create a network for all of the survivors, so that we had a safe space to yell or vent or cry when no one else could handle what was going on in our heads.
All of the survivors but Kellie, of course.
I didn’t know why she’d been left out of the group at the time. I’d assumed it was because Ashley hadn’t found a way to get ahold of her number yet. Or maybe that’s just what I wanted to believe. I’d known people in town were angry with Kellie about something. I’d seen some of the harassment firsthand. But I was still very much in the dark about so many things that had happened during the shooting.
Or things people said had happened.
It had been weeks before I’d even heard about the rumors regarding Sarah. Mom had worked hard to keep most of the gossip and news away from me. At the time I hated her for it, but I think I understand why now. It was just so much. It was everywhere and constant, and I was barely getting by as it was. I felt like I was always either sobbing or screaming, and the only times I felt any sense of calm were when I was with the others.
Which was why I wanted to visit Ashley. I’d had to beg Mom to take me. She hadn’t wanted to at first. She thought the hospital might be too much for me, and as much as I resented her for coddling me, she wasn’t wrong. Walking through those sterile halls, hearing coughing patients, crying families, it all just reminded me of inevitable death.
But, hey, what didn’t?
Mom dropped me off and went to run errands, promising she’d be back in exactly an hour. I found Ashley’s room with the help of a nurse. She was sitting in her wheelchair, dressed in some comfy-looking purple pajamas, and she’d just turned on the TV when I walked in. She turned and grinned at me when I tapped on the open door.
“Lee!” she said. “Come in, come in! Oh my gosh, you cut your hair!”
I reached up and touched the soft fluff at the top of my head, barely long enough to call a pixie cut. The hairdresser had had no choice but to buzz most of it off after I’d attacked it with the kitchen scissors a few weeks earlier. “Yeah. I, um, didn’t like it long anymore.”
“It looks nice. Very edgy,” she said. “Guess what I’m doing right now.”
“Watching TV?”
“Well, yeah,” she said. “But not just any TV. Saturday morning cartoons. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve watched Saturday morning cartoons? Because I don’t even think I remember the last time.”
“Me either,” I said, glancing up at the television screen. It was some show I didn’t recognize. “I don’t think I even know what airs on Saturday mornings anymore.”
“Let’s find out,” she said.
You’d think it would’ve been weirder, seeing her for the first time since the shooting. Especially since we weren’t friends before. I expected things to be awkward or depressing. She was still in the hospital, after all. And maybe there was a little bit of unease at first, on my part, but that faded fast. We watched cartoons for a while, Ashley occasionally asking me about the other survivors: how Denny’s physical therapy was going, if I’d talked to Miles recently. She told me about one of the cute male nurses and how she was finishing out her senior year with a tutor.
I think one reason it felt so difficult to be around people back then—and even now sometimes—is that they only had two responses to the shooting. They either wanted to talk about it constantly, ask questions, hear the details, or they wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened at all. Like maybe if no one mentioned it, I’d forget. Ashley didn’t do either of those things. We didn’t talk much about the shooting, but when it came up, we didn’t try to ignore it, either.
And when it did come up, toward the end of our visit, it gave me my answer about why Ashley had only connected five of the six survivors.
“It’s crazy about Sarah, huh?”
The question seemed to come out of nowhere. I turned away from the television and focused on Ashley, but she wasn’t looking at me. Her eyes were still on the cartoons, but I noticed that she was twisting locks of her dirty-blond hair around her fingers.
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s … it’s something.”
“She was so brave,” Ashley said.
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. Brave. It had only been six weeks, and I already hated that word. At the time, I was convinced the only one of us who had really been brave was Miles, and even he changed the subject any time someone mentioned how he’d thrown himself on Ashley.
Sarah hadn’t been brave. Sarah had been terrified.
But before I could even think about how to bring that up to Ashley, she continued. “It’s disgusting what Kellie Gaynor is trying to do.”
I blinked at her, confused. “Kellie?”
Ashley turned her head to face me then. “I figured, of all people, you’d be the most angry. Well, you and Sarah’s parents.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t heard?” Ashley asked. “Oh. I assumed you … Well, prepare to be furious, I guess. Kellie has been going around telling everyone that necklace—the one the police found in the bathroom—was hers.”
Her words settled slowly, bringing with them a sinking realization. I’d known the necklace wasn’t Sarah’s as soon as I heard the rumors, but I’d never considered who it might have actually belonged to. We lived in a rural, religious community, and that was a highly trafficked girls’ bathroom. That cross necklace could have been lost earlier in the day. It could have belonged to any girl at VCHS.
I’m ashamed to admit this, but I’d never even considered that it might have been Kellie’s, even though she was the only other person in the bathroom with Sarah and me when the shooting happened. She didn’t strike me as the kind of girl who’d wear a cross around her neck, so I’d never put those puzzle pieces together.
But she was saying it was hers.
And I knew it wasn’t Sarah’s.
That was why she was being harassed. That was why Ashley had excluded her from our survivors’ network.
Why we were five instead of six.
“I know,” Ashley said, clearly misinterpreting the look on my face. “It’s ridiculous. I can’t believe anyone would be awful enough to try and take this away from Sarah. But at least no one believes her. I mean, who would believe her of all people … ? Lee?”
I was on my feet, though I didn’t remember standing up. I cleared my throat. Then did it again. But the tightness there didn’t want to go away. I was surprised and confused. I should’ve corrected her then, but it would’ve meant explaining the whole truth about Sarah, and I wasn’t sure how to even begin with that yet.
“It’s been an hour,” I managed to say. “Mom is probably waiting for me. I should go.”
“Oh, okay,” Ashley said. “Perfect timing, actually. My parents should be here soon. They promised to bring me Long John Silver’s for lunch.”
I raised an eyebrow at her.
“What?” she asked. “My sister doesn’t get it, either, but I swear their fish is really good. Especially if you put some vinegar on it. Oof.” She shook her head. “Crap, now I’m starving. I hope they get here soon.”
I walked over to her and leaned down to give her a hug. Her arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders. In the years that followed, I’d come to regard Ashley’s hugs as the best in the world. But that day, her embrace didn’t warm me the way it eventually would. I felt cold. Numb.
Looking back, it feels like I should’ve been more upset. Or angry. Or guilty. This realization about Kellie should have impacted me more than it did. But I think my body and mind were so exhausted by that point that this bit of news just pushed me over the edge into emptiness.
“Hey,” Ashley said as I pulled away and moved to leave the room. “Take care of yourself, okay? If you need anything, call me.”
I nodded. A lot of people said things like that, but Ashley actually meant it. She was there for all of us.
Most of us.
I don’t know how she feels about me right now, after everything that’s happened. I don’t know if we’ll ever get back to being the kind of friends we were before I started writing this letter. And God, if she ever reads this …
Anyway, there is one thing I do know. And that’s that, despite the issues with Sarah and Kellie, I’m grateful to Ashley. I’ll always appreciate how much she cared, how genuine and giving she was. Even if, these days, there’s a good chance she hates me.