Denny’s scholarship letter blew my mind.
I don’t know why, but until I read his words, it had never occurred to me that any of the other survivors were struggling with how our stories were being told. I was so wrapped up in my guilt over what had happened with Sarah and Kellie that I’d never even considered the other narratives being spun. Knowing Denny had his own frustrations about how the world saw him made me feel less alone, but I wasn’t sure if it made me feel better.
What I did know was that I had to tell him the truth about Kellie and Sarah. Since reading the news about the McHales’ book, I’d felt constantly on edge, a buzzing hive of anxiety, and if I didn’t confide in someone, I thought I might burst. Now I was sure that if anyone would understand, it was Denny.
“I read your scholarship letter,” I told him over lunch the next day. We were sitting at one of the small round tables on the edge of the cafeteria, one that made it easy for me to see all of the exits. Miles was sitting next to me, his head resting on a thick book he’d been lugging everywhere for the past week, with his eyes closed. I wasn’t sure if he was awake or not. During our lunch hours, Denny and I usually did most of the talking.
Well, Denny did most of the talking.
“On a scale of one to ten, how brilliant am I?” Denny asked. “One is brilliant. Ten is brighter than the damn sun.”
“Negative four,” Miles said, not opening his eyes.
Denny laughed. “Accurate. But really. How bad is it, Lee?”
“It’s good,” I said. “It gave me a lot to think about.” I hesitated as I speared a small piece of the greasy school pizza with my fork. (Yes, I eat pizza with a fork. You are free to judge me. Miles and Denny have already informed me of just how unacceptable this is.) Just before I put the fork to my lips, I added, “I was actually hoping to talk to you more about it after school.”
“You mean like give me notes or help me edit it?” he asked.
My mouth was full, so I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me. I’d known Denny for most of my life and been friends with him for the past three years. It was embarrassing how often I still made little mistakes like this. I chewed and swallowed quickly, then answered, “Yeah. Something like that. I can give you and Glitter a ride home after school if that’s okay.”
“Okay? That’d be great,” Denny said. “Any day I don’t have to worry about maneuvering Glitter around a school bus is a good day.” He reached down to where the yellow Lab was lying next to his seat. She lifted her head, pushing her nose against his palm. I watched as he ran his hand backward across her muzzle and to the top of her head, where he began scratching her ears.
Then I felt a pair of eyes on me.
Miles had lifted his head, and he was raising a questioning eyebrow at me.
“You … don’t mind taking the bus home, right?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s fine.” But he didn’t take his eyes off me. He knew something was going on. Or else I would have just asked him to tag along for the extra stop on our way home. He didn’t ask, though. I’d known he wouldn’t.
But Denny did.
That afternoon, when I parked my truck in his driveway and proceeded to sit there quietly for a minute, not sure how to begin what I wanted to tell him, he did the work for me.
“I’m going to guess this isn’t about my letter.”
“What?”
He lifted a shoulder. “You told Miles to take the bus home. It’s not hard to figure out something is up, because my scholarship letter doesn’t warrant this kind of secrecy. So what’s going on?”
I let out a breath. “It is sort of about your letter, actually,” I said.
“Really? Crap. Now I’m worried.”
“Don’t be,” I told him. “At least … not about your letter. It’s good. Really good. And it made me think about some stuff … about the shooting.”
“Oh,” Denny said. “Well, this sounds like it’s going to be a pretty heavy conversation, so I vote that we get out of this truck, raid my fridge, and head to the backyard so Glitter can take a break while we talk.”
“I can get behind that.”
Ten minutes later, with sodas and a bag of freshly popped popcorn in hand, Denny and I were making our way through his house and toward the back door. Glitter was out of her harness now, closely following behind Denny, with her eyes fixed on the bag of popcorn.
“Glitter, please stay out from under my feet,” he said as she bumped up against him. “She’s trained not to expect food from people, and usually she’s good about it, but I swear, she loses her mind over popcorn.”
“Can you blame her?”
He laughed. “Not really. Popcorn is God’s food.”
“Did you know Miles hates popcorn?”
“Does he? I think I might have to end our friendship over that. Shame. I was starting to like him.”
He navigated through the house smoothly, without the help of Glitter or the cane he used before getting her back in the fall. The only sign that he couldn’t see was the way he occasionally held out a hand to find the wall he knew was close by. When we reached the back door, he unlocked it with one hand and pulled it open. He’d barely pushed on the screen door before Glitter bolted past him, out into the fenced-in yard, nearly knocking Denny off his feet.
“God, Glitter,” he said, holding back a laugh as he stepped out onto the little wooden deck.
Glitter was already running around the yard in large circles, a tennis ball that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere clutched between her jaws. Even though I’ve seen her like this plenty of times since Denny got her, it’s always startling. She’s so calm, so focused when her harness is on. Denny says it’s like her business suit. When it’s on, she knows it’s time to be professional. But the second it’s off, it’s time to party.
We sat down on the steps, the warm bag of popcorn between us.
“Okay,” he said, carefully popping the tab on his can of soda. “Now that we have our supplies, tell me what’s going on.”
I heard a light tapping sound on the wooden planks and it took a minute to realize it was my foot hitting the bottom step, bouncing with nervous energy. Talking to Denny seemed like the right thing, like I might finally be able to get this off my chest and tell someone who would understand. But now that I was here, with him ready to listen, I felt like I might combust from the anxiety.
“Lee? You okay?”
Spit it out, I told myself. Just say it. It’s time to say it.
“It wasn’t Sarah’s necklace.”
The words came out in a rush, a single, shaking breath.
Denny just sat there for a second, a fistful of popcorn frozen in midair, halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he lowered his hand. “Wait … what?”
My leg wasn’t the only thing shaking now. My hands were, too. I folded them tightly in my lap. “The necklace they found in the bathroom, it wasn’t hers. I don’t know how that rumor got started, but it wasn’t Sarah’s. And she never said anything to him. Not a word.”
“Are … Sorry, but are you sure?”
“Positive,” I said. “I don’t know what else happened in the bathroom. I don’t know what really happened with Kellie. But the story about Sarah isn’t true.”
“Wow,” Denny said. “That’s … wow.” He shook his head. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Your letter got me thinking,” I said. “About all the misconceptions people have about the shooting. About us. I guess for a long time I thought it was just me—just Sarah’s story that people got wrong. But I don’t think it was. I know it’s different, what you were writing about, but … I don’t know.”
“It is different,” he said. “But I think I get what you’re saying.”
“And then I was thinking about what you said on the anniversary,” I continued. “About how when we graduate, the last people who were really there will be gone. And everyone at VCHS will just be going off of what they heard or saw on the news and … and that’ll become fact. And then the McHales’ book will be coming out …”
“I heard about that,” Denny said. “Have you told them about this? About Sarah?”
“No.” I chewed on my bottom lip, my stomach writhing with guilt. “I almost did. A few years ago. But I … I felt like I would’ve been taking something away from them. Like they really needed to believe the story. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
“That’s tough,” he said.
“I know it’s three years too late, but I’ve got to do something. I just keep thinking about Kellie. I don’t know what really went down with her in the bathroom that day, but she was right that the Sarah thing didn’t happen. And you remember what happened to her. I didn’t do anything then and I know I should have. I need to now. I just don’t know who to tell. Or how.”
“You didn’t even tell Detective Jenner?” Denny asked. “When he questioned you after?”
“I hadn’t heard the story yet when I talked to him. I just told him the basics. That he came in, that we were in a stall, and that he killed her. When Detective Jenner tried to ask me more, I … I started having a flashback and freaked out, so we cut it short. He probably would have asked me about the necklace if I hadn’t. I don’t know. I screwed this up bad, didn’t I?”
“You were a fourteen-year-old who’d just seen her friend killed. I think you can be forgiven for being a mess afterward.”
I wasn’t sure I could, though. Not when it led to someone else getting hurt.
“Maybe Detective Jenner is a good place to start,” he suggested. “No matter what you decide to do next, he should know.”
I let out a long breath. I was sure Denny was right—if anyone should know, it was the officer who had investigated the shooting—but he was also one of the last people I wanted to see. He entered my life during its darkest days, when I was barely sleeping, having frequent panic attacks, and still trying to find the right dose of medication. I’ve come a long way since then, but I still feel like I’m walking along a tightrope. One misstep, one wrong move, and I could go spiraling back to where I was three years ago.
Denny couldn’t read my mind the way Miles could, but it didn’t take a telepath to know what I must’ve been thinking in that moment. I’m sure all of us associated Detective Jenner with the same thing. He was a nice enough man, but none of us were eager to see him ever again.
Still, Denny said, “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t have—”
“I know I don’t have to,” he said. “But I will. We can go after school later this week. I’ll make up an excuse for my parents.”
Glitter darted toward us then, slobbery tennis ball in her mouth. She dropped it at my feet, then hopped up, putting her front paws on my knees and licking my cheek. As if to say, And I’ll come, too.
Despite myself, I laughed.
“Okay,” I said, scratching her ears. “Thank you.” Then, as she departed from my lap and did another loop around the yard, I reached over and put a hand on Denny’s shoulder. “Really. Thank you. You’re a good friend.”
“Oh, I know,” he said. “I’m the best.”