Between These Lines (A Young Adult Novel) (24 page)

Chapter Forty

Evie

“Is it
Friday yet?” Tara bit the polish off her nails and spit the bits of color out
of her mouth, letting them scatter to the ground like confetti.
 

“Nope,
it’s Tuesday.” I let the papers I’d been looking through rest in my lap. It was
actually nice out today, perfect for our free period, and we were sitting on
our sweaters beneath the trees on The Green, enjoying the tiny patch of grass
between the two buildings that made up our school.

She
exhaled a huge breath and flopped herself back flat on the grass. “I swear the
clocks in this school are rigged.”

I
barely paid attention to Tara, and instead, found myself staring across at the
breezeway, as if expecting someone to walk through it.
Expecting him
.
Knowing I’d never see the flip of hair, never see the comforting chocolate eyes
that stared into me like no one else had.

“Evie,”
she whispered.

“I
can’t talk about it yet. Please don’t try.”

Since
the party Tara had changed, as if the cruel sarcastic Tara sloughed away
leaving a softer, tender one behind. She nodded, giving me space. I had said my
goodbyes the only way I knew how, and now, there was one more thing to do, and
it was killing me.

When
enough silence had passed for her liking she exhaled a long breath and sat up.
“Think it’ll be the same around here?”

I
didn’t answer.
It’ll never be the same.

“He’ll
probably come back.” Tara’s voice was cautious.

That’s
impossible
,
I thought, but then I realized she was talking about Shane. I looked at her and
didn’t quite know what to make of the look in her eyes. She was sorry. She
didn’t have to actually come out and say it, but I could tell. She was sorry
for what she knew, for what she’d covered up—for everything. Her gaze
dipped to her hands, which rested uncomfortably in her lap. “I hope he doesn’t
come back for a long time.”

It
didn’t matter if he did. Things were different now. I was different now.

Tara
rifled through her bag then brushed something against my arm. “It’s today’s.”

I
gingerly took the newspaper from her and read the headline to myself. I’d
expected to see Chase’s picture, expected the horrific timeline of the other
night in detail—the prank exposed, the loss—feeling more
responsible than anyone gave me credit for, but Shane’s yearbook picture stared
back at me, not Chase’s. I scanned the article then looked up at Tara.

“He
was arrested this morning.” Her voice was a tiny earthquake. “Conspiracy. Drug
charges. Malicious intent. . .
 
and
rape.”

My
face paled.

Nervous,
I skimmed the story again. There it was, in black and white: the proof. The
true account of Shane’s dark soul. And to my relief, there was no mention of
the girl Shane had assaulted. No name. No indication at all. No minor, cryptic
reference to me or that night in the kitchen.

“How?”
I looked up, studying Tara’s face for a clue.

“The
party. I was drunk. I never said yes to him.” Awkward silence ensued. “And
neither did you.”

Without
realizing it, my hand found its way up to my cheek. “But I never told you he .
. . hurt me like
that
.”

“You
didn’t have to.”

I
rose to my feet, wiped the grass off my skirt, and tugged at the tops of my
knee socks.

“Uniforms
are pretty lame, aren’t they?” Tara mumbled. I knew her well enough that she
wanted to say a whole lot more on the subject, but was holding back because of
me.

“Pretty
much.”

“I
still wish it was Friday.”

We
grabbed our bags and headed toward the main building together. “Don’t worry,
you’ll get to wear those new jeans soon enough.”

“I’m
not patient.”

“You
never were.”

“Still
can’t believe Headmaster Whitley’s letting us wear our own clothes every
Friday. But it’s cool.”

I
watched as she shook her head, trying not to look too excited. Mr. Floyd had
convinced the Board that while we were still a unified group of peers, it was
best to let us show our differences every once in a while.

“Oh,
before I forget,” Tara reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a shiny
clear folder, then handed it to me.

Surprised,
I took it from her, watching how her eager face waited for me to say
something.
   

“Since
when do you type papers?”

“Yeah,
well, I figured I had to try it sometime. It’s for you. It’s the Sylvia Plath
paper. Don’t look too closely at the timeline. I’m not good at charts and
graphs yet.”

I
peeked at the contents, stunned at how thick it was. A lot of work went into
this.

“Tara,
this is amazing.

“I
owe you a lot more,” she said quietly.

If
I answered her or prodded her to go on, she’d slug my arm, so I looped mine
through hers and we crossed the grass.

There
was a scar beneath my shirt and I felt the cool cotton brush against it as we
walked. It was tender and fanned out across my skin and into my heart where the
tissue was thinnest there. Now and then I felt it squeeze, and those were the
days the tears usually came back, but today wasn’t one of those days. Today was
a day where the scar felt warm, comforting, and full of remembrance. I could
think about him without falling apart. I could see him for who he was and never
again have to figure out what was hidden in between.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

For
my family, who has always understood that I carry a constant supply of words
and characters in my head. Thank you for giving me the love and support I’ve
needed to turn those stories into books.

Amanda
Luedeke, you are a fearless agent ~ wise and encouraging ~ thank you for
believing in the manuscripts I’ve sent you and helping me turn them into
something beautiful and bright.

Thank
you Ashley Supinski and Mary Niclaus for encouraging me to dig a bit more,
uncover, clarify, and polish this story to a sheen ~ you’re an amazing
editorial team!

To
Angela Llamas for creating such a haunting cover.

To
Cyn Balog & Angela Corbett for being my lifelines, my caffeine when I’ve
run out of coffee, shoulders to lean on, and the sweetest friends I could ever
know.

Laura
L. Smith, Laura Anderson Kurk, Stephanie Morrill and Rajdeep Paulus ~ Amanda
sure knew what she was doing when she paired us up together ~ I am so excited
and honored to launch Playlist YA Fiction with you!

Christian
& Megan ~ thanks for putting up with your mom . . . who had an idea for a
book . . . again.

And
for Chris ~ there are never any lines to read between when I’m with you. I love
you with all my heart.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jennifer
Murgia is the author of Young Adult Fantasy novels ANGEL STAR, LEMNISCATE and
the prequel novella THE BLISS (Lands Atlantic Publishing).

She is the
co-founder and coordinator for YAFest—an annual teen book festival in
Easton, PA, and a Next Generation Indie Award Nominee. She currently resides in
Pennsylvania with her husband, two children and a very spoiled cat.

Visit her
website at
http://www.jennifermurgia.com

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