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today,” she says.

“Hmm?” I fl oat next to her, letting the water support my body.

“Amber said she saw Cody buying condoms at the drug store last

week.”

I reach above my head, pulling my arms through the water full

circle, propelling myself away from her.

I’m not fast enough. She jerks forward, off her back, water splash-

ing everywhere as she treads water, facing me. “You didn’t!” When I

don’t say anything or look at her, she says, “Oh my God, you
did
.”

“So what if I did?” I ask, and it comes out way more defensive than

I intend. Cody and I had been dating for months; it had seemed like

the thing to do. I just didn’t want to tell anyone aft erward.

She should know how good I am at pretending. It’s all we do. It’s

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F A R F R O M Y O U

all I do. I pretend that I don’t hurt, that I want Cody, that I don’t want

her, that I’m not taking too many pills, that my virginity had been

important.

It hadn’t been. It only means something when it’s with the right

person. And I couldn’t have her.

“I can’t b-believe . . .” Mina stutters. “Oh my God.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I mumble.

“Yes it
is
!” She says it so quickly, and I can hear the catch in her

voice.

Like she’s about to cry.

“Mina.” I start to swim over to her, but she turns from me, dives

deep. She glides under the water, and when she surfaces I can’t tell if

it’s tears or lake water dripping down her face.

We never talk about it again.

A week later, Mina and I are at a party at Amber’s when Amber way-

lays me, walking across the crowded deck with a self-satisfi ed smile

on her face.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Amber demands, twirling her sun-

streaked hair around her fi nger. We’re outside. Amber’s house is next

to the river, and I’ve been zoning out, staring at the ducks riding the

current downstream.

“What?”

“You mean Mina didn’t tell
you
?” Amber’s eyes widen. “Maybe I

shouldn’t say anything. . . .”

“Amber, out with it,” I snap. I can be a bitch when I need to be.

And no matter how much Amber would like it to be her,
I’m
Mina’s

best friend.

“Mina’s totally sleeping with Jason Kemp.”

T E S S S H A R P E

145

“What?” I can feel blood drain from my face. I have to tighten my

hold on my cup so I don’t drop it.

I look for Mina immediately, instinctively. When our eyes meet

across the deck, I understand: she planned it, she wanted it this way,

she’d just been waiting for me to fi nd out—and I hate her for it.

It’s the most vicious thing she’s ever done to me, but really, how

can I blame her?

Two weeks aft er that, two weeks of her hanging off Jason’s neck, of

them making out
everywhere
, of that gleam in her eye, the way she’s

pushing at me, punishing me, I fi nally can’t handle it anymore. I’m

sobbing as I crush the pills.

I’ve been on the edge of this for months, gulping down too many,

numbing myself to the pain. Numbing myself to her. This is the inevi-

table next step down, the evolution of my fall.

It’s like a roller coaster, the dip and slide searing through me,

going straight to my head. The buzz—fl eeting, but oh so good—fl oods

me, and I’m reaching for more before it vanishes completely. Anything

to erase her from me.

But some marks, they don’t fade. No matter what.

31

NOW (JUNE)

When I get home, I stare at the evidence board on my mat-

tress because I can’t think about anything else. I take Kyle’s

picture down, rip it in half, and toss it on the fl oor, barely

resisting the urge to stomp on it a few times.

“Sophie?” My mom knocks on my door. “Your dad said

your knee was hurting. I came home to check on you.”

“Just a second.” I scramble to push my mattress down.

My sheets are in a tangle on the fl oor, and I don’t have the

time to do anything but pile them on the bed, shoving

Kyle’s torn picture under my pillow and throwing myself

on top of the mess. “Come in.”

She frowns when she sees me, fl ushed and guilty- looking.

Knowing Mom, she probably has a numbered list of things

to watch out for when it comes to her junkie daughter.

“What are you hiding?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I say.

“Sophie.”

I sigh, reach next to my bed, and grab the shoebox

stashed underneath my nightstand. I fl ip it open, spill the

contents onto the bed. Photos spread everywhere. “I was

looking at pictures.”

T E S S S H A R P E

147

My mom’s face softens, and she picks up a photo, one of

me and Mina, our arms wrapped around each other, neon-

green swim caps clashing horribly with our pink tie-dyed

racing suits. “This was before your growth spurt,” she says.

I take the photo from her, trying to remember when it

was taken; some sunny day during swim practice. Mina’s

missing her front tooth, which means we must’ve been

about ten. She’d pitched headfi rst off her bike that summer,

racing me. Trev had run all the way home with her in his

arms, and later I found him checking her bike to make sure

it was safe.

“That was before a lot of things,” I say. I put the photo

back into the box, grabbing up others, shoving them out of

sight.

“I want to talk to you.” Mom sits down on the edge of

my bed, and I keep on putting the photos away to give

myself something to do. I pause at the photo of Trev and

me, standing on the deck of his boat, sticking our tongues

out. There’s a pink blur on the side of the photo: the edge of

Mina’s fi nger, obscuring the lens.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did about your college

essay,” Mom continues. “I’m sorry. You should be able to

write about anything you’d like.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

She takes another photo, this one of me, fat and happy

in the lap of Aunt Macy. “You know,” she says quietly, “my

mother died of an overdose.”

I look up, and I’m so surprised she’s brought it up that

I drop the stack of photos. “I know,” I say, bending over

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F A R F R O M Y O U

quickly to pick them up, grateful I won’t have to look at her

right away.

Mom rarely talks about my grandmother. My grandpa

lives on fi fty acres of wilderness, in a house he built with

his own hands. After the crash, he’d clapped his hand (a

little too hard) on my shoulder and said, “You’ll get through

this.”

It’d been almost an order, but I’d felt comforted by it, like

it was a promise at the same time.

“I was the one who found her,” Mom says. “I was fi f-

teen. It was one of the worst moments of my life. When

your father searched your room . . . when I realized that

you could’ve followed her down that path . . . when I real-

ized that someday I might walk into your room and you

wouldn’t be breathing . . . I knew I’d failed you.”

It’s unimaginable, the words coming out of her mouth.

She
had
failed me, but only after I’d recovered. She’d refused

to see the changes in me, the things I’d overcome and

accepted about myself—the ones she never could. She’d

stood there, stone-faced to my begging and tears, my heart

still a fresh wound pouring out grief and shock, and she’d

seen it all as guilt and lies.

I hate it, but there’s a part of me, the sliver that’s not

consumed by Mina, that can understand why she and Dad

didn’t believe me. Why they shoved me into rehab and

practically threw away the key. They wanted any way to

keep me safe.

I understand.

I just can’t forgive them for it yet.

32

ONE YEAR AGO (SIXTEEN YEARS OLD)

Adam’s back fi eld is crowded with people. School’s fi nally done and

his mom is out of town, leaving him and his brother to throw a party

that everyone from two counties seems to have shown up for.

Aft er waiting forever for the bathroom and a much-needed pill

break, I head outside to fi nd Mina and Amber. I stumble down the

desk steps, and I tell myself it’s because of my leg.

It’s not.

“Hey, Sophie, careful.” Adam hurries over from the cluster of kegs

and coolers at the end of the deck, grabbing my arm. He leads me over

to the picnic table, where Amber is sitting next to a tray of Jell-O shots.

“Having fun?” she asks me as Adam slips his arm around her

waist.

“Yeah,” I lie. It’s sweltering, and I’d rather be home than out here,

getting drunk and bitten by mosquitoes. I’ve already had a few drinks,

but I take the little plastic cup Amber hands me, and we tap them

together before popping them back. Fake cherry and vodka slide

across my tongue, and I swallow hard.

“Where’s Mina?” Amber asks.

“Not sure,” I say.

“I saw her in the house earlier with Jason,” Adam says. He squeezes

Amber’s waist, pulling her closer as music suddenly booms through

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F A R F R O M Y O U

the yard. “Oh, you gotta dance with me, babe.” And Amber grins at

me as I wave them off .

I abandon the Jell-O shots and walk back in the house, weaving

my way around the crowd of older people, Adam’s brother holding

court among them. They were defi nitely Matt’s friends, if the smell of

pot coming off them is any indication.

I’m walking through the kitchen and into the living room when I

hear it.

“Screw you, Jason!”

I walk in on the tail end of the confrontation. Mina’s smack-dab in

a crowd of people, swaying on heels planted in the brown plush carpet.

She’s right up in her boyfriend’s face, and Jason clutches his red plastic

cup, looking miserable. People are staring, and I catch Kyle’s eye from

across the room. I mouth “How long?”

He shrugs and raises his eyebrows like,
Need some help?

I shake my head. They’ve been fi ghting on and off for a week now,

so I’m used to it. I walk over and grab her arm. She’s shaking, wobbly

in a too-many-Jell-O-shots way, and she stumbles against me in her

heels.

“You’re such a jerk!” She lunges at him, and I grab her by the waist,

struggling to stay balanced and restrain her at the same time. It’s kind

of hard considering I’m bordering on drunk and just snorted two lines

in the bathroom.

“I’m done, I’m done!” Mina says. It’s more for my benefi t, so I don’t

end up falling, because I will if she keeps this up. She rolls her eyes

when she realizes the room’s gone silent, everyone staring at her. “Let’s

go,” she huff s, and she stalks out of there, with me following, as usual.

“Um, Jason drove your car,” I say as I try to catch up with her. She’s

already halfway across Adam’s yard, heading toward the winding dirt

road that leads to the highway.

T E S S S H A R P E

151

“I took care of it,” she says. She stops, turns, and waits for me.

When I reach her, she loops her arm in mine.

Out here, away from lights and cloud cover, the stars shine amaz-

ingly bright, and Mina tilts her head up to look at them, a smile on

her face.

“I am
so
breaking up with him,” she announces. “And I don’t want

to talk about it anymore.”