Harder (Caroline & West #2)(70)

“I know how you feel.” So much of last year, I wanted to erase what happened to me. “But you know,” I say carefully, “when bad stuff like that happens, sometimes it can be good, too. Like, last year, this guy I used to care about, he wanted me to feel like I didn’t matter—like I was a bad person, and I deserved bad things to happen to me. So he did something to embarrass me online. And it worked. I felt awful. But then I figured out that he was wrong about me, and that he was the one who had a problem, not me. And it made me stronger.”

“How?”

“It’s hard to explain. I guess it’s that I don’t think anyone’s ever going to be able to do to me again what that guy did. I’m sure I’ll get hurt other ways, but not that way.”

I don’t realize until after the words are out of my mouth that I’m not just talking about Nate. I’m talking about West, too.

If it weren’t for Nate’s attack, I wouldn’t have been able to deal with what West did to me in Silt. But I can deal with it. Because I’m stronger.

I’m different.

And I’m glad for it.

“You know what I figured out?” I ask. “That only I get to decide what my actions mean. Only I get to choose how I feel about who I am and what I did. I get to define what I’ll accept and what I won’t. And that goes for you, too. You’re in charge of your life.”

She wrinkles her nose. “West is in charge of my life.”

“He’s in charge of keeping you alive and fed and all that, and making sure you have a chance to learn stuff and become a good person. You’re in charge of everything else. And you know, what Clint did, that sucks. It should never have happened. I’m sorry it did happen. But the thing to remember is, he was the one with the problem, not you. You were the one who fought back. Not in the most constructive way possible, I think we can agree …”

She cuts me a glance. Smiles when she sees I’m smiling.

“… but you know you have it in you. You can stand up for yourself and take down the guy who’s threatening you. And that has to feel pretty good, right?”

Frankie nods. “He’s afraid of me now.”

“Awesome. Just so long as you don’t use your mighty fists again, right?”

“Right.” Frankie tilts her head, thinking. “Is the guy who tried to hurt you afraid of you?”

I see it in my head—Nate passing me on my way home from class. Glancing to the side so he doesn’t have to meet my eyes.

“I think he kind of is, actually. But what matters to me even more is that I’m not afraid of him.” I wiggle my toes. “Are these done?”

“Yeah, but you can’t walk around for a while.”

“You want to make some popcorn?”

“Movie style?”

“Is there any other way?”

“No.”

“You’ll have to do the hard work, though,” I say. “Since I can’t move.”

“I know how.”

Frankie skips over to the cabinet to get out the air popper.

Skips.

I wish West could see her. I’ll tell him later tonight, when he gets back from working with Laurie.

I’ll tell him all of this, because it will help remind him that even though she’s struggling, his sister is amazing and resilient.

So am I.


Bridget uses tongs to pick four hard-boiled eggs out of the bowl on the salad bar.

“Can you make some for me?” I ask.

“Sure.” She adds three more eggs. “Are you going to do a sandwich?”

“Maybe just on crackers.”

“Okay. Pick me up some bread, and I’ll get the mayo.”

It’s halfway through December, and we’re in the dining hall, grabbing lunch between classes. This has been our Wednesday thing since freshman year, and even though we’re both off the meal plan, eating most of our meals at the house, we still do Wednesdays.

Or we try to. I missed last Wednesday because I had to go to Iowa City for depositions with my lawyer in the afternoon. Those weren’t too bad, but this morning I had to get up at the ass-crack of dawn and drive to Iowa City again, this time to be deposed by Nate’s legal team.

November belonged to West, although I spent a couple days with my dad at Thanksgiving.

December belongs to the case.

“You want me to get your drinks?” Bridget’s scooping low-fat mayo into a bowl.

“Yeah, maybe two waters and a skim milk?” The dining hall uses these tiny glasses, so you have to take three or four to get enough liquid.

I carry the drinks, bread, crackers, and the bowl of soup I got on the line over to the table by the window where Bridget and I like to sit. She’s already there, mashing up hard-boiled eggs with a fork. There’s a pile of finely diced dill pickle on a plate. I slide into my seat and reach for the celery stalk.

I dice with a butter knife, remembering the first time I saw her make egg salad with ingredients off the salad bar. It was just a few days into first-year orientation. I was so glad, then, to have been assigned to Bridget by the housing gods, because here was a girl with ideas.

Here was a friend who was smart and kind and matched to me in every way that mattered.

She finishes mixing mayonnaise into the bowl of eggs. “I can take that celery.”