Lost Girls(13)

I stumbled backward, blinking as if it could make these cruel words disappear. My stomach ached, just like someone had punched me, and I curled over, gulping for air.

That’s how I was when Kyle found me. Everyone at school had acted like they all missed me terribly. In every class, people had greeted me with hugs, showing me their pink wristbands. But according to those dangling pieces of paper, some of those people secretly hated me and wished I’d been found dead on the side of the freeway.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Kyle said. He pushed me away from the tree and made me sit on the curb. Then I heard him yank down those last notes, felt the snow of petals fall around me as he pulled on one cherry branch after another. I was hyperventilating, my head in my hands. “Stupid, jealous twats!” he grumbled as he ripped up the notes and slivers of paper began to join the falling petals, white and white and searing black, snippets of words swirling over my shoulder.

bitch—

dead—

kidnappers—

Tears began to fall, too, but they couldn’t wash away the pain. “I shouldn’t have come back to school,” I said, one hand still clutching Dylan’s illegible poem.

Kyle put one hand on my shoulder and knelt beside me. “No. You did the right thing. It’s what you wanted to do, even though you knew it would be tough. So the hard part’s over. You found out there are some nasty bitches in high school. But we already knew that, didn’t we? In case you’re wondering, there are plenty of pricks here, too—”

He was on a rant and he may not have meant to, but he made me smile. Somehow this was all about him now.

“They pick on you in PE because you’re not big enough or strong enough or fast enough. The big dicks shove you around in the showers and the little pricks stand there and laugh, glad it isn’t them for a change. I know girls are just as bad, only in different ways. It’s a zoo in there,” he said, tossing his thumb back toward the school building, “and nobody cares enough to do anything about it.”

Still wobbly after having my guts ripped out by the notes, I held my little brother’s hand as he helped me back to my feet.

“Do they really pick on you that much?” I asked. “How long has that been going on?”

He didn’t answer. He blinked fast, just like I had earlier, probably fighting emotions he was trying to hold inside. We headed toward the parking lot, side by side, until we had to weave our way through the rows of cars. Then he walked in front of me, as if he wanted to protect me from whatever might be up ahead. Even the set of his shoulders and the angle of his jawline—exposed every time he swung his head to the side, as he swept a gaze at passing students—told me he was concerned about me.

Part of me was worried about him, too.

I wouldn’t have been able to stand it if that memorial had been set up for him, if my little brother had been the one who had gone missing, all those handwritten notes waving in the breeze as if they could magically take away the pain. There weren’t enough words in the world to take away that kind of hurt.

I paused in front of my Volkswagen, keys in my hand.

There had been only three freshly written notes hanging from that tree, and all three slips of paper had contained harsh words. But if someone really hated me that much, wouldn’t there have been more messages, ones that had been hanging there longer, blurred by the rain and the dew?

“Kyle, were there more notes like the ones you took down today?” I asked.

He almost looked at me, but averted his eyes at the last second. “Maybe.”

A small thud of grief hit me in the chest. My little brother must have been going to that tree every day and taking down all the horrid notes, all those mean-spirited messages spiraling in the wind, as if casting an evil spell, as if by wishing it, they could put me in the ground and keep me there.

“Kyle?” I said.

“Huh?”

“Thanks for being a good brother.”

I unlocked the doors and we climbed into my car, the engine purring and the sounds of the outside world fading away. We drove home in silence, my thoughts returning to the notes Kyle had ripped up and the fact that not everyone at Lincoln High was glad I was back.

“Hey,” I said, not taking my eyes off the road as I drove past our house, toward the trails where he and I had gone hiking last week. “You still want me to teach you that move, the one where I throw you to the ground?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.” I turned off my car and swung the door open. “Come on. Maybe it’ll help you knock some of those school bullies on their asses for a change.”





Chapter Ten


Dinner was already on the table when we got home, but Mom and Dad were waiting for us on the front porch. Mom had the night off and she sipped a glass of wine as she followed us inside the house. I could tell Dad wanted to say something. But the barrage of twenty questions didn’t begin until Kyle and I started eating.

“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” Mom asked. “We were one step away from calling the police. Your dad was out for an hour, driving around, looking for you.”

Kyle did his best monosyllabic replies while Mom went on and on. “Fine. I dunno. Forgot.” He added a shrug now and then, and usually answered with his mouth full.

Dad stared at me for a long time. “Is everything okay?”