Tease(51)

“They want me to make a plea bargain,” I tell him, finally. “And write a statement to Emma’s parents. And read it in court.”

He nods. “That sounds like a good plan,” he says. “You must be relieved.”

This idea stuns me so much I jerk back in my seat. “Why would I be relieved?” I almost shout.

Carmichael hesitates. “Because . . . well, because now you can just say how sorry you are. Right? And not . . . not go to trial, not have to deal with . . . um, whatever’s gonna happen after that . . .” We stop at a red light and he turns to look at me, concern and confusion all over his face.

“I didn’t do anything,” I say, my voice low but vicious, and he flinches. Typical. Just like everyone else, he shrinks back, afraid of me. Afraid of how angry I am. But I am angry—I’m furious. He doesn’t get it at all. No one gets it at all.

But a second later he’s reaching over to my side of the bench seat, trying to take my hand. It’s my turn to pull away, but he stays where he is, looking me in the eye for another long second before the light turns green and he pulls the truck forward again.

“I know you didn’t want her to kill herself, Sara, but you guys were pretty mean, right? You and Brielle, you guys are gorgeous, you were at the top of the, you know, the top of the high school food chain. Emma couldn’t fight back against all that. Don’t you feel bad about what happened to her?”

I’m breathing too fast. I feel a little faint. I’m hot and nauseated and I just have to get out of here. It feels like what happened at Teresa’s all over again, like my head is trying to float away from my body. I don’t even understand what he’s saying—me? On top of high school? I was clinging to one stupid guy and a couple of parties and Brielle’s coattails. I was nobody! He’s talking about Brielle. And, okay, maybe Brielle was too mean to Emma. Fine, maybe we both were. But I was just defending myself! I was just trying to—to keep things the way they were.

Finally, finally the truck is pulling into our neighborhood, and even though we’re still two blocks away from my house, I take off my seat belt and grab my purse.

Carmichael reaches out one more time. I shake my head, turning toward the window. When he eases into our driveway I yank the door open and jump out.

My feet hit the pavement and Alex is already outside, running down the walkway steps to greet us. Tommy was allowed to be the one in charge today—apparently he’s old enough not to burn the house down for two hours—and for a second I panic that something is wrong. And then I remember that something—everything—is totally wrong, just not with the boys.

“Mom’s been trying to call!” Alex is yelling before I’ve even closed the truck door behind me. “Are you okay? She didn’t know where you were!”

My throat is still tight, but I shake my head. “No,” I say. “I’m okay, buddy, it’s fine.”

At the front door I see Tommy, a dark, unhappy shape in the middle of the sunny afternoon. We match, I think. But we don’t go together. He turns and slams back through the door without a word.

Carmichael’s out of the truck and coming around it, saying hi to Alex and still trying to catch my eye. I wish I could just follow Tommy into the house, but I finally manage to gather my dignity and my manners and say, “Thanks for the ride. I’m really sorry I had to call you.”

“No, I’m glad you did,” he says, and there’s too much feeling in his voice. What does he think, he’s going to fix this? My life? It’s so broken I can’t even remember what it looked like before.

Alex is looking at us like we’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. I put my arm around his shoulders and say, “Come on, let’s get back inside.” He walks with me, but he turns back to wave good-bye to Carmichael. I don’t. I turn away as soon as I can, trying to keep Alex from seeing how awful everything is.

But I don’t turn quite fast enough, because I still see Carmichael’s face—that look of betrayal, of disappointment. Of disgust. That look that says She doesn’t understand at all.

And he’s right. I really, really don’t.

In my room I unfold my laptop and do what I haven’t done in months—Google Emma Putnam.

Dylan’s name comes up right away. Apparently the dropped charges are something the papers can talk about. There are a lot of recent articles about the trial coming up, and Tyler’s name is in there. Brielle and Jacob and I aren’t named yet, we’re still just the “minors,” but Natalie says we’ll lose our anonymity when we go to court. She said sometimes you can make a deal where your name doesn’t get published, but Emma’s parents wouldn’t agree to that for any of us. And anyway, what difference does it make? Everyone knows who we are already.

All the articles talk about Emma like she was a saint, of course. Or like she wasn’t even a real person. Months of bullying and relationships with a few popular senior boys and physical assault and statutory rape jump out as I skim through.

“Emma was a new student who was trying to make friends, and instead made enemies of a few vicious girls in the junior class,” the prosecutor said in a statement.

Emma Putnam was just one month from her seventeenth birthday when she took her own life by hanging herself in the garage of her parents’ home.