The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett(86)

“Like, a million?”

“Yeah, right. Guys kiss Mychelle for one reason, and it has nothing to do with romance.”

It was a little crazy to think about. That while you were envying other people, they could be envying you too. It reminded me of something Connor had said, about life looking different depending on where you were standing.

“What about him?” I asked. “What’s Enzo doing with her?”

“I doubt Enzo could even answer that. He’s so broken, Hawthorn.”

Emily and I sat on my bed and talked and talked, and it was no different from every time we’d ever hung out, every sleepover we’d ever had. Except I’d never been so miserable before.

“You can say ‘I told you so’ if you want,” I said.

But she didn’t. Instead, she talked about how everything was going to be OK. Some of what she said was probably true, and some was probably to calm me down, but I appreciated it either way.

“I feel so stupid,” I said. “She was dead the whole time, Emily. From the very start.”

And then I cried again.

“Look, you made a mistake. Yeah, you should have known better. But it happened, and it’s over, and there’s nothing you can do about it now. You just have to move forward.”

“I can’t. I can’t deal with all of this.”

“You can,” Emily said. “You will.”

“Lizzie couldn’t. She gave up.”

“You’re stronger than Lizzie.”

That seemed absurd. How could I be more anything than Lizzie? Lizzie was perfect. Lizzie had everything. She was everything.

“Why do you think she did it?” I asked quietly.

Emily shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think we’ll ever know.”

“It’s weird. After all this time searching for her and trying to understand her life, I still don’t feel like I know her. Everyone I talked to saw her as a totally different person. And I thought it was intentional. Like Lizzie changed personalities depending on who she was with. But now, I don’t know.”

Emily thought about it for a moment. “Maybe people saw her the way they wanted to see her. Maybe that’s how it always is.”

If that was the case, I wondered how people saw me. How many different versions of Hawthorn Creely were out there in the world, living in people’s heads? How close were any of them to the actual me?

“If that’s true, then no one ever really knows anyone else. Not completely.”

“Maybe that’s OK,” Emily said.

Maybe. But maybe if someone had known Lizzie, really understood her, maybe she could have been saved.

“It’s so sad,” I said. “Lizzie had, like, a billion people who loved her and wanted to be around her. But in the end, she was as alone as the rest of us.”

Emily laughed. “Hawthorn, you’re not alone.”

I looked at Emily. As always, she was right. When I needed her, all I had to do was pick up the phone and call. Emily didn’t share all of my interests or condone all of my actions, but that didn’t make her any less of a friend.

“Thanks,” I said.

“For what?”

“For being here.” I paused, thinking of what Emily had said to me during our fight. “How have you been, Em?”

She tilted her head and gazed at me like I’d asked her a trick question. “I’ve been good,” she said cautiously.

“What’s been going on with you? I want to know everything I missed.”

“Even the stuff about Logan?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

“Especially the stuff about Logan.” I grinned. “Has he talked you into any tattoos yet?”

Emily laughed and threw a pillow at me.

“Come on,” I said. “Certainly something fascinating has happened in the past few weeks.”

“Are you sure you want to talk about this right now?”

“Positive,” I said.

“Well,” Emily started, still a little hesitant, “I told you about the music program.”

I nodded and settled myself more comfortably on the bed. I couldn’t bring Lizzie back to life. I couldn’t make Mychelle less horrible or make Enzo into the person I wanted him to be.

But my friendship with Emily was something I had control over. I could be there for her, the same way she was there for me. For once, I could shut up and listen.





Chapter 35


In the Woods, Again

I waited until the first big snow to return to the woods. It was way later than usual. We’d had flurries, but none of it stuck. Fall seemed to last forever, the trees barren except for the few leaves still managing to hold on, poised in some terrible in-between.

But one morning, I woke up to snow falling and collecting on the ground. I was ready for it. I grabbed my bag and left the house, careful not to wake my family.

I went to Lizzie and Enzo’s campsite first. I still thought of it that way, as belonging to them, even though I’d been there more with Enzo than Lizzie had. We had talked there and plotted there and fought there and kissed there. But it was the last place Lizzie and Enzo were together before she died, and that overrode all of the time he and I had spent there.

I unzipped my bag, took out a map, and spread it on the flat rock where Enzo and I used to sit and talk. I was just stalling. I didn’t need the map. I’d already traced the path a thousand times. I knew where to go and how to get there. It was pretty much impossible to not know.