Broken Beautiful Hearts(74)

All I have to do is say yes and I’ll have my best friend back.

But I can’t.

“I’ve never lied to you before, Tess, and I’m not going to start now. I was telling you the truth. Reed pushed me. He admits it when he calls me. I’m not confused.”

“Right.” Tess sounds even angrier than before. “Call me when you’re ready to be honest. Or don’t call me again.”





CHAPTER 30

Roadkill

“WHEN THE WORLD around us doesn’t make sense, we find ways to make sense of it ourselves.” Miss Ives is talking about the novel, but it feels like she’s talking about my life.

“The author, Tim O’Brien, tells us a lot about the items from home the soldiers carry—photographs, comic books, good luck charms, a pebble—because these objects are more than just reminders of home. But O’Brien also writes about the intangible things the men carried, like hope, sorrow, and fear.”

I swallow hard, but my throat feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. Owen scoots his chair a little closer to mine.

Miss Ives leans against the front of her desk and watches the class, searching our faces for a reaction. “I want each of you to keep this in mind as you’re reading. Ask yourselves what each of the soldiers is carrying—because at the end of this unit, I’m going to ask you to write an essay about the things you carry. Not the objects you brought in when we started the novel, but the intangible things you can’t hold in your hand.”

Her statement is met by a chorus of groans from the class.

Whatever. I’ll make up something poignant and meaningful—BS that will pass for introspection. English teachers love that kind of stuff. I won’t write anything personal. So why does it feel like I’m choking on a baseball every time I swallow?

Owen nudges my knee with his. It’s his way of asking if I’m okay without asking. I smile to reassure him.

I’m relieved when the bell finally rings, and I rush out the door. Thanks to Miss Ives and Tim O’Brien, I dread English class. But even a depressing war novel can’t kill my mood today.

“Why are you smiling?” Owen asks once we’re in the hallway.

“I’m not.”

“I know a smile when I see one,” he says. “And that was a smile.”

We walk down the hall side by side, close enough for his hand to graze mine, which it does more than once.

“Would it be wrong if I told you that I really want to hold your hand?” Owen asks, reading my thoughts.

“Friends don’t walk around school holding hands.” I move closer and let my hand brush his.

“Just friends do,” he whispers.

We pass the hallway Owen takes to get to his locker. “Maybe my just friend wants to stop by his locker so he doesn’t have to bum paper off everyone.”

“Mine is too far away. I’m saving trees. No one uses all the paper in their notebooks anyway. I think my time is better spent escorting you to your locker.”

We get to my locker, and he leans against the one next to mine, watching me. I spin the lock but I keep missing the numbers.

“Having trouble?” he asks. “Maybe you’re distracted.”

I’m so transparent.

“No. I’ve got it.” I’m still looking at Owen when I open the door. I catch a glimpse of something falling. It’s coming right at me.

Is it more soccer balls?

A girl screams, and the object hits me for a split second before Owen bats it away. It happens so fast that I don’t even see it. Owen pulls me next to him, and I look at what fell out.

A mound of gray fur lies on the floor—a tiny leg and a long paw jutting out from underneath it.

My stomach heaves, and I cover my mouth.

Owen puts his arm around me. “It’s okay.”

Cameron jogs toward us. He spots the ball of fur in front of my locker and my proximity to it. “Where the fuck did that come from?”

“Peyton’s locker.” Owen says the words slowly, through gritted teeth.

“What is it?” I peek at the pile of fur. It’s some kind of animal.

A crowd gathers. This is a repeat of the soccer balls, but a hundred times worse.

Cam yanks a T-shirt out of his backpack and uses it to pick up the dead animal. “It’s a rabbit.”

That’s when I notice the rabbit’s body is flat. It’s not just a dead rabbit.

It’s roadkill.

I want to scream, but there are too many people around and I’m willing to bet one of them is the person who did this.

Cam holds the carcass away from his body and turns his back to me so I don’t have to look at it.

“What have you got there, bro?” Christian calls out. He’s grinning, like he thinks Cam is messing around or pulling a prank. I can’t see Cameron’s face, but his expression must be serious because Christian’s smile instantly vanishes.

“Someone put this in Peyton’s locker,” Cam says.

“Are you shitting me?” Christian slams my locker door closed hard enough to dent it. “Who did it?”

April is standing next to her locker with Dylan, and her smug expression makes me want to strangle her.

“I’m pretty sure I know.” I slip past them and storm down the hallway.