Little Do We Know(24)

Aaron leaned in closer, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know it’s okay to question this stuff, right?”

He took me by surprise. “It is?”

“Sure.”

Dad wouldn’t think any of this was okay. Mom wouldn’t think it was okay either.

For we walk by faith, not by sight. —2 Corinthians 5:7.

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” I said.

“But I bet you will when you find it.”

He smiled at me.

I smiled back.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Anytime.” He reached for the mouse, returning to our project. “I think the world would be a better place if people stopped every once in a while and questioned everything they thought they knew.”



After dinner that night, I was in my room, trying to finish an essay for English class, but I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Aaron had said in the sound booth.

I stood and walked over to the window, peeling the curtain to one side, and looked out.

Across the grass, I could see Emory in her bedroom, standing in front of her full-length mirror, talking and pacing and gesturing with her hands, and I could tell she was rehearsing. If things had been different—the way they used to be—I would have been sitting on her bed with my legs folded underneath me, script in hand, reading other characters’ lines.

I watched her, thinking back to all the time we’d spent in her room, talking and listening to music, or in my room, curled up on my comforter, binge-watching shows on my laptop. I missed her. I missed her so much it hurt.

I thought back to what she’d said to me the day we fought. When was the last time you had an opinion that was entirely your own? And I thought back to what Aaron had said to me in the sound booth earlier. It’s okay to question this stuff.

“I’m not a sheep,” I whispered. The words ricocheted off the glass and hit me like a slap me in the face.

It wasn’t true.

I was a sheep.

But I didn’t want to be one anymore.

I stepped away from the window and stood a little taller, feeling a new sense of purpose as I let the curtain fall and returned to my desk. I hid my essay in the background, opened the browser, and navigated over to the search box. My hands were trembling as I typed, Religions of the world.

The screen filled with links. Christianity. Islam. Hinduism. Sikhism. Buddhism. Judaism.

I clicked on one and scanned it. And then I went back to the search screen and clicked on another one. I scanned that, too. I did it over and over again, until I found one that caught my attention, and then I read it top to bottom. When I was finished, I returned to the page full of links and clicked on another. I scanned. I read. I clicked again. I read until the sun went down and the streetlight clicked on. I was still reading at 2:00 a.m., even though my eyes were heavy and burning, and my neck was stiff.

I expected to feel content at some point, but every answer I found led to another question I’d never even thought to ask.





“I just want to apologize to Mike’s mom. And Josh’s mom. And my mom. And I’m sorry to everyone.”

I paced back and forth in front of Tyler’s Prius as I waited for him and Charlotte to get there. I could see the school bus on the other side of the parking lot, waiting to take Luke and the rest of the lacrosse team to their away game in San Bernardino.

Suddenly, I heard the locks click open, and I turned around to find Tyler walking toward me, arm extended, key fob in hand. “Who are you talking to, crazy lady?”

I looked right into his eyes, gripped his chin in my fingers, and said my next line. “I was very naive.”

“Were you now?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m so, so sorry for everything that has happened.”

Charlotte climbed in back and gave me shotgun.

“Because in spite of what Mike says now, it is my fault—”

Tyler was starting to back out when I heard a loud slap against the passenger window. I jumped. I turned to find Luke with one hand flat on the window and the other pointing at the lock, a smile on his face.

“Hey, easy on the Prius!” Tyler yelled.

Luke and I had already said our good-byes and good-lucks, and told each other how excited we were for our goodnight. But I was full of nervous energy, and I was so happy to see him again, I got out of the car and threw my arms around his shoulders. He picked me up so we were face-to-face, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.

“Hey, you,” I said.

“Hey.” He kissed me. “You’re going to kill this thing. Okay? Everyone at UCLA will wonder how there was ever another Heather or a…what’s her name?”

“Phoebe.”

“Right. Phoebe.” He kissed me again. He tasted like a candy cane. “Go get yourself into UCLA Drama.”

I unwrapped my legs and jumped to the ground. “Go remind Denver why they’re lucky to have you.”

I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him again. And then I got back in the car and leaned back against the headrest, grinning to myself.

“You guys are gross,” Tyler said.

My head fell to one side. “I know, right?”

Tyler took a left out of the parking lot, following the signs to the freeway, and I picked up where I’d left off. “I’m so, so sorry for everything that has happened, because in spite of what Mike says now, it is my fault. Because it was my project, and I insisted…”