Please Don't Tell (21 page)

There's only the sound of our breathing and the heavy silence of somebody reading something very important.

Finally she looks up.

My phone light fades. I can't see her at all in the dark, but we're so close that the vibrations of her voice shiver along my skin. “Cassius did this to you?” she chokes. “I can't believe . . .”

“Don't hate him,” I tell her.

“How can I
not
?” The whites of her eyes shine.

“You're right,” I say. “Hate him until you don't need to hate him anymore. But don't do anything about it.”

“You can't trust any guy. No matter how they act.” Her voice shakes. Her hair tickles my chin. It lies fine and straight on the pillow, any evidence of our curls burned out of it. “Once, I thought Cassius was . . .”

“It's okay.”

“I was wrong about November.” In the dark, I can hear all her emotion. It's only in the daylight that she hides it.

“The whole school knows that—they know what he did to her now,” I tell her. “She wrote about it in the school newspaper. I'll bring you a copy. You can read it if you want.”

“Is she okay?” she says in a tiny voice.

“She's okay.” And I believe it.

I want to believe it about Grace, too.

“I hoped you'd blame November,” she says, shivery. “I wanted you to hate her. I was scared you were leaving
me behind for her. I'm always scared you're leaving me behind.”

“I never will, I promise.” I can center my life around her again.

“I'm sorry I've been so distant,” she whispers. “I thought if I could push you away before you could do it to me, it wouldn't hurt so much.”

Her body heat soaks the tiny space we share until beads of sweat pop on my cheeks. “Now it'll be you and me again. Just us,” I say.

For some reason, I remember what Levi said, about how neither of us have had the chance to find out who we are without each other. My spine prickles strangely.

She clasps her hands together in front of her mouth. “I won't doubt you anymore.”

This is all I ever wanted. To have things be the way they were. But now, for some reason, this feels wrong. Like trying to put on an old favorite shirt only to find it doesn't fit anymore.

I swallow. It doesn't matter. I owe her. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to her.

“You and me,” I tell her, twisting my words until there's happiness in them.

“You and me,” she repeats.

Us.

I lean my forehead against hers, just to check, one more time if that twin telepathy has come into being yet. If I can read her mind.

But no current of secrets passes between our skin.

That's okay. They don't need to.

All our secrets have been laid to rest.

The next morning, I wake up in my own bed. I don't remember leaving Grace's room.

I push the covers back and then I'm shivering, freezing cold everywhere, in my blood, fingertips numb, head throbbing, popping full of needles.

“You're sick,” Mom informs me after she takes my temperature. She sits back on my bed, studying me while a dragon eviscerates my chest. “Did you take ibuprofen?”

I sneeze.

“I'll call you out,” she sighs. “But talk to your teachers about any missed assignments first thing tomorrow. Your father and I have to go to work, but Grace will be home.”

Us.

Mom leaves and I go back to dying. This sickness feels like an exorcism. Like all the fear from the past month is being drained from my body.

I'm sick for three days.

It's a blur of fever, arguing with Dad about going to the doctor, Mom bringing me soup, Grace delivering glasses of water to my bedside table. Her coming into my room isn't an event anymore. Once, when she goes downstairs, I get up and walk in and out of her doorway five times just to prove I can.

On the fourth day, I wake up and I can see straight.
I'm not sweating anymore. I check the clock—two thirty in the afternoon. There are a couple of glasses of water on my bedside table, Grace's contributions. I chug them both. Someone knocks on my door.

“Come in,” I croak. Mom and Dad are gone. It's got to be Grace.

But it's not Grace. It's Levi.

“The front door was unlocked. Dunno if that counts as breaking and entering. I brought you soup,” Levi says nervously, a Tupperware container under his arm. “I googled the recipe and I bought dried shiitake mushrooms and I let it simmer for four hours.”

Levi?

Levi's in my house.

I'm 110 percent awake. I bolt upright, tissues falling off my chest.

Did Grace see him come up the stairs?

I was wrong. I didn't tell her every secret.

“November Roseby said you were sick. She gave me your address.” Levi stares at my posters, at my bookshelf, like they're fascinating. My room's not as horrifying as it was a month ago, but it's still pretty bad. I don't freak out about it, though, or the fact that I haven't brushed my hair in three days, or that I'm wearing one of Dad's old shirts, because if Grace comes in—

“Are you drinking enough water?” he stutters. “Do you need orange juice? I can go buy orange juice. Do you need more tissues?”

“You have to leave.” My throat's full of razor blades. This is the one thing left that could mess things up again.

“That's fair. I figured you'd feel that way.” He sets the Tupperware on my bedside table and turns to go.

Grace still sleeps so late. She's probably asleep now. I can risk a few minutes.

“What way?” I ask.

“Well.” His voice is scratchy, too, but not because he's sick. “I'm related to the guy who raped one of your best friends.”

“That's not why . . .” But I can't finish my sentence.

“It is.” He won't meet my eyes. “That's why you hated Adam. That's why you didn't want to be around me at first. And that day it rained, that's why you pushed me away, right?”

There's none of his usual humor. Just guilt.

“I didn't want you to lose your version of him,” I say weakly.

“Fuck that version. When I read that editorial . . .” He stops halfway to my door. “My first thought was, what's going to happen if my dad sees it? I'm an asshole.”

“You're not—”

“Don't.” His back knots up. “I assumed Adam was this—perfect person.”

I wince away from the self-loathing in his voice.

He twists his earring hard. Then he exhales and forces a smile. “Now I get it. He was never worth knowing, so I don't have to spend my whole life being sad I didn't get
the chance. I'm glad I never cried about him.”

I blink hard a few times.

“I'll go now,” he says. “I get that you probably won't want to be near me, considering genetics.”

“Genetics don't mean anything.” I sit up. “Just because you're related to him doesn't mean you're
like
him. Don't go, okay?”

“It's okay. You don't have to make things up to me.” He swallows. “My mom called this morning. She's been discharged. I'm flying back to Indiana in a couple days.”

There's a long silence. “That's great,” I croak, but I'm a jerk for not saying it immediately.

“I was always just here temporarily,” he says helplessly.

“Right. Yeah. Of course.”

“That's all I had to say.” He smiles sadly. “Feel better.” He turns, and I hear him going down the stairs.

If I don't follow him, I'll never see him again.

I'm not ready to let go.

I run to the kitchen. It's clean, empty. No sign of Grace. But even if she saw Levi, she wouldn't guess the truth. There's no Adam in him.

He's reaching for the door.

“I don't want you to be temporary,” I blurt.

“Are you, like . . . mad?” he says in a small voice. “That I'm leaving?”

“Did you think I'd be a jerk about it and not be happy that your mom's okay?” Which is exactly what I'm being. “Did you think I'd flip out? Because, okay, I am flipping
out, but that's only because I'm upset that you thought I'd do that, so this is a self-fulfilled prophecy—”

“Other people, they can hide their reactions,” he cuts in. “Not you. I knew if you said, ‘That's great, Levi! I'm so happy for you!' or any nice thing that a friend would say, that'd be the end of it, that'd be how you really felt.”

“I swear, I am happy for you, Levi.” I'm a terrible friend.

He runs his hand through his hair. “I didn't
want
that to be your reaction. I wanted you to be pissed that I was leaving.”

“What? Why did you want me to be pissed?”

“Joy? Who's that?”

I turn and Grace is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, a cereal-flecked bowl in her hand, one of the heavy clay ones. All my excuses dissolve on my tongue. I realize with sudden absolute clarity that none of them would matter to her.

She clears her throat. “Sorry . . .”

She doesn't recognize him. How could she? She doesn't know.

“You must be Grace.” Levi smiles.

She's makeupless. Her shirt's stained. She didn't know I had someone over. But she can't run back upstairs, she's invested in this interaction now. Thirty seconds of halfhearted chat and she'll leave.
Please don't mention Adam, Levi.

“This is my American History tutor,” I make myself say.

“Joy always talks about you.” His happiness is genuine.

She gives a tiny smile. Then she edges past us, rinses out her bowl in the sink, and fishes a bag of microwave popcorn from the cupboard. She opens the microwave and sticks the popcorn in. It's all very choreographed. She keeps the bowl tucked under her arm like a talisman.

Two minutes and fifty seconds on the microwave. The timer to a nuclear holocaust.

“I like your shirt,” Levi offers.

There are so many unlit fuses in the room.

“Are you a freshman?” She stays on the other side of the kitchen, away from him. “I haven't seen you around.”

“Junior. I'm visiting from Indiana.”

“I always forget about Indiana,” she says, relatively normally. “All the
I
states.”

She doesn't suspect.

“How many even are there?” agrees Levi. “Idaho . . .”

This is fine.

“Iowa,” she says.

The popcorn's going off like gunfire.

“Anyway,” Levi says. “I don't know if you knew Adam Gordon, but I'm his half brother. I came up for the funeral and ended up staying a while. Joy was the first person in town I met—at the funeral, actually—and she's been . . . great . . .”

His voice trails off as horror and confusion are unfolding in Grace's expression, like awful flowers.

It's okay. It'll be fine. I'll send Levi away. I'll explain everything—

It takes only a second. Her arm whips up and there's a crash. The kitchen floor turns into a minefield of clay shards and Levi's half collapsed against the stove, one hand clapped to his forehead, bright neon electric glowing red blood pouring out between his fingers.

“Grace!” I scream.

“What the fuck, Joy?” She cries. “What the
fuck
?”

This is not the Grace I fell asleep next to last night.

This is a Grace I've never met.

I reach for Levi, peel his hand back from his face. There's a thin gash bisecting his eyebrow, blood pouring out of it. The rest of him is milk pale. He pulls his hand from my grasp and looks wonderingly at the blood on it.

“At the
funeral
?” Grace is snarling. “Like, hey, let me show you around? Did you take him to the Ice Cream Palace? I know you took him into
our house
! Where I
live
!”

I can't hold both her and Levi together at the same time. Both of them are bleeding bright terrible colors.

I finally got her mad at me. I didn't know this is what it would look like.

“You have a right to be angry—” I whisper.

“
You
should be angry. But you're not. Not enough.” Her bangs stick to her forehead with sweat. She's not making sense. “You never were. You didn't
have
to be.”

Levi staggers upright, half his face streaked crimson.

My sister did this.

She lied to me. She's not okay.

“You need help.” I straighten as calmly as I can manage. My voice breaks anyway. “We'll get you help, Grace.”

“All I needed was for
you
to be on my side,” she throws at me.

I grope for Levi's wrist, clutch it tight. He stares transfixed at my sister, then at me. His forehead's still bleeding. “Are you—” he starts.

“Go outside just for a second, okay? Stay on the porch. I'll handle this.”

“Now I'm something to be handled.” Grace's eyes glint with tears.

Holding a tea towel to his forehead, Levi opens the front door with his free hand and disappears through it.

I'm alone in my bloodstained shattered kitchen with my bloodstained shattered sister.

She starts shaking.

“Oh my God.” She's paralyzed with sudden guilt. “I didn't mean—I was scared—I don't know what—”

I want to hold her, but I don't know if it would help or make it worse.

“It was like—” She chokes. “You think every trace of a person is gone from the world—and then part of him is standing in your kitchen—”

“There's no part of Adam in Levi,” I say quickly, my heart pounding.

“How do you know?”

“Trust me.” But she doesn't. She doesn't trust me anymore. My chest throbs. “Things still aren't okay with us, are they?”

She shies back like a cat. “This is about you, not me. This is about
you
betraying
me
.”

“It's okay to need help, Grace.” Calm, calm. I know what path she needs to take now. “Therapy helped November—”