The Lies That Bind (3 page)

As I digested this new information, I felt my phone buzz twice against my thigh. When I reached to look at the text, I saw all of the other students surreptitiously doing the same.

Obsideo tonight. Station 12. Sunset. Don’t be late.

Within seconds, the energy on the grounds shifted. Students were already buzzing about the invite. No doubt the new rules about being in restricted areas of campus after hours would only heighten the excitement. Clueless to the change, my parents attempted to steer me toward the Allens, but I hung back, clutching at my stomach. I wasn’t ready to field Seth’s questions about the new school rules or Obsideo and especially not about Grace. I needed time to process.

My mom rushed back to me, her face twisted with worry. “Kate, what is it?”

“I don’t feel good all of a sudden. Can we go home?” I wrapped my arms around my middle, holding on for dear life.

“Sweetie, you’re freezing. I’ll get your coat.” Before I could tell my mom I hadn’t brought a coat and wouldn’t be caught dead in one of hers, she returned, holding out a jacket I recognized immediately. But not because it belonged to either of us.

I felt the color leave my face. “Where did you get that?”

My mom’s forehead wrinkled. “Honey, you left it on your seat.”

I closed my eyes for a second and heard Grace’s infectious laugh, watched as she shrugged into the orange fleece, pulling the sleeves down over her hands. A wave of dizziness had me swaying on my feet, and my mom put her hands on my shoulders to steady me as I opened my eyes. The material was soft between my fingers, and I was barely able to resist holding it up to my face to see if it still smelled like Grace’s spicy perfume.

“Greg, she’s had enough. We need to get Kate home.”

And just like that, my parents led me to the car, no questions asked. That’s kind of how we operated. They didn’t ask; I didn’t tell. It actually came in quite handy.

The second we got home, I raced up the stairs to my room, flipped open my laptop, and began typing.

To: [email protected]

Sent: Sat 1/10 12:26 PM

From: [email protected]

Subject: Obsideo

Grace,

Your coat. Why is this happening to me? Am I imagining it? Is someone messing with me? Maybe it’s your parents; your mom was always so worried about us being cold. I don’t know. This just doesn’t make any sense. Sometimes I feel like you’re still here, just on vacation or transferred to another school. And seeing your jacket, smelling your perfume, it feels like you just forgot it in my locker or loaned it to me for Obsideo.

Obsideo…Do you remember trying to sneak in when we were in eighth grade? We sat by the mausoleum and listened to them say every single name. I don’t think I even listened.

It just wasn’t real then, you know? They were just names. But now they’ll be saying your name. And I just can’t be there to hear them say it. I’m not ready. I guess a big part of me still wants to believe you just forgot your jacket in my locker and then moved away, you know?

I hate this,

Kate

I saved the email to Grace in a folder in my inbox and flopped back onto my bed. I’d gotten into the habit of emailing her after she died a year and a half ago. I used to actually send them, but now I was too paranoid to hit Send. The societies were always watching, waiting. They regularly hacked into email accounts to get whatever info they could. There’s no way I would ever give them the satisfaction now.

I liked writing down all the stuff I would have talked to Grace about if she were still alive. It was comforting somehow. And it still felt like somehow Grace was reading them.

I looked at the phone on my bed; the text about Obsideo was still up on the screen. Obsideo, meaning “to haunt.” Translation: PB students gathered at Station 12, the Pemberly Brown cemetery, in the dead of winter at sunset and drank cheap beer out of red plastic cups, pretending to pay tribute to the dead, specifically the Pemberly Brown dead. The list was pages long and included students from the graduating class of 1950, the year our school was founded, on through the decades. Cancer, car wrecks, heart attacks, four plane crashes, a couple suicides, and one freak hiking accident had all conspired to end the lives of various alumni throughout the years.

During our first Obsideo, Grace, Maddie, and I had huddled together, shivering in tank tops and skinny jeans, half listening to the names like everyone else. The names were all vaguely familiar, faceless members of our school’s folklore and the inspiration for countless school traditions. Maybe that’s why I never really thought about their being dead—the stories made them feel alive.

I needed time to process. Or maybe it was the nagging feeling that no one ever
really
died at Pemberly Brown.

I dropped my phone and headed back to my desk. I couldn’t
not
log onto Amicus to see what was going on.

The Obsideo RSVP list was blowing up—totally predictable, given the announcement this morning. When were adults going to learn that forbidding kids to do stuff only made them want to do it more? It’s called reverse psychology, folks. Look it up.

My heart sunk a little when I saw that Liam had responded Yes. Part of me wanted to be there with him. To feel him squeeze my hand when they read Grace’s name for the first time.

And then I saw Bethany “Beefany” Giordano’s RSVP pop up with a comment.

RIP Grace.

All of the muscles in my body tensed at the same time. No way was I going to Obsideo.

The
Twilight
Zone
theme song sounded from my phone, and Seth’s picture appeared on the screen.

“I’ll pick you up at four,” my dorky next-door neighbor breathed into the phone before I’d even had a chance to say hello. He sounded like he’d just come off the treadmill.

I chose to ignore his assumption that I was going to this stupid thing. “Why are you so out of breath?”

“What do you mean?” he huffed.

“You’re breathing so heavy. It’s distracting.”

“It’s just how I breathe, okay? So see you in a couple hours.”

“I actually don’t need a ride.”

“Ahh,” he said, Darth Vader–like breaths filling the silence. “You have plans with BJ. He’s the only other person who hasn’t replied yet.”

“Who?” I asked, wondering where this could possibly be going and how some unfortunate soul had wound up with such a tragic nickname.

“You know, English class. The super-smart one.”

“Uh, you mean Brad?”

“Yeah, Brad James—BJ.”

I didn’t bother taking the time to explain to Seth just how wrong that nickname was. Of course I knew who Brad was. He and his sister, Jen, were basically connected at the hip in the creepiest way imaginable. I glanced at the RSVP list again. Both of their names appeared on the No Reply list after mine. Not surprising, considering that the last party they went to ended with Alistair Reynolds offering them one hundred dollars to make out. Keeping it classy. That’s just how we roll at Pemberly Brown.

“Just don’t start calling him BJ in public, okay?” I said, clicking through the comments again.

“But why not? His middle name is James!”

Just then my phone signaled another call, and when I looked at the screen, I saw the goofy picture of Liam pretending he was going to eat my parents’ mistletoe. I remembered punching him playfully in the arm and then snapping the shot. It made me laugh every time he called.

“Listen, I have to go, but have fun tonight.”

“If you change your mind, the white bullet leaves at four sharp.” I pictured Mrs. Allen’s white minivan. Not exactly a selling point. “Oh, and Kate?” Seth asked, still breathing heavy. It sounded like he was eating the phone, which, with his appetite, wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility. “You gotta at least give it a shot tonight. Grace would want you to be there.”

My phone beeped again.

“I know,” was all I could come up with to say.

I clicked over to Liam and couldn’t help but smile. “Yes?”

“You left in a rush this afternoon and you haven’t RSVP’d yet,” he said. I could hear tapping as he scrolled through the RSVP list.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than stalk me? Besides, I already have plans,” I said, smiling, which totally gave me away. I examined a strand of hair for split ends.

“Hot date?”

“Yes, actually. The name’s BJ. Sister’s chaperoning. It’s going to be epic.”

Liam snorted. “Get dressed. I’ll pick you up.”

I wished I could just say yes, pick out an outfit, and slap on some makeup. Maybe even have a quick argument with my parents about curfew. But I didn’t really care about clothes or makeup, and my parents weren’t exactly big on curfews, not that Liam would ever let me break one anyway.

I sat up in bed and rolled one of Grace’s pearls between my fingers. Before the email that had changed my life a few months ago, I’d kept the pearls shoved at the bottom of a box at the top of my closet beneath piles of books and old clothes and yearbooks. Just imagining the pearls used to make me feel like someone had punched me in the stomach and simultaneously sucked the remaining air out of my lungs for good measure. Now wearing them felt more like pressing a finger into a bruise on my thigh, a conscious, almost pleasant reminder that I was hurt. Honestly, I was relieved to feel something when I looked at the necklace Grace had worn every day of her life. Because nothing scared me more than the thought of not feeling anything at all.

I heard shuffling on the other end of the phone. Liam was clearly planning on pulling the classic hang-up-and-I’ll-be-pulling-into-your-driveway-any-minute move. I opened my mouth to stop him when a message box popped up on my computer screen. It was from Beefany. Not only could she take any guy in an arm-wrestling match and win, but she was also a card-carrying member of the Sisterhood.

Her lame-ass RIP comment was bad enough; I couldn’t believe she had the nerve to message me on Amicus.

BethanyGiordano: You need to come to Obsideo.

I imagined myself among the gravestones.

BethanyGiordano: No one blames you for anything.

I saw myself listening to someone recite the names on the list.

BethanyGiordano: It’s tradition.

I imagined hearing Grace’s name read aloud in the darkness, letting the tears slip down my cheeks, praying it would be too dark for anyone to notice.

I’d spent months in therapy with Dr. Prozac to prove to myself that none of those things were my fault. I didn’t have to prove it to anyone else.

BethanyGiordano: She’d want you there.

“Kate? Who’s messaging you?” Liam asked, startling me. I’d forgotten he was even on the phone.

“I’ll call you back,” I said, tossing the phone on my bed.

I had to read the words on the screen three times before I fully processed them. Outrage bubbled up in my chest, knocking the wind out of my lungs. I couldn’t believe that Bethany freaking Giordano was playing the Grace card. Who the hell did she think she was?

I slammed my laptop shut, harder than I should have, causing one of the picture frames on the shelf above me to wobble and collapse. All of the frames in my room were like little time capsules containing years’ worth of pictures sandwiched on top of each other. I’d just changed this one out last month with a picture of Seth, Liam, and me before Homecoming. It had replaced a picture of Grace and me dressed up for Halloween one year. And I didn’t need to open the back to know the rest featured Grace as well. They all did. Maybe she was trying to tell me something.

“Go to Obsideo” or “Don’t go to Obsideo” or, most likely, “Don’t slam your laptop shut.”

I picked up the frame and repositioned it on the shelf next to the place where all of my required reading books for school went to die. They all featured crisp pages devoid of any notes or earmarks and perfectly straight spines without creases. Well, all of them except one.

Which of these things is not like the others
, I thought as I slid the book off the shelf. I held my breath as though a part of me already knew what was coming, an instinctual coping strategy.

Remember
Me
by Christopher Pike, a classic, Grace’s favorite. It had probably been read at least a dozen times by all of us and whoever had owned it before. Grace’s mom loved garage sales, and although we turned our noses up at her box of fifty-cent books, we secretly devoured them during sleepovers.

Sure enough, when I opened the front cover, Grace’s name was scrawled in orange ink. I fell back into the chair as my phone vibrated from my desk and Liam’s ridiculous picture appeared on the screen again. I pressed Ignore as I tried to wrap my head around how Grace’s book had ended up on my shelf. I must have borrowed it, never returned it, shoved it on the shelf after she died, forgotten about it in my haze. My stomach twisted as I fanned through the pages. And that’s when I saw it. On page 56, Grace’s handwriting was clear as day, orange and bubbly like always.

Someone has to remember.

I threw the book across the room like it was on fire, my hands shaking, then rushed to open my bedroom door. Something about being alone in my room made the entire situation that much scarier.

“Mom?” I called. “Dad?”

“Right here, honey.” My mom materialized at my door with unsettling speed. “How’re you doing?” She smoothed my pink ponytail and I wriggled away from her. Not wanting to be alone but not wanting to be with her either. “We were just going to go pick up some dinner. Why don’t you come?”

The way I saw it, I had a few options:

1. I could tell my mom about the weird message in the book. That was easily ruled out on the grounds that it would probably result in more time with Dr. Prozac.

2. I could stay here and be left with the creepy message in Grace’s book all alone.
Riiight
. That was off the table, because I’m not one of those stupid girls in horror movies who open the basement door to investigate a creepy moaning noise. I liked to think I was too smart to fall into that trap. Unfortunately that really only left me with one choice.

“Actually, I’m going to hang out with Seth tonight, if that’s okay.”

My mom’s whole face brightened the way it did every time she heard Seth Allen’s name. “Of course, honey. Spending time with friends is so important right now. Just make sure you’re home by eleven.” She kissed me on the forehead and walked downstairs.