Page 79 of The Narrow

“So we ask Oster,” I say. The others look at me with varying levels of surprise and discomfort, but I bare my teeth. “He’s been dodging all of my questions, but now I know he wastherethat night. He was the last one to see Maeve alive. We confront him, and we make him tell us everything he knows. We make him tell us what he did.”

—

I doubt if any of us get much sleep that night. I manage to convince everyone that we need to talk to Oster, but we disagree about how and when and who should do it. It isn’t like he’s some random person, or even a teacher. He’s the dean. He could make trouble for any of us if he wanted.

I sleep in the bed that should have been mine, snatching a few fitful minutes of rest. I dream, but not of Maeve or the water, and when I wake, I can’t tell if I’m relieved or disappointed.

All I told Del was that “it” worked and I’d talk to her soon. We didn’t want to say anything more over the school networks. Now, with the sun up, I dress quickly, eager to get back and update her. I throw my things into my bag, grabbing my keys from the table in the living room. The half-crushed water bottle I used to carry the river water is still there, half an inch of silty water in the bottom. The last evidence of last night’s activities. The chalk has been cleaned from the floor, the water sopped up, the broken bowl disposed of. But there it is: unglamorous proof of what we’ve done.

Of what we now know.

Only Zoya is awake. She emerges from her room as I get ready to go, looking puffy-eyed and tired.

“I need to update Del,” I tell her.

“You and her are really getting along, aren’t you?” she asks.

I feel the heat crawling up my neck. “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not,” Zoya says. “But you don’t make things easy on yourself, do you?”

“That might be an understatement.”

She laughs her soft, smoky laugh. “I’ve missed you, Eden,” she says, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe.

“I haven’t gone anywhere.” I set my weight back on my heels, fingers wrapped tight around the strap of my messenger bag.

“Yes, you have. And I understand. I just wanted you to know that you’re missed. I miss having someone who understands the need to be quiet. And I love Ruth and Veronica to death, but they are terrible listeners.”

“Sometimes...” I hesitate. But I tell myself I’m done lying tomy friends. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t understand why I’m part of... ofus. I’m not special. I don’t have some amazing talent or plan for my life. I’m just kind of... here.”

“We’re not a prize you win for being special enough. We’re your friends, and you’re ours,” Zoya says. “What, like we should drop you because you aren’t a math genius or a music prodigy? Do you really think that poorly of us?”

I shift uncomfortably, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I’m always kind of terrified you’re only hanging out with me because you feel sorry for me,” I admit. “I know it’s not true. Or I do when I’m thinking clearly, at least.”

“I think we all feel that way sometimes. Well. Maybe not Veronica.” She lets out a little sigh. “Eden, do you remember sophomore year, when you and Ruth broke up? You weren’t even talking, but I found you making her this big bouquet of paper flowers from used copies of her favorite books. I didn’t understand why you’d do that for someone you weren’t even speaking to. But you said something like, ‘Later, when we aren’t mad at each other anymore, we’re going to be friends again. I’m making this for my friend, even if she doesn’t show up for a while.’ ”

“I forgot about that,” I say. I wanted to do the project, and I knew Ruth would like it. It didn’t occur to me not to make it for her.

“You’re literally the first person we all go to when we need a shoulder to cry on, because you listen and you always understand because you pay attention. You knew I was feeling weird about my photos before I said a single thing, and you got Ruth tocompletely spill her guts after about thirty seconds. And I’m sure you’ve noticed, because you notice everything, she doesn’t really do ‘vulnerable.’ ”

I make an amused sound of agreement, looking down at the floor. Ruth is blunt, which some people mistake for being open, but she tends to lay things out as a way ofnottalking about the squishy feelings behind the facts.

Zoya rubs the side of her neck, looking at me with sad eyes. “You’re a really good friend, Eden, and that doesn’t change because you’re going through stuff, and you need to lean on other people for once, instead of being the one we all vent to.”

“Promise?” I ask, my voice weak.

“Yes, I promise we’re not going to ditch you because you’re having a hard year and you’re depressed and being haunted by a moist murder victim,” Zoya says, rolling her eyes.

I snort.

“We deserve better than you telling yourself a story where we’ve abandoned you. So do you.”

“Yeah,” I say. It’s all I can manage.

“Check back in soon,” she says. “And stay dry.”

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