Page 27 of Soul So Dark
“Yeah, OK…” I scoff with a doubtful look. “He asks you to do things but just takes my shit. Probably because he likes you more than me, anyway.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Evie counters, “Col and I are the same age, so it’s different. He’s also been my best friend since I met you all.”
I put my head down, trying to quell the surge of jealousy threatening to ruin my afternoon. It’s not fair, and Evie can see it splashed across my face.
“You’re my sister, Dal,” she says softly, “and there are still some things I can tell you that I don’t tell Colson.”
“Like what?” I mutter with a roll of my eyes.
“Like I’m going to Vancouver this summer to visit a guy.”
I perk up, my interest suddenly piqued. “What guy?”
“Just a friend,” she grins, “but he’s the first boy I ever kissed. My parents wouldn’t let me go by myself until I turned 18. But I haven’t told Col about him,” she adds with a side-eye.
My eyes round with excitement, eating up this new secret that no one else knows but me.
“Why doesn’t Colson know about him?”
“It’s—” Evie hesitates, “it’s kind of hard to explain. I will, eventually. So, anyway, what color are you making Col’s bracelet?” she asks.
“He just said to make it the same as yours.Boring…” I sigh.
“I know he acts like a psycho, Dal,” she finally says, “and he really shouldn’t, but he’ll protect you and fight for you like no one else will.”
“Does he protect you,” I ask dubiously, “from guys like the one you were supposed to ride with?”
Evie doesn’t answer at first, but then gives a faint smile as she continues knotting her thread.
“He tries to.”
???
The glass in the picture frame is immaculate. I’ve been wiping it down for about 20 minutes. The miniscule amount of dust collected on it seemed sacrilegious. Finally, I set the photo back inside and clamp the back of the frame on. It’s a selfie I took of Evie, Colson, and I on the front steps of our house. And about two months after I took it, Evie was dead.
This is probably the cleanest my bedroom has ever been. At no other time have I felt the need to methodically go through my room and clean and organize every single object, from refolding my jeans in my closet to dusting and straightening every piece of electronic equipment on my desk and shelves.
Dusting.What the hell is wrong with me?
I need constant distraction, that’s what. The amount of awkwardness that washed over me when I saw Shelby, Carter, Maddie, and Austin walking toward me at Evie’s funeral was enough to make me want to crawl in a hole. I know what Evie would say.
At least they were there…
It wasn’t devastatingly awkward, but it was obvious they all knew what happened in Web Design the other day. I hate forced conversations, probably because I never have any. Normally, I can talk to anyone, no problem. But ever since Colson found Evie, my ability to talk and to know what to say has turned to complete shit. Now I don’t want to say anything, a problem Colson doesn’t seem to have, evident from his violent outburst right next to Evie’s grave.
There was yelling, and when I looked down the hill, Colson was rolling around on the ground with another guy while Scott and a bunch of his friends tried to pull them apart. Except for Aiden. He was standing next to Sydney the entire time even though she looks like she hates him.
At least the whole soccer team was there to break up the fight in the cemetery. Mom and Scott tried getting me into soccer like Colson, but the writing was on the wall. I was fast, but I was small, and those girls would’ve killed me. So, I run. I was on the track team in middle school and, to my utter surprise, I made the team at DRHS.
I’m not a star. I like the sport, but it’s one where it’s easy to get lost in the crowd. I stick with my people, have fun, try to beat my times, and that’s that. It’s not complicated, which is how I like it. But not anymore. Now, I can’t bring myself to set foot on the track. At least no one expects much from a freshman, and the season is all but over since I’m not in any of the tournaments. Just as well.
There’s a knock at my door and I reply with a robotic “Come in.”
Colson steps inside and shuts it behind him. Without a word, he strolls over to my bed and collapses onto the edge, resting his elbows on his knees. When I look down at his hands, two fingers on his right hand are splinted together. There’s also an abrasion on the underside of his jaw and a bruise forming on his temple, but otherwise no visible cuts. I’m shocked, considering how much blood there was. And now I realize it was the other guy’s blood all over everyone.Gross.
“Are you OK?” I ask, adjusting the photo frames on my shelf fractions of an inch.
Colson drags his hands up and down his face. “Yeah,” he replies, blinking hard, “I have to talk to you about something.”
