Page 5 of Soul So Dark
Maybe Colson just doesn’t want to be alone. But now he can’t be near me, either. Because his nightmares might kill me, too.
???
“This was a dumb idea,” Colson laments as he speeds past the thousands of acres striped with bright green crops.
“I’m going crazy in that house, and so are you,” I reply, dragging a tube of light pink gloss across my lips.
He would agree with me sooner if he recalled what went down in my room the other night, but he doesn’t remember. My mom asked him the next day if he remembered sleepwalking.
Sleepwalking…
“I fell asleep in Dallas’s room. Did I go back to mine?” he asked.
“Sort of,” Scott replied. “I helped you back to your room.” He paused for a moment, swirling his coffee around in his Philadelphia Eagles tumbler. “And I locked up your guns in the safe.”
Scott’s words hung heavy in the air, but Colson didn’t respond. Instead, he just continued slathering cream cheese on a bagel while I listened to them from the living room. I pulled my sweatshirt cuff over my hand, trying to forget the deep scratches and welts on my wrist that still burn with each movement.
Colson tossed the dirty knife into the sink with a clang and turned away, taking his bagel with him. “I’m not suicidal,” he muttered at Scott as he headed for the front door, slamming it behind him.
No one wants to talk about what happened that night. And the truth is that I don’t want to talk about it, either, at least not right now. It’s why my mom turned off my light, left my room, and then quietly pulled Evie’s bedroom door closed like a cursed sarcophagus never to be spoken of again.
“School’s a shitty alternative,” Colson grumbles, sling-shotting his Civic around a curve, “we should get the guys and go kayaking or something.”
He’s right, I don’t want to be at school, either, but I can’t stand being at home all day. I’m afraid to be around Scott. I shouldn’t be, but I’ve never seen him so…sad. He has every reason to be, I’m just not used to it. Before, Scott was always laughing and joking and I could hear him coming from a mile away. But now, he’s much more stoic, focused on finding the person who murdered Evie.
Evie…
I’ve spent so much time crying by myself, it’s amazing that I’m not dying of dehydration. Colson and Evie were best friends, but to me she was something different. I wasn’t the annoying little sister to her; she took me everywhere with her when she came to Dire Ridge, she taught me how to put makeup on so I didn’t look like a clown, and even though she was a softball star, she always talked about how jealous she was of how fast I run on the track. She always tried to play video games with me and ended up laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe because she was so terrible at whatever I was playing.
Now everything sucks, but I still have to pass all my classes and make it to sophomore year. Maybe Colson can blow off the last month of school and still graduate, but he’s already been accepted to college on scholarship. I haven’t. Besides, spending a day at the creek with his friends sounds about as much fun as putting my hand in a blender.
I even tried to look presentable today. Not that I’m a slob, but I’m wearing actual jeans rather than running shorts and a hoodie like I normally do. And who knows, maybe if I dress different, no one will know it’s me and they won’t start asking questions I don’t want to answer.
As soon as we walk through the double doors from the senior parking lot, a girl calls Colson’s name. Bryce Decker, another senior, and her signature headful of dark brown ringlets appear, arms outstretched, and embraces him in a hug. He wraps one arm around her waist, but keeps his eyes on me.
“If you want to leave, just text me,” Colson calls over her shoulder as I break away and head for the stairs.
“Yeah, OK,” I scoff back.
I think he just wants an excuse to leave, and honestly, it’ll be difficult not to take him up on it. This fact becomes more and more apparent as the day goes on.
After something really bad happens, and you’re absent from school for a couple of days, that’s when everyone hears about it. If it’s bad enough, the principal and teachers make an announcement so that when you come back, everyone can try to act natural instead of a thousand people asking the same question and causing a distraction. But I can’t decide whether it’s better to deal with the questions or feel their eyes on me, speculating in silence. And by third period, I realize it was a mistake to come back.
The bell sounds and everybody starts rising around me. Coach Wheeler’s been talking for about 45 minutes, but I haven’t heard a word. There’s a picture on the screen at the front of the room of the Freedom Riders and the worksheet I should’ve been filling out is still blank.
Where’s everyone going?
Oh, that’s right…lunch.
Algebra, Spanish—I really need to study more—and now U.S. History. The year is almost over, but I’ve forgotten my schedule after only a few days.
I’m not hungry, but I’m supposed to go to the cafeteria, so I do. It’s also where my best friends, Shelby, Maddie, Carter, and Austin will be—the only people I’ve spoken to since Friday. Thank God for group chats. Maybe I can just hide among them and ignore everyone else.
Shockingly, I’ve managed to avoid any truly awkward interactions. My teachers already sent emails days ago with their condolences and information about make-up assignments. As far as everyone else is concerned, it helps to avoid eye contact. Mrs. Wilmore demands absolute silence as soon as the bell rings so she can delve into compound inequalities, so there was minimal opportunity for conversation in Algebra. Nobody is allowed to speak English once Mrs. Johnson starts class, and I’m so terrible at Spanish that it wouldn’t matter if anyone tried to ask me about Evie anyway. Once I get to U.S. History, Ally Westmont at least has some tact and jumps right in, asking if I need her to make copies of her notes from Monday. Thankfully, she doesn’t make a show of it.
Before, nobody really knew who I was, but they all knew Colson. Outside of my friends, I was just the faceless girl who lived in the same house as him. We don’t even look alike. If we were standing right next to each other, you’d never know we’re related.
I look like our mom; short with long black hair and thunder thighs. Colson looks like our dad; really tall with dark auburn hair. We both have blue eyes, but mine are much darker. His look slightly radioactive. Everybody thinks they’re so dreamy, but he probably drank some battery acid or primordial ooze from a sewer pipe when we were kids that made them that way. Regardless, I still have to hear about it.
