stepping through a clump of weeds, “are a dickhead.”
Mark says something in reply, but I don’t hear him because I’m still caught in the moment where E stepped through the weeds.
Amy died in a patch of weeds.
Suddenly, all my brain can think is that Amy’s face is under E’s foot. Her soft lips kissing the damp earth. I feel the ground on my own lips, my own face. Dirt, leaves, and a rubber sole pressing against my skin. Sealing off my mouth.
I hate my imagination.
My breaths sputter all over the place. Petal puts a hand on my back. “Okay,” she says. “You’re okay.”
“Don’t have a panic attack on us now, Ella,” Mark says.
And when he turns to look at me, to make sure I’m all right, Explosive Boy arcs his fist through the air. There’s no time for Mark to dodge out of the way.
Crunch
. E’s knuckles find Mark’s left cheekbone, and I can’t help myself any longer, can’t keep pretending to be okay when I can almost taste the dirt inside my mouth. I lean forward and hurl. Salt water and this morning’s toast hit the ground.
Acid burns in my throat. Tears burn at the backs of my eyes.
I keep my head down. Let it knock against my knees. But I can still hear Mark yelling at Explosive Boy. “You little shit. I can’t believe you actually hit me! Look what you’ve done to Ella.”
“Me? You don’t think it could have anything to do with the fact that you pushed me off a fucking bridge, and she had to jump in after me? You’re the one who nearly drowned both of us.”
My knees tremble, fold like soggy cardboard. I wind up kneeling in the dirt, desperately hoping that this doesn’t turn into a panic attack. I vomit again. I just want to curl into a ball and shiver until my body warms up again.
But Petal wraps her arms around my waist, anchors me to the real world. “Don’t you dare,” she says, as if shesomehow knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Don’t you fucking dare, Ella Logan.”
Her voice is so abrasive and bitchy and demanding. So familiar. It snaps me back into my body. And then she’s whispering, “We’re okay, we’re okay, we’re okay,” like she needs to believe it’s true.
My body trembles. Breaths gust in and out of me like gale force winds, blowing up my chest and then deflating it. “I’m okay,” I wheeze. “I’m fine.”
They all force smiles, but Explosive Boy can’t even look at me. It’s obvious that they don’t believe what I’ve just said. Hard to do when vomit’s decorating the ground in front of me. I take a step back, away from it. Close my eyes. God, I’m so disgusting.
“You asshole,” Mark growls. I open my eyes because I don’t think I’ve ever heard Mark this angry before. He’s got a stripe on his left cheek where E hit him. It almost looks like war paint and matches the snarl threatening to rip his face apart.
There’s a moment when I think hippie-pacifist Mark is actually going to hit someone—Mark may push people off bridges as a part of a Pick Me Ups initiation ritual; but actual violence, real violence, is something he hates.
In the end, though, he just sucks in a few deep breaths. Flashes his sideways smile. Goes back to being cool as a cucumber. I breathe a sigh of relief, because this is theMark I know. The Mark who doesn’t get into fights unless they involve lollipop-swords.
“El, Pet. Shall we get out of here?”
“Yeah,” Pet says. “Let’s go.”
She pulls me to her so that half my weight is on her shoulder. Slips a hand under my elbow and tugs. I dig my heels in, but she lasers me with her eyes. “Move it,” she says. And I do, because at least if I go with her, I won’t be alone. For now, anyway.
But when I reach E and Mark, Explosive Boy puts out a hand to stop me. “Where are we going?”
“We?” Mark laughs. “You’re not coming anywhere with us.”
“The initiation’s over, E,” Petal says, her voice weary. “Shoo.”
I try to keep on walking, but Explosive Boy grabs my wrist.
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