Free Find Me by Romily Bernard Page B

strung-up smile.
    “Hi, Becky.” Todd runs one arm across her shoulders, pulling her into a brief hug. “How are you holding up?”
    Mrs. Waye doesn’t let him go. “I’m so glad you came.”
    “I’m glad we could be here.” Todd motions toward me and I catch Mrs. Waye’s attention, but I lose it even faster. Her eyes slide so smoothly over me it’s as if they were always on their way back to Todd.
    Did she recognize me? Maybe not. Five years ago, when Tessa and I made forts out of couch cushions, my hair was short instead of long. My clothes were dark instead of light. I had yet tosurvive Bren’s makeover. I thought my new clothes made me stand out, but maybe they actually hide me.
    Or maybe Mrs. Waye doesn’t care.
    We’re barely away from her before Todd is pulled to the side by another mother, leaving me to stand around and look at kids from my school I don’t know well enough to talk to. This is weird. On the way here, I was nervous as hell, but now I feel curiously . . . lost.
    And horribly sad when I see the pictures of Tessa scattered around the house. Most of them look like they were taken at the church Todd teaches at. There’s Tessa’s first communion . . . Tessa doing an art project with some younger children . . . Tessa smiling for the camera.
    I try to keep moving, but the whole house is super crowded, and between the sheer number of people and their palpable grief, every room is suffocating. I don’t see Tally anywhere, and it seems weird to ask strangers where she might be. I give up and return to Todd when a lone girl catches my attention. The diary tucked under my shirt trembles.
    Tessa’s younger sister, Tally, is looking right at me. Her eyes are a little glazy and her face is pinched. Everyone else is talking and crying, but Tally’s motionless, staring at me like I’m the only person who has ever mattered.
    Like I’m a hero.
    Tessa’s sister is sitting on an overstuffed couch between two overstuffed women. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d bet they were her aunts. And the way they’re crying over her head, I’d bet they’re self-involved aunts.
    One of them keeps plucking at Tally’s arm as she wails. The other keeps reaching across her. Yeah, I’d definitely say self-involved. Tally could be a stuffed animal for all the consideration they’re showing her.
    Tally looks like she’d probably agree with me. When our eyes meet, the girl’s mouth goes crooked, and I can’t tell if she’s holding back a smile or a scream.
    She slides off the couch, heads for a set of stairs to my left. I follow, half expecting someone to tell me to stop, but no one does.
    On the second floor, the master bedroom is off to my left. The door hangs partially open, revealing a collection of dark furniture and light-colored walls. Like the rest of the house, it’s immaculate and, for some strange reason, makes me think about how much Tessa loved to doodle and draw.
    She wouldn’t have fit in with parents like these. She would have always been reining herself in. And suddenly, I’m sad for Tessa all over again.
    I trail farther down the hallway, and it’s just closed door after closed door until I hit the end. Edging around the corner, I see Tally sitting on a flower-print bedspread, staring at the floor. She doesn’t move, and looking at her, you wouldn’t think she knows I’m here.
    But I know she does, because her hands roll into fists.
    “Tally?” I slide into the bedroom, nudging the door shut behind me. You can still hear the wailing from downstairs. It crawls up through the floorboards.
    “You came,” Tally breathes. The girl sounds . . . grateful, and it funnels my throat shut. How am I going to turn her down?
    “Yeah . . . I’m sorry, Tally. I know everyone probably keeps saying that to you—”
    “Doesn’t matter. You came. You’re going to fix this.”
    “I . . . I think there must some sort of mistake.”
    Tally twists her head to one side like she’s