—V
I read her message again—coded to avoid mentioning the coven—torturing myself with her words. Should I go?Wouldshe really go if our places were reversed?
A door opens and clicks shut in the hallway. I wipe the tears from my face and delete our message history. My chest constricts as years’ worth of exchanges disappear in an instant. I want to undo it the second they’re gone, but like our relationship, what’s done is done.
My door opens and Gemma steps inside, her hair wrapped tight in a towel, her shirt sticking to her not-quite-dry skin. “What’re you doing?”
“Nothing.” My voice sounds guilty, even to me.
Gemma cocks her head to one side, which looks ridiculous with the huge towel engulfing her hair. “Then why do you look like someone punched you in the gut?”
“I don’t—”
“It’s Veronica, isn’t it?” Gemma crawls into bed beside me and reaches for my hand. “What’d she do this time?”
I stare at the ceiling, as if that will stop the flood of emotions drowning my eyes. “She wanted me to go to graduation.”Which started twenty minutes ago.She might be giving her speech right now, staring into a sea of faces, hoping to find mine.
“Are you upset you missed it?”
Yes. No. Maybe.I shake my head. “No.” I pick at my comforter. “Does that make me a terrible person? We’ve been friends since we were in diapers, long before she was my girlfriend.”
“Is that her excuse?” Gemma wraps her arm around my shoulders. “She hurt you, Hannah. Don’t let her guilt trip you for trying to heal. You don’t owe her anything.”
“I know.” If only things were that simple. If only I could delete her from my life completely. “But—”
“Nobuts. You made your choice, and so did she. It’s too late to go now anyway.” Gemma pulls away and removes the towel from her head. “Do we need to have a ceremonial burning of Veronica’s things?” She gestures toward my closet, where she hid all my relationship keepsakes in a shoe box. “I know I said to hang on to them, but maybe you need a good purge.”
“Girls!” Mom calls to us from the bottom of the stairs before I can reply. “Breakfast is ready.”
Gem lights up at the mention of food. She runs a comb swiftly through her hair and bounds for the door. I trudge after her, a clumsy ogre in the wake of her ballerina’s grace.
“Good morning, Mrs. Walsh,” Gemma says with a smile. “Need help setting the table?”
“Already done, but thank you.” Mom points down the hall to the dining room. “Go on ahead, I just need to grab the toast.”
Gemma doesn’t need to be told twice. She practically sprints down the hall and disappears into the dining room. But I don’t follow. I head for the kitchen, trailing after Mom.
“Hannah?” Mom pauses with a plate full of toast in her hands. “What’s wrong?”
“Something weird happened last night. At the bonfire, Veronica and I—”
“Marie! You coming?” Dad’s voice carries through the house, deep and rumbling. “The eggs are getting cold.”
Mom shifts the plate into one hand and places the other on my shoulder. “I’m sorry you had a bad night, Han. I know you and Veronica aren’t on good terms right now, but you’ll have tolearn to be around each other sooner or later. We can talk after brunch.”
“No, Mom—”
But she’s already gone. I follow her into the dining room where fried eggs, fruit, and a small mountain of bacon load up each plate. Mom sets the toast in the middle of the table, and we take our seats.
Dad smiles at me over his coffee. “Good morning.”
I mumble a response around the piece of bacon I shoved in my mouth.
“How was the bonfire?” Dad asks when I chomp on my toast instead of saying hello.
Gemma drops her fork back onto her plate. “You won’tbelievewhat happened.” She leans forward, and my mouth is too full to tell her to hush. “Someone killed a raccoon and burned a pentacle into the ground. There was bloodeverywhere. And then there was this fight, and a girl broke her arm. Not from the fight, she got hurt before. Wait, let me back up. I’m not telling this right.”
“Geez, Gem. Take a breath in there somewhere,” I say in a futile attempt to lighten the mood. My parents turn to stare at me. A crease deepens in Mom’s brow.
