The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 74: Becca

The officer mutters something into her walkie-talkie. I avert my eyes, trying not to draw attention to myself, but continue to watch the officer in my peripheral vision— she's all business, striding in a brisk fashion that makes me think she's doing rounds. She gives me a long, analytic look as I brush past, and my heart rate quickens— can she read the guilt on my face? the fear in my eyes? but my breathing calms when she continues walking, rounding a bend and disappearing from sight.

I wipe a trickle of sweat from my brow. For a moment, I really thought the police officer was going to pull me aside for questioning. It's strange— I didn't feel guilty after breaking Sammy's arm, and that was way more violent that simply steering a motorboat to shore. But now the guilt is so overwhelming that I feel like I'm drowning in it. Slowly but surely, I find myself slipping back into the memories of what happened tonight. It all seems like a dream now— or a nightmare. I remember how I held Finn in my arms, and watched his skin knit itself back together like an injury happening in reverse.

When he washed up on the shore, I was the one who found him. Ronan had run off to get the Director, Wolsey was dealing with Owen, and I was standing by the shore, whispering prayers under my breath. I hadn't prayed since I was a child, but the words were still ingrained in my brain, and they felt like cool relief on my lips.

He walked out of the water like he was going for an evening stroll. Then, he promptly collapsed on the pebbles by my feet. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't make a sound— his camp shirt was soaked with lake water and blood, and there was a wicked bruise rising on his forehead. His eyelids fluttered open and shut like he was dreaming. I shook him by the shoulders, but he didn't respond.

I'm sorry, I told him, when I finally regained my voice. I'm sorry.

I didn't want to hurt him.

I didn't want to hurt anyone.

So I cupped his face in my hands, and pieced all his broken parts back together.

He was hurt, and I was healing him. My grandmother's voice whispered in my ear: curandera. I knew there was something new inside me I'd never felt before; something with the power to fix wounds, not create them.

Curandera.

The bruise on his head had faded away to a dull scar by the time the cavalry arrived. The counselors descended on us like flies, and the Director carried Finn to the Mess Hall herself. Ronan was there, too, his eyes blacker than the depths of the lakes. I could still hear him yelling, you killed him! I wanted to respond, No, I healed him, but I knew he would never believe me. His face, one that I had come to view as friendly, trusting, trusting, was suddenly transformed by distaste, changed into the visage of a stranger.

In that moment, I knew he would never forgive me.

I came to this camp intent on avoiding other campers, already waving the banner of my one-woman-army in the air. But friendship found me anyway. It hit me like a punch to the face, and I've never felt so grateful to be knocked out cold. I think Ronan and Finn might be two of the best friends I've ever had. And, judging by the way Ronan looked at me by the beach, I've probably ruined my relationship with both of them. Because once Ronan tells Finn that I left him in the lake... he won't forgive, either.

I didn't want this.

I didn't want any of this.

When I get to the Director's cabin, the room is cold and dimly lit, illuminated only by the wavering desk-lamp perched by her computer. The fireplace is dark and occupied by blackened cinders and ash, and the flannel curtains have been drawn closed, blocking out everything but a few clever shreds of moonlight. The room is so dark and gloomy that for a moment, I wonder if I've stepped into a shadow dimension— a parallel universe that light hasn't reached yet. Then the Director calls my name and I'm called back to Earth; the only place worse than an evil alternate dimension.