Alive

Chapter 28

Elle

(Friday, May 17)

"Olly bought you that?" Arlo interrupts, pointing to my dress. I jump, then wipe my eyes. He hasn't spoken since I started talking. Probably since I haven't been able to catch my breath, words tumbling out faster than I knew they could.

"Yeah," I mutter, twisting some of the fabric in my hand. Stars bounce off the material, flickering in Arlo's shadow as he sits up straighter.

"Wow," he says. There's a pause. "Oliver. Oliver bought you that. And this." He motions over his shoulder at the light. I'm about to say yes, but he continues. "Scratch that, Olly cried on you?"

I'm only now realizing my mistake. Telling Oliver's best friend these things. I feel like I've sold him out. I'm just counting on Arlo to not be typical. The last thing Oliver needs is to be laughed at.

"A little," I say. "Not really. Not much. Never mind, he didn't."

"Relax," Arlo says, smiling a little. "I'm not gonna say anything."

I take a deep breath. "Thanks."

There's another silence, and I'm not sure how to continue. Because everything's starting to hit me. The bleach on the ground. What I was about to do. Being here, talking with him. Arlo Armstrong. And not just talking. Telling him things. Things about Mom. Things I've never told anyone.

But it's too late to take it back now. He knows. Arlo knows I deserve this. He knows everything.

I sink my face against my arms.

"It's not your fault," Arlo says. The words echo in the auditorium. Words I've heard so many times. And it's made me cry before, but only because they didn't know. This time I cry. But I'm crying because Arlo does.

"How can you say that?" I whisper, hugging my legs closer to my body. It's cold in here. "I told you..."

"About a coincidence," Arlo says. "You spilled something. Like any kid does."

"Coincidence." I shake my head. "Maybe if she was going out anyway. This is cause and effect. I did something, and something happened to her because of it."

I stand up because I'm stupid and I should have known better than to talk to him about it. He doesn't get it. How could he? He's like the opposite of me. A guy with a ton of friends, engaged, and—I have to remind myself—insensitive to Celeste's feelings. If anything, I'm supposed to be mad at him. Not opening up my soul to him. Great job, Elle. I can't do anything right.

"You were a kid," Arlo says again. But he doesn't get up. "You didn't know."

"But that doesn't matter," I say, bending over to put my sneakers on. "It still happened. It's still my fault. I don't get to make excuses."

"You don't get—"

"I don't expect you to understand," I say, shoving my backpack away in frustration. "I'm sorry I said anything."

"You're not listening to me," he says. "I'm not saying—"

"It's my fault," I shout, meeting his eyes. "My fault. I killed her. Me. I did it."

Not good. I'm getting angry, and worse, Arlo doesn't seem the least bit phased. He just leans back. Sighs.

"If that's what you want to think, then fine," he says. "It's your life."

"What I want to think?" I ask. I shake my head, shove my stuff in my bag. Then I go to collect the projector. The record player. But I stop, halfway to the outlet. Spin around. "Why would I want to think that?"