Say a Little Prayer(37)

She has, like, a month of high school left. She already got into Indiana University’s dance program, and she and Greer are planning a post-grad trip to Paris in July. I know this because Hannah was supposed to go, too, at one point, and because Amanda keeps posting scenes from Emily in Paris with the caption “so me” on her Instagram Story. She’s fine. She’s thriving actually, but the thought of her sneaking away to cry in the bathroom kind of shatters that pristine, glossy image.

I don’t like imagining my enemies complexly. It really ruins the whole “revenge at all costs” thing I’m doing this week. So instead, when the voices outside fade and silence settles across the locker room once more, I start trying to list options that make sense.

    Amanda is crying because:

1. She broke a nail.

2. The lack of proper breakfast got to her, too.

3. The hot water ran out this morning, and she couldn’t complete her nine-step skin-care routine.





Normal reasons. Rational reasons. Reasons that make sense within the confines of my universe. None of them feel quite right. It’s like someone took a knife to my brain, splicing the version of Amanda I knew with the one I’m avoiding now. Greer might have the longer résumé, status secured by her impressive need to control absolutely everything, but Amanda’s power has always felt effortless. She floats through life, seemingly oblivious to the people stopping to check out her shoes or the color of her nail polish. Her hair always looks flawless, her silver cross necklace always sits perfectly in the hollow of her throat, and she’s always happy to see you.

She’s never upset. She certainly never cries, not even when Hannah invited her over after Christmas break and told her all about Cleveland.

Amanda might not know people’s locker combinations or coffee orders by heart, but she understood Hannah in the same innate, bone-deep way I know Julia and Ben. I could picture Greer becoming an acquaintance eventually, someone Hannah reached out to on birthdays or when she was back in town, but Amanda wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. Now I’m wondering if their relationship had never been that deep. If maybe all Amanda wanted was to Save her, too.

By the time I leave the locker room, my legs ache from pacing and I feel no closer to finding an answer. The cool air from this morning is already starting to thicken, and I know without looking at the sky that a storm is on its way. I quicken my pace and keep walking, not looking up again until I find my group clustered around our regular picnic table. Gabe’s head snaps up when I drop into the seat next to Delaney.

“Riley,” he says. “How nice of you to join us. Is there something you’d like to say to the group?”

I grit my teeth and yank my workbook from my bag. “Not really.”

Gabe’s mouth twists in clear frustration, but this time, he doesn’t let me slide. “Are you sure? Because everyone else managed to be here on time. How is your group supposed to trust you if you don’t respect them in return?”

There’s no way those two things are even remotely connected. There’s no way anyone besides Gabe cares that I missed the first half of Bible class, but I feel this morning’s leftover anger coil in my stomach. My fingers flex under the table, and I’m about to tell him just that when Pastor Young’s face flashes across my mind.

I’d hate for you to become a bad influence.

If I snap now, Gabe won’t keep that to himself. He’d tell Pastor Young, who would probably tell Mr. Rider, and then this entire week will have been for nothing. I dig my nails into the tops of my thighs as my expression smooths into something I hope resembles genuine regret.

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

Gabe blinks. His head cocks to the side, and for a minute, I think I’ve genuinely broken his brain. Delaney saves us both by thrusting her hand in the air.

“Can we go back to page thirty-two?” she asks. “I don’t get what that passage is trying to say.”

“Right.” Gabe shakes his head, gaze returning to his workbook. “Sure. Where was I?”

Only when his attention shifts away do I finally slide down in my seat. I spend the rest of the morning glaring at my lap and pretending not to notice Greer trying to catch my eye across the table. I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to talk to anyone, and the longer Gabe speaks, the more my frustration grows, stoked by the hollow void of my empty stomach. When we finally break for lunch, I’m so annoyed that I don’t even wait for Delaney to pack up her things. I just turn on my heel and march down the hill.

I hadn’t planned to take Greer up on her offer to share snacks, but I’m so hungry that Satan himself could offer me a bag of trail mix and I’d probably kiss him on the mouth. The porch groans underfoot as I take the stairs two at a time, but when I reach for the cabin door, there’s already someone opening it from the other side.

Amanda Clarke, with her perfect white sneakers and sugarplum socks, holding a half-eaten sleeve of peanut butter crackers in one hand.

We freeze—me on the porch, her in the doorway—and despite what happened in the locker room this morning, I think she looks perfectly fine. Sunlight glints off her hair, curls as infuriatingly moisturized as Greer’s. Her makeup is the perfect combination of subtle and dewy I’ve been trying to master all year, and the corner of her mouth is still curled in that same little half smile. Then our eyes lock across the porch, and I think I finally see something crack. It’s quick, a barely there tremor, but I catch it before her face smooths. I know that, no matter what Amanda says or how unshakable she pretends to be, we were still the ones in the locker room this morning, trying and failing to hold it together.