Say a Little Prayer(52)

“Good,” I snap. “You should miss her. She’s amazing. She was your friend and you just left.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t!” I grip the railing, ignoring the splinters sinking into my palms. “You don’t know. She trusted you, Amanda. She needed you. I can’t do everything. I’m trying and I…”

My throat closes, and I cannot believe that after months of holding it together, Amanda Clarke might be the one who sees me cry. I swipe an angry hand across my face and force myself to meet her gaze. “Why?” I ask. “How could you just stop caring?”

Will it happen to me, too? Is it only a matter of time before Julia’s the one shutting me out?

I don’t recognize the way Amanda’s looking at me. It’s distant, almost unsettling, and it’s not until her eyes flutter closed that I realize it’s because I’ve never seen her truly unguarded.

“I wish I stopped,” she whispers. “That would be easier, I think. It’s all just so much. It’s so much all the time, and I can’t fix it because every time I think about what happened I feel so…”

“Angry?” I supply.

Amanda flinches, then shakes her head emphatically. “No, of course not.”

It’s funny, I think, that out of all the things I’ve accused her of so far, that’s the one that crawls under her skin. “Why not?” I ask. “You’re angry at me. Or you were a few minutes ago.”

“That doesn’t count. You’re a very specific brand of irritating.”

“I like to think of myself as an acquired taste.” I hesitate, then add, “You seemed pretty mad at your parents, too.”

Amanda’s cheeks flush. “No, I’m not. Pastor Young said it this morning—it’s wrong to be angry. It’s a sin.”

I think of Greer standing next to me in the kitchen last night, the way her eyes had widened when she whispered, I didn’t know he could kick people out of church. Maybe we all feel like this, deep down. Maybe everyone at Pleasant Hills is just as angry as me, and maybe we’re all just waiting for someone to break that place wide open.

I hadn’t felt particularly wrathful during our game of capture the flag, but I certainly feel it now, standing face-to-face with Amanda Clarke in the middle of the woods. The last four months rewind through my brain in sickening flashes. Hannah coming home from church in tears. Amanda ignoring her calls that night. The first day back at school when Jorgia Rose had conveniently taken the last open seat at their lunch table and left Hannah standing alone. Every snide comment, every whispered rumor, every time Amanda had averted her eyes in the hallway instead of facing what she’d done.

If this is the kind of rage Pastor Young is talking about, I can almost understand why he’s so afraid. Right now I feel like I could tear the world apart.

I release a ragged sigh and start climbing the stairs, shouldering Amanda out of the way as I go. “Follow me.”

She doesn’t answer, but after a second of wary hesitation, I hear her footsteps behind me. We come to a stop on the tower balcony, and I reach up to trail a finger over the decorative glass ornaments dangling from the ceiling.

“Here’s a secret,” I say. “I’m angry, too.”

Amanda’s still hovering by the stairs, like she thinks I’ll toss her over the railing if she gets too close. She lets out a dismissive snort. “That’s not a secret.”

I ignore her, grabbing one of the ornaments and yanking it toward me until the string snaps.

“Lately, it feels like I’m one wrong move from exploding,” I say. “Like there’s too much inside me with nowhere to go. And it doesn’t feel fair to talk about it because I’m fine, all things considered, but I’m still so angry all the time.” I raise my voice so it rings across the clearing and hurl the ornament over the side of the balcony. “I’m angry at Principal Rider for making me come here!”

Glass shatters against a nearby tree with a satisfying crunch. Amanda sucks in a surprised breath, but I don’t look at her. I just reach up for another. “I’m mad at Pastor Young for making Hannah a target when she did nothing wrong. I’m mad that everyone else just let it happen, and I’m livid at you and Greer for doing his dirty work for him.”

Something in my chest unlatches as I hurl the glass into the trees. A release that feels as natural as breathing. I whip around to glare at Amanda. “Your turn.”

“Oh!” She takes a shaky step back. “No, I…I can’t.”

“Really? You don’t want to break something? You’re not still annoyed with me?”

“I mean, a little, but—”

“But nothing.” I pull a little glass angel from its string. “Here.”

I don’t know why I’m so insistent. It’s not like I need Amanda to commit this sin with me for it to work, but some dark, vengeful part of me wants her to. I want her to be angry. I want to know she’s capable of feeling something other than bland indifference for the things she’s done.

Amanda hesitates, weighing the angel in her hand, then gently lobs it over the balcony. It arcs through the air and bounces harmlessly off another tree before landing in the grass in one piece. She blinks down at it, and despite myself, despite everything, I almost smile.