Words spliced, growing across the gaps like vines as Pip’s eyes unfocused, until her handwriting was just one writhing blur. She was looking at the page, but she wasn’t really there. It was like that now; giant holes in her attention that she slipped right into.
There was a time, not too long ago, she would have found a practice essay about Cold War escalation enthralling. She would have cared, really cared.
That was who she was before, but something must have changed. Hopefully, it was just a matter of time until those holes filled back in and things went back to normal.
Her phone buzzed against the desk, Cara’s name lighting up the screen.
“Good evening, Miss Sweet F-A,” Cara said when Pip picked up, stating her initials in a terrible British accent. “Are you ready to Netflix and chill in the upside down?”
“Yep, C.W., two secs,” Pip said, taking her laptop and phone to bed with her and sliding under the duvet.
“How was the trial today?” Cara asked. “Naomi almost went this morning, to support Nat. But she couldn’t face seeing Max.”
“I just uploaded the update.” Pip sighed. “Makes me so angry that Ravi and I have to tiptoe around it when we record, saying ‘allegedly’ and avoiding
anything that steps over the ‘presumption of innocence’ when we know he did it. He did all of it.”
“Yeah, it’s gross. But it’s OK, it will be over in a week.” Cara rustled in her covers, the phone line crackling. “Hey, guess what I found today?”
“What?”
“You’re a meme. An actual meme that strangers are posting on Reddit.
It’s that photo of you with Detective Hawkins in front of all the press microphones. The one where it looks like you’re rolling your eyes at him
while he’s talking.”
“I was rolling my eyes at him.”
“And people have captioned the funniest things. It’s like you’re the new ‘jealous girlfriend’ meme. This one has a caption of ‘Me…’ by you, and beside Hawkins it says ‘Men on the internet explaining my own joke back to me.’ ” Cara snorted. “That’s when you know you’ve made it, becoming a meme. Have you heard from any more advertisers?”
“Yeah,” Pip said. “A few companies have emailed about sponsorship.
But…I still don’t know if it’s the right thing, profiting off what happened. I don’t know, it’s too much to think about, especially this week.”
“I know, what a week.” Cara coughed. “So tomorrow, you know…the memorial…would it be weird for Ravi and his parents if Naomi and I were there?”
Pip sat up. “No. You know Ravi doesn’t think like that, you’ve spoken to each other about it.”
“I know, I know. But I just thought, with tomorrow being about remembering Sal and Andie, now that we know the truth, maybe it would be weird for us to—”
“Ravi is the last person who’d ever want you to feel guilty for what your dad did to Sal. His parents too.” Pip paused. “They lived through that, they
know better than anyone.”
“I know, it’s just—”
“Cara, it’s OK. Ravi would want you there. I’m pretty sure he’d say Sal would’ve wanted Naomi there. She was his best friend.”
“OK, if you’re sure.”
“I’m always sure.”
“You are. You should think about taking up gambling,” Cara said.
“Can’t. Mom’s already too concerned about my ‘addictive personality.’ ”
“Surely my and Naomi’s fucked-uppedness helps to normalize you.”
“Not enough, apparently,” said Pip. “If you could try a bit harder, that would be great.”
That was Cara’s way of getting through the past six months, her new normal. Hiding behind the quips and one-liners that made others squirm and fall silent. Most people didn’t know how to react when someone joked about their father who murdered a person and kidnapped another. But Pip knew exactly how to react: she crouched and hid behind the one-liners too so that Cara always had someone right there next to her. That was how she helped.
“Note taken. Although I’m not sure my grandma can cope with any more.
You know, Naomi’s had this new idea: apparently she wants to burn all of Dad’s stuff. Grandparents obviously said no and got straight on the phone to
our therapist.”
“Burn it?”
“I know, right?” Cara said. “She’d accidentally summon a demon or something. I probably shouldn’t tell Dad; he still thinks Naomi will turn up one day.”
Cara visited her dad at the Bridgeport Correctional Center every two weeks. She said it didn’t mean she’d forgiven him, but after all, he was still her dad. Naomi had not visited once and said she never would.
“So, what time does the memorial— Hold on, Grandpa’s talking to me… Yes?” Cara called, her voice directed away from the phone. “Yeah, I know.
Yeah, I am.”
Cara’s grandparents—her mom’s parents—had moved into the house with her and Naomi last November so Cara had some doctor-ordered stability until she finished school. But April was almost over, and exams and the end of school were fast approaching. Too fast. And when summer arrived, Cara and Naomi’s grandparents would put the Wards’ house on the market and move the girls to their home in Warren Township, New Jersey. At least they’d be close when Pip started college at Columbia. But Fairview wouldn’t be
Fairview without Cara, and Pip quietly wished that summer would never
come.
“OK,” Cara said. “Good night, Grandpa.”
“What was that?”
“Oh, you know, it’s ten-thirty, so it’s suuuuuper late and past ‘lights-out’ and I should have been in bed hours ago and not chatting with my ‘girlfriends.’ Plural. At this rate, I’ll probably never have a girlfriend, let alone multiple, plus no one has said ‘lights-out’ since, like, the 1700s,” Cara huffed.
“Well, the light bulb was invented in 1879, so—”
“Ugh, please stop. Have you got it cued up?”
“Almost,” Pip said, dragging one finger across the trackpad. “We’re on episode four, right?”
This had started in December, when Pip first realized Cara wasn’t sleeping. Not surprising, really: lying in bed at night is always when the worst thoughts come. And Cara’s were worse than most. If only Pip could stop her from listening to them, distract her into sleep. When they were kids, Cara was always the first to go at sleepovers, her light snores disrupting the end of a cheesy horror film. So Pip tried to re-create those childhood sleepovers, calling Cara while they binge-watched Netflix together. It worked. As long as Pip was there, awake and listening, Cara eventually fell asleep, her breath whistling through the phone.
Now they did it every night. They’d started with shows Pip could legitimately argue had “educational value.” But they’d watched so many that their standard had slipped somewhat. Still, at least Stranger Things had some
historical quality.
“OK, ready?” Cara said.
“Ready.” It had taken them several attempts to get the shows to run in exact synchronization; Cara’s laptop had a slight delay, so she pressed play on
one and Pip went on go.
“Three,” Pip said.
“Two.”
“One.”
“Go.”
