Chapter 11

“Let’s get out of here!” Luce says as I gently lay the last of the turf, sniffing as I tuck Arthur in. I press the soil down as tight as I can, willing it to be enough protection to keep him safe from animals.

“Marley, come on!” Atlas snaps.

I don’t want to leave him, but I force myself to my feet, my legs like jelly, and walk away with them.

“I’ll drop you all home,” Jesse tells us.

“We can’t pretend we were home earlier,” I say as we all climb back into a truck I’d rather burn.

“We have to, Marley,” Luce replies. “I’ve already told Rhett we were home.”

“No, I mean we shouldn’t. Or rather I shouldn’t. I have a doorbell that will show I got home later.”

“Delete it from the log,” Atlas says.

“Usually I would, but wouldn’t it look suspicious if on this particular night there’s no evidence of me getting back?”

“A lot of things need to happen before that becomes suspicious,” Jesse says. “We’ve just taken care of the body.”

“Arthur,”I say.

“New plan,” Atlas says. “Drop Marley and me off at mine. I’ll take her home. It’ll look like she went back with me after the dare.”

The lies just keep piling up. One on top of the other, ready to bury us. How long before there are too many to keep straight?

“Good plan,” Jesse replies.

No plans we’ve made tonight have been good, but it seems to be the best we can do.

Jesse drops me and Atlas off first, meaning he’ll have to circle back to take Luce home.

Atlas drives to mine in absolute silence, both of us trying to wrap our minds around what happened tonight. I feel so cold, but I don’t want to turn up the heat because he’s still sweating. I grab a packet of hand wipes he keeps in his car and clean mud off my clothes as best I can. The camera is going to see everything.

“You should stop before mine,” I tell him, stuffing the used wipes into my pocket. Another thing to destroy to cover my tracks.

“Why?”

“Because I’m the one with a camera on the door. You can pretend you got home earlier…but if you’re seen dropping me off, it’ll incriminate you too.”

“Marley…”

I watch him frown as he decides if he wants to potentially save himself and let me go down alone. At least, it seems to be a struggle.

“It’s fine, Atlas. Just do it.”

He puts the brakes on, stopping before the first house on my street.

“Hey, we’re not going to get caught,” he says with such conviction I almost believe him. “I mean it.”

He can’t be certain of that. Doesn’t the truth have a nasty habit of always coming out?

“Um…I’ll see you later,” I say, ignoring the sting of him leaving me to do this alone. This was my idea. I want to protect him.

He nods. “I’ll message you in a bit.”

“Yeah.”

On autopilot I get out of his car and walk half a block to my house. If this footage is seen, I need to look like everything is fine. So I try not to look as miserable as I feel and unlock the door.

As soon as I’m inside, I start to shake, adrenaline and shock pumping through my body. I lock the door behind me, fumbling with the handle and almost dropping the key onto the mat.

I flick the light on and walk upstairs. I need to shower until I no longer feel so disgusting. If that’s even possible.

Soon there will be no evidence left of what we’ve done.

Of course, a quarter of the senior class, plus George, saw me out late, but my parents aren’t going to question any of them.

I reach around the wall in the bathroom and turn the light on before I walk into the room. My nerves are frazzled, tricking me into believing it’s possible for Arthur to be standing by the bathtub.

I spin around, closing and bolting the door. My legs wobble and give out, no longer able to hold my weight or the weight of what I’ve done. The cool tile seeps into my skin and scatters goose bumps along my bare legs.

Arthur is dead.

I lift my hands in front of my face and notice the dirt beneath my nails, which somehow got in despite the gloves. That has to come off.

I need to get the dirt from Arthur’s grave off me.

Gasping, I push myself up from the floor and run to the shower. Once I’ve turned that on as hot as I’ll be able to stand, I tear at my clothes. Jesse said to get rid of them. I don’t know if that’s as simple as just throwing them away or if I should burn them.

That wouldn’t be an easy explanation to my parents, though. We’re coming up on a summer that’s been forecast as the hottest one on record, and I decide to start my own personal bonfire.

I step under the spray and scrub myself until my skin burns and the quicks of my nails bleed.

It takes me a good ten minutes after I’m clean to turn off the shower and step out. I want to stay in there forever and avoid dealing with what I’ve done.

But I know that I can’t. My parents will be home in an hour, and I need to make it appear like I’ve been asleep for ages. So I wrap a towel around my body, ignoring how rough it feels against my sensitive skin, and wipe down the mirror.

My reflection staring back at me might as well be that of a stranger. I look different. I can’t describe how, nothing about my physical appearance has changed, but I’m not the same.

I can see the horror in my bright eyes.

Turning away, I grab a trash bag from the cabinet and shove my clothes and gloves into it. I’m not sure what to do with them yet, so I carry the bag into my room and stuff it in the bottom of my closet behind my hiking backpack. I’ll have to come up with a better plan, but that’ll do for tonight.

I can’t think about one more thing to cover up what we’ve done, or I’ll lose it, and I’m already just hanging on.

One of my bedroom windows faces the street, so I don’t turn the light on, but I can see well enough from the one on the landing that I left on earlier. My parents will expect it too. We always leave a light on.

I dry my hair as fast as I can, chuck the towel in the laundry basket, and put some pajamas on. It’s only when I climb into bed that I totally break. Big, fat tears roll down my cheeks, soaking the pillow.

I gasp for oxygen but get nothing.

What have we done?

I’ve watched this happen on TV before. An accidental death and then the aftermath.

It never works out.

My lungs flatten and I gasp again, guilt trying to end me.

My phone dinging gives me some sort of normality, a distraction, and I cling to it like it’s a raft in the middle of the ocean.

I lift my head and reach out.

love u

For the longest time, I’m utterly unable to move, as if my brain has forgotten how to send a message. I can’t bring myself to do it. I do love him, and it’s such a normal thing to say, but we don’t deserve any normal moments.

None of us are okay and we never will be again. I lie in the dark and wait as three dancing dots prepare to deliver another message.

I close my eyes and let the phone drop onto the bed, leaving Atlas’s message unanswered. Rolling onto my back, I pray that sleep will hurry the hell up because all I can think about is the sound Arthur’s body made when it hit the car and the smell of the dirt when we dug his grave.

Friday, May26

Groaning, I stretch my arms and arch my back like a cat. I sit up and notice sunlight streaming through my blinds. But it’s a beautiful day, so I can’t be annoyed.

And then it hits me. Hard.

My breath catches in my throat as the events of last night come flooding back, crashing into my body and physically knocking me back down.

I bounce gently on the mattress and grip the blanket.

Arthur.

The crash, stuffing him into the truck, digging the hole, rolling him in.

My stomach lurches and I bolt out of bed.

Bursting through the bathroom door, I drop in front of the toilet and vomit, my abs contracting. Tears sting the corners of my eyes. When I’m done, I flush the toilet and stand with trembling legs. Perspiration sits on my skin, making me feel gross.

“Marley?” Mom calls. “Are you okay? It sounded like you were throwing up.”

Great.

“Um, yeah. It must’ve been the leftovers I ate yesterday,” I say, the lie rolling off my tongue. I’m getting used to doing that.

“Can I come in?”

“One minute,” I say, turning the faucet on and rinsing my acidic mouth. I splash water on my face and neck and press my trembling hands to my cheeks.

I open the door and smile. At least I think I’m smiling, but she looks at me like I’m on my deathbed.

She places her cool palm on my forehead. “Goodness, you’re very pale. Get back into bed, you can’t go to school like this. It’s Friday anyway.”

Her soft smile almost makes me double over. Mom has preached and demonstrated kindness every day of my life. She will be so devastated and disappointed if she ever finds out what I’ve done.

How are we going to keep this a secret for the rest of our lives? Right now, I don’t think I can keep it in for one more second.

I clear my throat. “Okay.”

She follows me to my room and watches as I climb into bed. My dirty grave-digging clothes are in the closet opposite me.

I take a breath.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I already have water,” I tell her. It’s from yesterday so I don’t want to drink it, but I do want her to leave me alone.

I press my face into the pillow. “Going to sleep,” I mutter. Her softness and concern only make me feel worse.

“All right. I’m going to do the same, but I’m here if you need me, okay? I’m never too tired for you.”

Please just go!

I nod and she backs away, leaving my door open. When I hear her go back into her room, I send a message to Atlas. I don’t have the energy for the group chat.

not coming to school, been throwing up.

what can I do?

nothing. See u tomorrow

I’ll come by later

I roll over in bed, still feeling as sick as when I first threw up. How am I supposed to keep this secret in? I can’t do this. I can’t spend the rest of my life pretending that I don’t know exactly what happened to Arthur and where he is. George deserves better.

I spend the day in bed, my parents checking in on me a lot. I manage to avoid talking to them by pretending that I’m asleep. But by late afternoon, they “wake” me to check if I’m well enough for them to go into work.

Of course I say yes, because I don’t want to be near anyone.

That was a good plan, until they open the door to leave, and I hear them calling up the stairs, telling me Atlas is here and they’re heading out.

“Send him up,” I shout back, trying to sound like seeing him is something I want to do. They’ll be suspicious if I tell them to send him away. I’ve never done that.

I sit up in bed and run my fingers through my hair, trying in vain to make myself look a little more like myself.

“Hey,” he says from the doorway, not quite managing to smile. His dark eyes are full of regret.

“Hi.”

“You feeling better?”

“I don’t think I’m going to throw up again, if that’s what you’re asking. How are you? How was school?”

He sits down on the bed, scoots closer, and wraps me in a hug. I take that as school sucked as much as I assumed it would.

I fold into his embrace, wishing I could disappear. Atlas sucks in a breath that sounds like he’s struggling to hold it together too. This used to be my safe space, but I don’t feel anything right now.

He rubs the back of his neck and sighs as I sit back up. I can see the faint lines of stress around his eyes and the shadows underneath that show a terrible night’s sleep.

“Sorry. I’m trying so damn hard to forget it but…”

“It’s impossible,” I say, finishing his sentence.

“Yeah. What did you tell your parents?”

“They heard me throwing up, so I told them I must’ve eaten something off.”

“You were really sick?”

Nodding, I tell him, “I keep replaying the moment the car hit him in my mind.”

Atlas groans and lies down beside me. “I’m so sorry, Marley. What can I do?”

“We made the wrong choice.”

“I’m not disagreeing.”

I sit up and he pushes himself onto his elbow. “You’re not?”

“Of course. I’m not a monster! What can we do about it now, though? He’s dead and fessing up isn’t going to change that. I’d do it if it would.”

“George will never know what happened to his grandad.”

“We’ll lose everything if we do…the right thing.” He groans again, throwing his hand over his eyes. “I’m so conflicted. Jesse and Luce are sure we’re doing what we need to do.”

I shake my head, anger burning, hating all of us.

“Stuff like this always comes out, Atlas. How long before Arthur is reported missing? It’s not like he’s home alone anymore.”

“I’m on your side,” he says, moving his hand and rubbing my leg. “Can we not argue? This is hard enough, and I really need you.”

“Okay,” I whisper, dialing back on the attitude. I lie down, and we look at each other, the same fear and regret mirrored. “What are we going to do?”

“I’m not sure. But whatever it is, we stick together. Me and you.”

“Why do you say it like that?” I ask, taking his hand, trying to cling on to sanity. “Why not the four of us?” Yesterday Jesse told us we all had to stick together. Today Atlas is dividing us.

He shrugs one shoulder. “You’re my girl.”

No way am I buying that. I can tell when he’s omitting something. Or straight up lying.

“Atlas…”

“You didn’t see Jesse today. Luce too, kind of. He was acting as if nothing happened. I know that’s what we agreed to, but he’s too good at it. I could barely eat, and I’m not sure I took anything in today. Thank god finals are over.”

“Hold on. He was really okay?”

“You’d never know anything was wrong. For me every second was a battle.”

I shudder, my body turning cold. “No. That doesn’t mean he’s not feeling it.”

“No.”

His reply is hollow, telling me what he thinks I want to hear. The worry etched into his face tells me something entirely different.

It’s too easy for Jesse to forget and pretend.

He’s scared of losing his future.

But so are we and neither of us is doing great.

“Atlas, what are you saying exactly?”

“Nothing. I’m being judgmental.”

“You’re giving me whiplash here.”

He brushes a stray tendril of hair out of my face. “I just mean that I think he should behave the way I am, or there must be something wrong. But he could be struggling as much as us, right?”

“He must be, Atlas. He’s one of our best friends. We’ve known him for years.”

I want to see how Luce is doing. She’s always gone along with whatever Jesse says or does, the two of them like a little gang within our group.

“Are you coming back to school on Monday?”

“I have to, or they’ll get suspicious.”

“Your parents will get suspicious?”

“Them and everyone else. It’s the final two weeks. Were there any pranks today?”

He nods and closes his eyes. “Rhett’s been wandering the halls like he owns the place. God, I hate him, Marley. He ruins people’s lives and walks away. No remorse.”

“He doesn’t know what happened last night…does he?” I whisper.

He recoils like I’ve just said the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “No. We have a pact. The secret dies with us.”

“The secret might be what kills us.”

“Don’t say that.” His hand tightens around mine.

My phone dings with a message. Atlas and I both look at the screen, seeing Rhett’s name. It’s not the group chat this time.

“What does he want?” Atlas sneers.

I pick it up and read. My mouth drops, and I turn the screen so Atlas can see it.

Your individual dare is to spend the night in the forest.

It’s a recycled dare, and not one I have any intention of following through on. I’m done, beyond done, with the stupid dares.

We killed a man.

I toss my phone onto the mattress. “Looks like I have another dare,” I tell him. “So, I’m guessing he wants me to sneak out after dark and back in before my parents wake up.”

“What? This is insane. You’re not going to do it, are you?”

“No way!”

“Good.”

“Yeah? I thought you’d try to talk me into it.”

“I don’t want you to have anything to do with that asshole. I knew the dares would ramp up. Rhett needs to go bigger than Everett and Emmett did.” He rolls his eyes, fingers so tight around mine that my knuckles crunch together. It’s not an unpleasant feeling; it’s keeping my mind from wandering.

“He didn’t ask us to kill anyone. He wasn’t behind the wheel, and he didn’t pick up a shovel.”

Atlas’s eyes cut to me as if he thinks I’m defending Rhett. I’m not. It’s just the truth. We can’t blame anyone else for what we did.

“Doesn’t matter what he asked us to do. He’s dangerous. Who gives that kind of dare anyway? You’ll stay away from him, right? He’s still got a massive thing for you.”

It’s not the first time I’ve heard that, but it is the first time that it physically makes me ill. My stomach heaves. Thankfully there’s nothing left inside me to bring up, so I swallow the urge to retch and snuggle closer to Atlas.

“When do you think he’ll want you to do the dare?”

“No idea,” I reply, covering a yawn with the back of my hand. With Atlas here, I suddenly feel exhausted and like I could sleep for a whole year, but my conscience is only letting me get a few minutes at a time.

I don’t want to do any more of Rhett’s dares, but getting lost in the woods doesn’t sound too bad right now.