Day Twenty-One

Day Twenty-One

Tracy takes our pictures in the desert. Photos of our campsite, our fire sites, our sad-sack A-frame shelters (though Josh's is perfect).

Josh grabs Tracy's camera when she isn't looking and holds it above us.

Click.

Before I can even look at it, he shoves the photo in the pocket of my parka and races to put Tracy's camera back by her tent.

Phil cooks everyone sausages and toast over his campfire and makes coffee.

After that, we make sure all the fires are out, dousing them with water, kicking dirt on them, inspecting for any still-warm coals. We take apart our A-frames, careful to leave the branches for the next group. Roll up our tarps, stuff them in our backpacks.

It's a long walk back, but I don't mind. It's slightly downhill, which is a relief. Josh stays with me. We don't talk very much, but it doesn't feel uncomfortable.

It feels comfortable.

When we stop for lunch, Tracy's cell beeps. She looks at it, then frowns. She takes her phone off into the distance, where we can't hear. When she comes back, she whispers in Phil's ear and his face gets funny, but not in a good way. In a grim way.

"Let's pack up, everyone," he says, standing. "We need to head back a little quicker than we hoped."

"What's up?" Billy asks. "You look weird."

"Nothing," Tracy says. "Just some bad weather we should try to head off."

"She's lying," Brandy whispers to me.

"Yeah," I say. I wonder about what.

—

When we get closer to Sonoran Sunrise, Tracy and Phil stop and turn around, facing us.

Phil's eyes are wet. He clears his throat.

"Everyone," he says, his voice faltering. "There's been an incident."

My stomach drops. Josh steps closer to me.

Tracy licks her lips. "Early this morning, Gideon was found unconscious in her room."

"No," I say. I step forward. Tracy holds up her hand.

Everything inside me drains away.

"What are you talking about?" Brandy says, her voice cracking. "Is she…d—"

She can't even say the word.

"No," Tracy says firmly. "She was unconscious, she's been transported to the hospital, she's being cared for."

"But…how?" I ask. "Was she sick?"

"No, dummy," Charlotte says, her voice thick with bitterness. "Grow up. She OD'd. Didn't she, Phil? Tracy?"

Phil nods.

"But…like, how?" Brandy asks. "What was it?"

"Is she going to live?" I ask desperately.

Phil holds up his hands. "Too many voices all at once. We know only a little at this moment, but we wanted to prepare you before we get there."

"This happens," Tracy says. "Things get in. We aren't perfect. People devise new ways all the time."

"You got that right," Charlotte mutters.

"But she was all alone in our room," I say. "Didn't they do a bed check or—"

"That's why she probably did it," Charlotte says. "Because we weren't there. No one to bother her when she offed herself."

I turn toward her, angry. "Are you saying she tried to kill herself?"

"Again, grow up," Charlotte says, snapping her fingers in my face. "She's not just going to take a tiny bit here and there in this place. She was supposed to get out in a few days, but she doesn't have anywhere to go, remember? Her parents wouldn't take her back." She turns to Phil and Tracy. "Right?"

They nod sadly.

First Holly, now Gideon. My heart is racing.

"Why can't you take care of people?" I spit at Tracy. "You say you do, but you don't. Don't you have something in place for people who have nowhere to go, after? That isn't fair. Even with Holly, you knew she had nowhere but that…place. You knew her foster parents weren't coming and you didn't prepare her. She seemed happy. She had plans. She took pictures of me—"

"Bella," Tracy says. "I know you're upset—"

Beside me, Charlotte's voice is cold. "Like this?" she asks, holding up her phone. "Pictures like this?"

My voice, slurred and feral, rings out in our small group, across the quiet desert.

Dyyyyyylaaannnn…

Look at me

Look at me

Everyboooooooddddy

As if in slow motion, I turn toward the vision of myself on Charlotte's phone, slopping around in front of Lemon's camera, my face slack, my makeup smeared. My breast hanging out, fleshy and pale.

Josh's face is unreadable. Brandy covers her mouth. Billy steps away from us.

"Charlotte," Phil says. "My god."

"The internet," Charlotte says, "is a glorious place where things live forever, unlike the real world. Which Gideon was trying to leave. Maybe now, O dear overlords, you should tell everyone, now that they're already upset, that Holly's dead."

Tracy opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She looks helpless.

That's how I know it's true.

Phil drops his eyes. "They found her in a house a few days ago—"

"We all need to take a moment—" Tracy starts.

Brandy starts crying.

Charlotte is still holding up her phone. She muted it, but I'm replaying over and over on her screen.

"Holly was never going to make it anyway," she mutters.

I grab the phone and throw it as far as I can into the desert.

And then, even with my heavy backpack on, I deck her.

I hit her for Holly, and for Gideon, and for the video, and for everything, everything, everything, until someone pulls me off her.