This Secret Thing, стр. 39

He shrugged. “Nah, I’ll just hang here if you don’t mind. I can play basketball anytime. We don’t often have company.” He looked away, realizing the admission in what he’d said, then added, “Not lately, that is.”

She wanted to say that she was sorry about Olivia, about what had happened that night, and all that had come after. She wanted to say something that would make the awkwardness less awkward, or just lighten the mood. She wanted to tell him what she’d overheard that night, ask him why he’d never told anyone that part. But instead she just stood there, mute, the whole of her knowledge closed up inside her. Her mother wasn’t the only one who could hold on to a secret. If Violet hadn’t inherited her beauty or her coolness, at least she had inherited that.

“Besides, I like seeing Chipper this happy,” he added, and she was grateful that he did what she could not do, steering the conversation away from maudlin and back to upbeat with seven words. So he hadn’t lost his social mojo after all.

“I think Barney was lonely,” she said.

He glanced over at her as she said it, and she feared he thought she was insinuating something else, something not about the dog. She hadn’t been, but how to clarify that without naming the things that sat between them, the things that had rendered them both lonely: his shame, and hers. They had that in common, too.

“I mean maybe he had a dog buddy back at my grandmother’s house,” she hurried to add. “Maybe he’s missing him.”

“Or her,” Micah said. “It could’ve been a her.” This time it was her turn to glance over at him, to wonder if his words had been some sort of hint. He gave her a playful grin, and for a moment he looked like the old Micah, the one she knew only from afar but loved just the same. Though that Micah had never deigned to speak to her, and this one—the broken version—was choosing to keep the conversation going when he’d had every opportunity to go back to playing basketball. Her brain told her not to take this to mean anything, but her heart took it anyway, seizing upon it and holding it close.

“Yes,” she managed to say, feeling momentarily brave. “It could’ve been a her.”

“Lonely no more,” Micah said, his voice so low she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.

She was about to ask him what he’d said when she heard Polly call her name from across the street. In response, Barney stopped playing with Chipper and turned his head toward his master’s voice. Quickly, before he could decide to bolt over to Polly, Violet rushed over, grabbed his collar, and snapped the leash onto it. She stood up and faced Micah. “Guess I better go,” she said.

“Wanna bring him back over tomorrow?” Micah asked, and she heard the note of hope in his voice. This was nothing; she understood that. And yet, nothing could become something with time. She understood that, too. Once, that big-ass pumpkin on their porch was just a tiny seed.

“Sure,” she said. “I’m sure Barney would like that.”

He grinned and held up the basketball. “I’ll be here.”

She laughed and turned to go back home, to where her grandmother was waiting in the yard. Barney strained against the leash and the sound of the basketball bouncing resumed, and, away from Micah’s gaze, Violet let a smile fill her face.

Hours later, loud, angry voices woke her. She swam to the surface of consciousness and, groggy and confused, blinked in the darkness, trying to discern where—and whom—the voices were coming from. She sat up and listened harder. For a moment hope flickered inside her. Had her mother returned home? Disappointment quickly replaced hope when she realized it was only male voices speaking. It wasn’t her mother, and it wasn’t Polly. The angry tones continued, coming, she determined, through her open window.

She reached for her nightstand to get her glasses, slipped from bed, and moved silently across the room to where the breeze was making her sheer curtains dance. She’d fallen asleep watching them earlier, recalling Micah’s invitation to return with Barney the next day, rehearsing things she might say to him. She glanced back over her shoulder to check the time on her bedside clock: 12:37 a.m. It was the next day.

She hunched down to get a better view out the window, angling herself so no one could look up and see her face framed there, watching like a creeper. She observed two figures standing in Micah’s front yard, close to the street. The nearby streetlight provided enough light that she could clearly see them both. One of the figures was Micah. The other was Olivia Ames’s brother, Devin, who was supposed to have graduated with Casey Strickland but didn’t because he had stopped going to class after his sister died. Violet realized she hadn’t seen him at school this year and wondered if he’d just completely dropped out. That would be a shame, she thought. Another casualty of that night.

Violet watched as Devin attempted to stand still yet swayed like a tree in the wind. Micah reached out to steady him, a reflex. “Don’t you fucking touch me!” Devin yelled and, as Violet watched, threw a sloppy punch that, thanks to the element of surprise, managed to connect with Micah’s jaw—though Violet could see he’d intended to punch Micah right in the nose.

Micah staggered back, holding his jaw. “You need to go home, Devin,” he said, and as he turned to walk away, Devin tackled him from behind, felling him with ease. Violet winced at the hard thud of his body hitting the ground. Before she knew it, she was running out of her room, down the stairs, and jabbing the alarm code into the security system so she could get out her front