This Secret Thing, стр. 40
This much she knew for certain: Olivia Ames would be alive if she had intervened. Devin Ames would’ve graduated as planned and been off at college, not facing off with Micah, drunk and confrontational, there to blame him for what had happened, ready to demand a pound of flesh in restitution. But Devin should blame Violet, too, for being too scared to admit she’d been spying on the party that night, the wallflower never asked to dance, the pitiful Cinderella not invited to the ball. And in her silence, her desire not to be exposed, she’d inadvertently allowed what had happened to happen.
By the time she arrived, Devin and Micah looked like a rolling log of a human, arms flailing and feet kicking cartoonishly. She shrieked, “Stop it!” and scanned the house, expecting lights to go on, for Micah’s parents to run out and help. But the house stayed quiet and dark, not even Chipper barked from inside. The boys continued to roll, cussing and spitting. In desperation, she reached out and grabbed someone’s shoulder—she didn’t care whose—and yanked at it roughly.
Interrupted, the owner of the shoulder looked over with puzzled indignation. Devin Ames blinked at her, and, in the pause, Micah skittered out from under him. Once again two people, they each lay still on the ground like casualties on a battlefield, heaving in unison as they both stared at her like they’d seen a ghost.
“You woke me up,” she said, attempting to explain her presence there, but it came out sounding like an accusation. She wondered what she must look like to them: Violet Ramsey, the madam’s daughter, wearing an old tennis-camp T-shirt and cutoff sweatpants and her glasses instead of the contact lenses she usually wore. She wished she’d just stayed in bed, because now what? Did she just turn around and leave while they watched her go? Demand an explanation as to what was going on?
She had a pretty good idea what had brought this on, though. Today, she knew, had been Olivia’s birthday. They’d mentioned it at school, had a moment of silence in her honor. Devin must’ve decided getting drunk in her honor was an equally good idea and, liquored up, come to Micah’s house to confront him. She looked back at the house and wondered again where Micah’s parents were.
“I think you should go home, Devin,” she said. “Before my grandmother calls the police. She’s in there, waiting for my sign if she needs to.” She looked back over her shoulder as if affirming that her grandmother was inside her house, watching with her phone at the ready.
Still, she was surprised when Devin hauled himself to his feet. He had blood on his lip and the beginnings of a swollen eye. Micah must’ve gotten in some jabs while they were rolling around. Good for him, she thought.
Devin looked from Micah to Violet, then back again. “I’m never coming back here again,” he said. “This place is cursed.” He waved his arm in the space between Micah’s house and Violet’s. “Bad people live here.” He narrowed his eyes at Violet, and for a moment, she feared he knew her part in what had happened to his sister. She wondered if he could see the guilt on her face. “Buncha whores and murderers are all that lives here,” he said. And then he walked away.
Violet almost ran after him. She almost did the same thing he’d done to Micah and tackled him from behind, used her body as a missile intent on taking him down. But what would she have done with him once she had him down? And what would he have done in retaliation? Better to let him go than to continue the cycle of attack and defend, attack and defend. At some point, someone had to be the one to let it go. She decided it might as well be her. Let him speak ill of her, of her mother. It didn’t make him much different from anyone else. Hell, even her supposed best friend had. She hadn’t punished Nicole for her words, so she might as well let a drunk guy twice her size off the hook, too.
When he was gone, neither she nor Micah moved, both frozen in stunned silence as his footsteps faded into the darkness. Violet wondered vaguely how he’d gotten there. He must’ve walked. She wondered where the Ames family lived. She’d never thought about it before. She’d never considered where the girl who died had lived. All she’d cared about was that Olivia Ames had been Micah’s girlfriend, had held a position she could only dream of.
“Thanks,” he said. From behind her she heard the rustle of grass that told her he was getting to his feet. Still dazed and breathless, it took him a while. She waited silently as he stood, took a deep breath, and moved toward her. She tried not to think about what she was wearing, or how she hadn’t brushed her teeth, or that they were alone together in the dark.
She turned to look at him. “I didn’t really do anything,” she said, because it was true. She’d screamed at them to stop. She’d lied about her grandmother waiting to call the police if needed.
“If you hadn’t come along,” he said. “I’m not sure what would’ve happened. He was out for . . . I don’t know. Blood or something. It’s like it wasn’t even him. I know—knew—the guy, and I’d never seen him like that before.”
“I guess he’s a mean drunk,” she said.
He chuckled. “You speaking from experience?”
He was standing close enough to touch, close enough that she could smell the adrenaline still clinging to him though the fight was