Avenged Read online

  DEDICATION

  TO ANICA,

  who always supported this book and me

  EPIGRAPH

  “We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”

  —Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Acknowledgments

  Back Ad

  About the Author

  Books by E. E. Cooper

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER ONE

  Cemeteries are actually very cool places. Marble statues, open space, quiet. I think people would hang out in them more often except for the fact that you realize you’re totally outnumbered by dead people. It’s a disconcerting feeling.

  It’s also very disorienting to stand over the grave of your best friend. Someone who had been more alive than anyone else you’d ever known. Someone who smelled like cinnamon gum and suntan lotion, even in the middle of winter. It’s even more unsettling to realize you’re standing there with your other best friend, the person who murdered her, and know that you have to keep your rage inside and play the game so she doesn’t realize you could be a threat. She doesn’t cope well with threats.

  Brit brushed some wilted flowers off of Beth’s gravestone, but held on to the bouquet of white roses that she’d brought. “I feel like we should say something,” she said.

  How about, I’m sorry for killing you? Especially since you didn’t actually mess around with my boyfriend. And then I’m sorry for dumping your body in the lake and letting everyone think it was mine, so I could have all the drama of watching how much everyone missed me. Oh, and I’m sorry I pretended to be you while I tried to figure out if I really wanted to come back.

  I swallowed the thoughts. Whenever I was with Brit, I had to turn off my internal feelings. She’d only been back two weeks, and the sight of her still made my teeth clench together so tightly that I worried they would crack. I was afraid Britney might be able to read my mind like one of those TV psychics. Sense how when she was around my heart raced and the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. If Brit had the slightest idea the kind of things that ran amok in my head, I would be in trouble. Serious trouble. The only plan I had was to stay close so I would be there when she finally screwed up and made a mistake I could use against her. And if I needed to be close, I needed to give her a reason; she needed to believe we were still best friends. I tucked my hair behind my ear. “I think Beth knows what is in your heart,” I said.

  Brit reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Thanks for coming with me. I don’t know how I’d get through all of this without you.”

  I grasped her hand back and for a fraction of a second enjoyed the feeling of connection before I felt a wave of disgust. It was like there were two Brits. The one I knew and had been friends with, and this monster who looked just like her. “You know I’m always here for you, Brit-bear,” I said.

  Brit brushed away a tear, her lower lip quivering just slightly. “She was the best friend I ever had.” She took a step forward so she could kneel down and place the white roses on Beth’s marker. I shifted the flowers slightly so I could see Beth’s name carved into the granite headstone. I wanted to trace the letters, like I used to trace the outline of Beth’s jaw with my fingers.

  My throat tightened and I had to close my eyes to shut everything out so I could maintain control. I counted to six, six times, letting the familiarity of the numbers relax me. Thinking about how I felt about Beth wasn’t going to help me now. I had to keep focused on my goal. Prove that Britney had done this. Make her pay. I inhaled the scent of fresh-cut grass and the faint smell of the hothouse flowers. A tear ran down my cheek.

  Brit stood and pulled me close. “We’re lucky we have each other.”

  I still couldn’t push any words out of my throat, so I nodded. Brit’s arm felt warm and solid around me. The only person who even came close to loving Beth as much as I did was Brit; it’s all we had in common anymore. And despite everything that had happened I couldn’t fathom that some part of her didn’t miss Beth too, didn’t regret what she’d done. And if she did feel guilt, if it was eating her up inside, then I would use that somehow.

  “I know how hard this is for you, given, you know, what was going on between you two.” Brit smiled at me, as if she found the idea of Beth and me being in a relationship adorable and just slightly ridiculous. Like when a puppy tries to do a trick but just can’t quite pull it off. “I hope you know, Kalah, if there’s anything I can do to help, all you have to do is ask.” Brit’s face was scrunched up in concern. It made me feel unbalanced because I suspected she actually did feel bad for me. Or at least she wanted to see herself as the kind of person capable of caring. She would do almost anything to make me feel better, even if she was the one who caused all the pain. She’d found some way to separate herself from what happened. Maybe she’d even convinced herself that it had nothing to do with her. Blocking out reality was one of her gifts.

  “You can count on me too,” I said softly.

  “I know.” After a moment of silence Brit squared her shoulders and looked around. “I thought the media might be here.”

  Now it was clear why she’d dressed up. The first week after Brit returned I couldn’t turn on the TV without seeing her staring back at me. Reporters clustered around the school grounds hoping to get a shot of her, but they had moved on. There were new stories taking the nation’s focus.

  “It must be nice for you to have things getting back to normal,” I said, knowing that she missed the attention. The universe was shifting, moving her away from the center, and she hated it.

  She pressed her lips into a bloodless smile. “Of course.” She took a deep breath. “Enough seriousness for today. What do you say we get out of here and get some fro-yo? We’ll get a double cone in honor of Beth.”

  “Chocolate?” I asked.

  Brit’s eyes twinkled. “Would Beth have it any other way? And you have to get those disgusting chocolate cookie dough bits she liked.”

  “Why not you?” I asked.

  “Because you two were the ones dating,” Brit said. “I’ll stick to M&M’s, which everyone knows is the superior topping.”

  I laughed. I used to find the cookie dough hunks too sweet, but they had grown on me. “Deal.”

  I took a step toward the parking lot, but then Brit pulled me close again, one hand around my waist, her phone in her extended arm in front of us.

  “Selfie shot of all of us!” Beth’s grave was just behind us, the white roses making a perfect backdrop. Brit’s blond all-American looks a perfect contrast to my dark coloring. Yin and yang with a headstone. I yanked away from Brit, revolted.

  It
was only for a split second. An instant later I leaned back in. “Sorry, ticklish,” I lied. I forced a smile onto my face.

  Brit watched me, her eyes flat and appraising. I felt an icicle of fear slide into my heart. Did she guess how I really felt about her? I couldn’t afford for her to distrust me. She needed to believe that I believed her if I stood any chance of her letting her guard down enough to make a mistake.

  “Smile,” she commanded. The phone clicked recording the picture, the two of us with wide grins, Beth’s headstone centered just over Brit’s shoulder. Both of our expressions fake.

  “C’mon,” I said, trying to make my voice sound light and cheerful. “I hear peanut M&M’s calling your name.” I tugged her forward and hoped she wouldn’t notice my clammy palms.

  She poked me lightly in the ribs. “I had no idea you’re so ticklish.”

  I forced out a giggle. “A girl has to have some secrets.”

  Brit tapped me lightly on the nose. “Not from her bestie.” She didn’t wait for me to say anything else and didn’t look to see if I was following her to the car. She knew I’d be there, trailing one step behind her, just like always.

  Dr. Sherman leaned back her chair and stared at me. Her fingers came to a point just under her chin. She was a huge fan of these silences that were designed to make me want to spill my guts. I couldn’t tell which of us was more annoyed, her because this tried-and-true method wasn’t working, or me because she just kept trying. I’d hoped my parents would back off on their requirement that I still see her, but no dice. After what had happened at my last school, my parents weren’t taking any chances with my mental health. They knew I cared for Beth and they wanted to make sure I was able to “process” everything that had happened. Despite the fact I’d told them I didn’t need to go, I was stuck leaving school early and sitting here for an hour once a week. They thought there was “value in talking things over” and that I should think of it “like emotional fitness—you have to keep working out!” The only exercise I was getting was trying to keep two steps ahead of Dr. Sherman so I never told too much of the truth, but enough to make it seem like I was participating and making sure Brit never knew where I was going when I came here. I fidgeted in my seat. I was supposed to meet Brit after this. I couldn’t be late.

  Dr. Sherman sighed. “These sessions would be more beneficial if you’d open up to me.”

  “I don’t know what else you want me to say,” I said.

  “Are you still having difficulty with Britney’s popularity at school?” Her pen tapped lightly on the pad of paper in front of her. “And the attention she’s gotten in the media?” I flashed to standing over Beth’s grave yesterday afternoon. I ground my teeth down. I wasn’t sure why Dr. Sherman had developed a new interest in Brit. Maybe she wanted to be touched by celebrity like everyone else. What Dr. Sherman didn’t get, and I couldn’t tell her, was that I didn’t care that Brit was popular. What galled me was not only that Brit had murdered Beth and gotten away with it, but how she took every opportunity to tell everyone how much she missed her best friend, especially if there was a reporter around. I was sick of everyone at school rushing up to Brit, wanting to be close to her. She used Beth’s tragedy, the tragedy she caused, as a way to get attention. I could tell that Dr. Sherman thought my problem was that I was the one dating Beth and no one wanted to talk to me and hear my story. It had been easier to agree with her than to try to tell her about the real reason.

  “People are focused on Brit, but Beth is the one who’s gone. I wish people would spend some time thinking about her.” Even Brit’s name in my mouth tasted polluted, like sour milk or swamp water.

  “So you’re angry with her,” Dr. Sherman said.

  I wanted to explode that I wasn’t angry; I was livid. Brit killed Beth. Maybe it had been an accident, or maybe she planned it as revenge for thinking Beth was messing with her boyfriend Jason, but either way she’d done it and then covered up the whole thing. She’d been back for two weeks and not a single soul seemed to sense that anything about her story was off. To me her story seemed way too vague to be believed, but maybe it was the vagueness that made it seem plausible. That or the fact that Brit was a great actress. She looked too all-American and wholesome to be capable of real darkness. I kept waiting for her to break down or trip over her own lies, but she just kept going. I forced myself to take a long deep breath to the count of six.

  Dr. Sherman cocked her head slightly to the side. “It’s not uncommon to have feelings of anger after a death. We can feel left behind and upset that someone abandoned us, and since it feels wrong to be angry at the person we’ve lost, we sometimes direct that emotion at someone else.”

  “So you’re saying I’m mad at Beth, not Britney.” I crossed and then uncrossed my legs. “Maybe I am. Mad that we didn’t have more time . . .” I had to stop and swallow hard to keep from crying. I hadn’t meant to be so honest. The emotion came out of nowhere, like a jack-in-the-box that popped up when I least expected it. She was right. I was mad at Beth, but what I felt for Brit went way beyond that. What Dr. Sherman was picking up on wasn’t sadness over Beth, it was rage that I couldn’t tell anyone what I knew until I could prove it. I shoved down my feeling for Beth and refocused. “But it’s not just her—I am angry at Brit. Beth was her best friend and she’s moving on.”

  “People grieve in different ways, and it can feel as if others aren’t experiencing the same level of pain, but that doesn’t mean that Brit isn’t hurting in her own way.”

  I stared out the window. Sometimes I wondered if Brit felt anything. How was it even possible for her to look at herself in the mirror when she knew what she’d done? She might have convinced everyone else that she had amnesia, that she couldn’t remember, but I knew better. Brit had sent me emails and texts, all pretending to be Beth so she could figure out what was happening. She knew what she’d done. I was pretty sure that when she faked her suicide, her plan had been to never return, but the idea of running away from everything is way more exciting and romantic than reality. When I’d been playing along with her game, pretending I believed she was Beth and trying to convince her to come back, I’d been sure she’d be caught. I’d underestimated her charm. Everyone bought her lies, and the truth didn’t seem to haunt her the way it did me.

  Dr. Sherman was right. I was mad, not because Brit seemed to be better at “closure” but because she was the person who caused all of this and was acting like she was the victim. Her tales about how she would give anything to remember what had happened and her vows that she would never let anyone forget Beth made me want to pound her in the face, but instead I was cast as Brit’s faithful support. It was my job to stand next to her and make sympathetic noises and pat her softly on the back.

  “It’s normal for you to be struggling to find your place with Brit in a post-Beth world. I know you were all friends, but now things have changed. The dynamic has shifted, and the two of you are likely trying to figure out what this friendship will look like. What’s important to understand is that just as you find it difficult to see Brit get attention for her role in Beth’s death, it must also be hard for her. Do you think the situation between you and Beth bothered Britney?”

  Her question threw me. Even in my therapist’s office I couldn’t escape having to worry about how Brit felt. “Why would it bother her?”

  “I imagine she sensed you and Beth were getting closer. If she knew you two were starting a relationship that must have been difficult for her, like she was losing the focus of her best friend. It would mean Beth and you had a relationship that she couldn’t be a part of,” Dr. Sherman said. “She likely felt left out.”

  I stared at her. “Are you saying I did something wrong?”

  “No, this isn’t a right-and-wrong situation. I’m asking you to reflect on the situation from a different perspective. How Britney’s friendship with Beth had been changing, combined with her own amnesia, likely colors how she feels she can react about the loss now. In a grou
p of three there is often a changing shift in roles and allegiances that can be difficult.”

  “Britney never knew Beth and I were in love. I only told her after she returned.”

  Dr. Sherman flipped through the pages on her desk. “I thought you said Britney indicated that she’d known about your relationship for some time.”

  My chest tightened in frustration. “That’s what she said, but I know she had no idea. It was a secret.” I could hear the sharpness in my voice.

  Dr. Sherman’s tone stayed even. “That’s possible. Maybe Britney felt that if you thought she knew and approved of you and Beth, it would bring the two of you closer.”

  “Maybe.” I doubted Brit was motivated by wanting us to be closer unless she was going to gain something from it. She simply hated the idea that she’d missed something. And she needed to keep me close to make sure I didn’t suspect her. Or at least that I couldn’t prove it.

  “Are you keeping a journal like we discussed?”

  “I’m not really the kind of person who keeps a diary.”

  Dr. Sherman’s lips pressed together. “I’d like you to try. Writing can help us open up and connect with what we’re feeling. Sometimes emotions can get mixed up in our heads. Set the alarm on your phone for ten minutes and just let yourself write. You might surprise yourself.” She pushed back from her desk, and I knew that was the cue our session was over.

  Dr. Sherman meant well, but I wasn’t confusing my emotions. I was mad, but I was scared too. Scared Brit would figure out that I didn’t believe her lies and scared that she might not make a mistake.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Going to the mall was a sensory assault after the quiet of Dr. Sherman’s office. The smells of buttered popcorn, fresh-from-the-oven cookies, baking bread from Subway, and spicy pizza all mixed noxiously with the clouds of perfume coming from the department stores. The clothing stores had signs screaming at people streaming past that they could Save! And that there were Spring Deals! And Summer Dreaming! The brightly colored clothes hung on racks, like parrots lined up for a review.