The Third Lie's the Charm Read Online Free Page B

at Bradley’s red, swollen eyes to remind me that no matter how much I tried to wish that this was all a huge mistake, Alistair’s death was very, very real.
    â€œHe called me too.”
    Bradley didn’t move his head. It was like he didn’t hear me. I reached over and touched his shoulder, lightly, remembering how I felt in the after-Grace. Remembering how my mother’s fingertips burned my skin when she reached out to hold my hand at Grace’s funeral. Remembering the way I had recoiled when Seth tried to hug me when he found me sitting on my porch swing hours after we’d gotten the official phone call.
    I told myself not to be hurt when Bradley’s muscles tensed at my touch. I promised myself that I’d never invade his space again if he pushed my arm away. But Bradley let himself sink into me until his arms were wrapped around me like I was the only piece of driftwood in the middle of a tsunami.
    â€œTwenty-one times. He called me twenty-one times.” I said the words into his neck, and I felt his shoulders shudder and heave in a silent sob as tears from my own eyes wet his uniform shirt.
    People were staring at us. I could feel their eyes on me. On Bradley. On the two of us clinging to each other, barely afloat in the sea of students. I shot daggers at the kids who dared to meet my eye. I gently pushed Bradley away and took a small step back from him. This moment was too personal for the hallway.
    â€œYou wanna get out of here?” I remembered my dad’s words this morning, how my mom called in an absence, how we could escape without consequence. It didn’t matter; I’d take the fifteen demerits, but it’d be easier this way.
    He nodded once, and I grabbed his hand and pulled him out the nearest exit of the school. The earthy, wet spring air greeted us the second we left the building. I took a deep breath and steered Bradley toward the gardens.
    The small stone bench sat in the middle of a riot of daffodils and irises that were just beginning to poke tentative buds above ground. As usual, the seat was cool in spite of the bright sunshine, and the moment I sat down, I got goose bumps. I used to tell myself that the constant chill of the bench must mean Grace haunted it, that she could see the flowers and hear my voice. But now I wasn’t so sure.
    Bradley sat next to me and cradled his head in his hands, palms rubbing his eye sockets.
    â€œThe funeral’s tomorrow… I wasn’t supposed to come to school today, but sitting at home… I just, I had to leave.” He let his voice trail off.
    â€œI know.” And then I remembered how much I’d hated it when people pretended to understand what I was feeling about Grace. “I mean, I don’t know. Not really. But I remember what it felt like for me. After Grace.” I paused and ran my fingers over her name engraved on the back of the bench. “It’s going to be awful.”
    I remembered Grace’s funeral in smells, tastes, and sounds. It was like I had gone blind for the day. Or maybe I’d blocked out her tiny casket and the hordes of students who had been there pretending to know her. Pretending to care. Instead I remembered the bitter taste of the cough drops my mother had dug out of her purse for me to chew on. I remembered the constant wet heat of tears on my cheeks. I remembered the grotesque, medicinal smell of the funeral home. I remembered wishing I was dead.
    â€œHow did you do it?” He picked his head up and looked me in the eyes for the first time that day.
    â€œDo what?” I stared back. Willing myself not to cry. Remembering how much I hated it when other people cried for Grace when it was obvious they barely knew her, that their pain was nothing compared to my own.
    â€œHow did you…I mean, survive? I guess I want to know how you keep waking up. How did you get out of bed?” The palms were back in his eyes, rubbing and swiping the