Page 129 of The Design of Goodbye
“No.”
“You skipped finals?” I asked. “Where’d you go?”
He shrugged. “Around.”
“Look,” I said, “we really need to talk.”
“I can’t. I’m working, and I left my cash register unlocked.”
“One of your coworkers took over,” I said. He glanced behind him. When he caught sight of his occupied cash register, he deflated in resignation.
When he turned back around, he said, “I’m tired, Madison.”
He looked it. With his ashen skin and dark bags under red eyes, I wondered when he’d last gotten a good night’s sleep. His obvious exhaustion didn’t hold me back, though.
“I don’t care,” I said. “You wouldn’t talk to me at school, so we’re talking now.”
His face fell. “Don’t do this,” he begged. “Not here.”
“Then, the break room.”
“I don’t—” He rubbed his eyes, his glasses pushing up to his forehead. “Fine.”
He didn’t wait for me to follow, and I had to jog slightly to keep up.
“You lied to me,” I said as soon as the door closed to the empty break room. “I deserve to know why. I deserve to know what really happened.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“There’s a difference between can’t and won’t. Youwon’t.”
“Don’t make me talk about what happened.”
I didn’t care he’d lost all color or that he was so desperate to make distance between us he’d trapped himself in a corner. I didn’t care how broken he was. I wanted him to hurt as much as his lie had hurt me.
“Your mom was shot!” I shouted. He flinched. “Shot! And you were there. Why are you acting like—”
“Stop!” His breath hitched. He wrapped his arms around himself, gripping fistfuls of his shirt.
“Where is she?” I stepped toward him but then immediately stepped back, unsure where to go. “Some rehabilitation facility? In a coma?”
He covered his ears. “Stop!”
“Tell me!” My fists were clenched, and I could feel my fingernails cut my palm. “Tell me where she is!”
“She’s dead, okay?” In a broken whisper, he finished, “She’s dead.”
“What?”
I stumbled back, dizzy. The article stated Juliet Strom had been taken to the hospital for a non-life-threatening bullet wound. It’d said she was expected to have a long recovery but survive. I’d never once thought she’d died.
“How could you lie to me about that?” I asked. “You told me she left you.”
“She did leave me.”
“When I asked where your mom was, you said she left you. But shedied? YouknewI’d thought she abandoned you. You made me think she was a terrible mom.”
“She wasn’t.” His voice wavered, and he struggled to continue. “I didn’t mean for you to—”
