Sara Shepard - Never Have I Ever

Madeline sat down on one of the benches and took Emma’s hands. “Are you okay? Do you want to leave?”

Music thumped outside. Emma searched Madeline’s face, realizing Madeline thought she was upset. She wasn’t, not exactly—more like confused. Did Nisha like Garrett? Was that why she hated Sutton?

Emma brushed her hair off her face. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just . . . weird.”

Madeline linked her fingers through Emma’s. “You’re better off without him. Honestly? I didn’t want to tell you this when you guys were going out, but I think Garrett dragged you down. He’s sort of understated, like white bread. And you’re Sutton Mercer—the opposite of ordinary.”

Emma looked into Madeline’s bright blue eyes, touched. Sutton’s friends might not be perfect, but they were loyal.

“And Charlotte told me that when she dated Garrett, he was weirdly obsessed with the Summer Olympics,” Madeline went on, snickering. “Especially women’s gymnastics. Can you imagine? They’re linebacker-ish gnomes!”

Thanks for telling me this when I was alive, guys.

But Emma giggled. “Yeah, maybe he wasn’t worth it.”

“Definitely.” Madeline reached up to adjust the crown on her head. Her sleeve slipped down her arm, revealing bare skin. Emma saw four purplish bruises on the inside of her forearm in the shape of fingers.

Emma gasped. “Mads, what happened?”

Madeline followed Emma’s gaze and paled. “Oh. Nothing.” She tugged the sleeve back down, her hands trembling. It got caught on her bracelet, and she struggled with it until it fell past her wrist. Then, Emma saw the pinkish burn on her hand. And the bruise on her calf. And another one on the side of her neck.

Alarms clanged in Emma’s head. She’d met plenty of kids in foster care who didn’t want to talk about their black eyes, the missing clumps of hair on their heads, the burns on their arms.

“Mads,” Emma whispered. “You can tell me. It’s okay.”

Madeline’s mouth formed a straight line. She pushed her pointer finger into a carved groove in the bench. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.”

Girls’ voices floated past the locker room. Another scream rang out from the haunted house. The second hand on the clock over the gym teacher’s office made a half rotation before Madeline spoke again. “It was because of the cigarette.”

“The cigarette?”

“The cigarette I was smoking out the window last Saturday. I broke a rule. I deserved it.”

“Deserved it?” Emma repeated. Mr. Vega’s angry face flashed in her mind. “Oh, Mads .”

All at once, I saw a vision, too: Mr. Vega bursting into Madeline’s bedroom, his face red and shiny, his voice booming. I swear to God, Madeline, if you break your curfew one more time, I’ll break your neck! Madeline ran down the stairs after him, and moments later I heard heated but muffled shouts. Then there was a clang , as though a shelf full of pots and pans clattered to the floor. I had sat there, doing nothing. Too afraid to act.

Madeline had returned a few minutes later, her cheeks streaked with tears and her eyes red. But she smiled and shrugged and pretended nothing had happened, and I didn’t ask.

Emma held tight to Madeline’s hands. “Was this what you wanted to talk to me about a while ago? The night you tried calling and I didn’t pick up my phone?”

Madeline nodded, her lips pursed so tightly they were translucent.

“I’m so sorry,” Emma said, swallowing a hard lump in her throat. “I should have been there for you.” She wondered how much Sutton really knew about all this, or if Madeline had kept it a well-hidden secret.

“I’m sorry, too,” I added, even though she couldn’t hear me. I had a feeling Mads and I had never discussed it before, not even that night. The phone call, the one she’d made to me the night I died, was the very first time she’d reached out. I would have answered it if I could, but I was already gone.

“It’s okay.” Madeline said to Emma, her voice wobbly. “I called Charlotte. She was actually pretty awesome about the whole thing. I wanted to tell you later, but . . .” Madeline let out a bitter laugh and smoothed down the layers of her full skirt. “Believe it or not, this is nothing compared to what Dad used to do to Thayer.” She peeked at Emma. “But I guess Thayer told you that, right?”

Emma’s skin prickled at the sound of Thayer’s name. Would Thayer have told Sutton something so personal? Had they been that close?

A whoosh came over me again. That same moment I’d seen before, of Thayer taking my hands and telling me something, trying to make me understand. Had it been about his dad?

“You have to tell someone about this, Mads,” Emma insisted. “What he’s doing to you is wrong. And dangerous.”

“Are you kidding me?” The crown slipped down Madeline’s forehead. “He’d find a way to twist this around and make it my fault. My mom would side with him, too. And it is my fault. If I didn’t keep screwing up, things would be fine.”

“Madeline, this isn’t normal,” Emma said forcefully. “Promise me you’ll think about saying something. Please?”

Madeline stared at her hands. “Maybe.”

“There are a lot of people around to support you if you do. Char, me, Freddy Krueger . . .”

Madeline raised her head and cracked a smile. “Oh God, that costume is awful .”

“It freaks me out,” Emma agreed. “I’m going to have nightmares.”

“Everyone is. He thinks he looks really cool.”

“Just don’t let him slow-dance with you,” Emma warned. “Could you imagine those slasher hands on your butt?”

The girls collapsed into giggles, nearly tumbling off the bench. A group of sophomores in matching Arizona Cardinals cheerleading costumes marched in, stopped short when they saw Emma and Madeline, and then filed back out again. That just made the two of them laugh even harder.

When they finally stopped, Emma cleared her throat and felt her smile fade. “Mads, I am here for you. I’m sorry if . . . if it seemed like I wasn’t before.”

Madeline stood and reached a hand out to grab Emma’s. “I’m glad I told you.”

“I’m glad you did, too,” Emma said, giving Sutton’s friend—and her friend—a hug. “We’re going to figure out a way to make this better,” she said. “I promise.”

Lights swirled around them as they emerged into the ballroom once more. Madeline headed for the dance floor; Emma said she’d catch up with her in a minute after she got some punch. She scanned the room for the Twitter Twins, her heart jumping when she didn’t immediately see them. As she walked toward the drinks table, a hand gripped her shoulder and spun her around. Dark eyes stared down on her. In the dim, orangey light, Emma could make out two faint Viking horns on the figure’s head.

“We need to talk,” Garrett growled. And then he pulled Emma into a supply closet before anyone could see that she was gone.

Garrett slammed the closet door. It took a moment for Emma’s eyes to adjust to the dim light. Above her head was a bin of red rubber dodgeballs. To her left were soccer nets, field hockey pinnies, and extra lacrosse sticks. The tiny room smelled stale, as though it had been closed up for a while. The brightest things in the room were Garrett’s Viking horns, which gave off an eerie, iridescent glow.

“What do you want?” Emma asked, trying not to get too freaked. This was just Garrett, after all. He was harmless . . . wasn’t he?

All of a sudden, crammed into a dark closet and focusing on the white of Garrett’s bared teeth, even I wasn’t so sure.