Rumors (A Lingering Echoes Prequel)

  ***

  “Allie, you’ve barely touched your food.” Mom eyed me from her end of the dinner table that night. “How are you feeling?”

  Scowling at the plate of frozen lasagna sitting in a mess of layers on my plate, I threw down my fork. It clanged against my dish. I let out a sound of frustration. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

  I knew I was in trouble. I rested my forehead in one hand, clenching my teeth to control the rage of emotions bubbling up my throat.

  It’s not Mom’s fault. It’s not Mom’s fault… I knew I shouldn’t have been rude, and I was glad she wouldn’t let me get away with it.

  “Excuse me, young lady.” Mom’s tone silenced my sisters’ conversation. I felt their gaze fall on me. “I’m sure your day has been a tough one, like the rest of them lately. Not that any of us would know since you won’t talk to us…” The pause in her words accentuated the same disappointment that resonated with Ms. Carol’s words. “But you will not take it out on your family.”

  I forced myself to look at Mom. Her fists held her silverware tightly in both hands. Behind the anger in her eyes, I caught a twinge of despair, exhibited near her tired crow’s feet.

  She was right. I wasn’t being fair to my family. I needed to figure this out, for their sake and mine.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m really sorry, Mom.”

  She sighed, dropping her head. “Allie, what are we going to do with you?” She had spoken to her plate in a quiet voice, so I didn’t respond to her question. She seemed to ask it enough that I knew there was no solution.

  After a few moments, I said, “May I be excused? I need to work on something. It’s… important.”

  Another sigh. And then she gestured with her weary hand. “Go on…”

  Leah and Taylor raised their eyebrows in question. I shook my head in apology, not willing to disclose my assignment.

  “I’ll just be in my room.”

  I shut my bedroom door and locked it. Ms. Carol’s words repeated in my mind, her instructions clear and terrifying. Unzipping my backpack, I pulled out the notebook she had given me. I ran my thumb along the plastic, spiral binding, grazing my fingernail along the edging with indecision. I stood up and sat down too many times to count, biting the end of my pen until the cap became irrevocably dented.

  Finally, seated at my desk, I removed my head from my hands; I flipped the yellow cover open. I brought my damaged pen to the empty, white page—took a breath—and began to write…

  LAST SUMMER