A Song Below Water by Bethany C. Morrow

Author:Bethany C. Morrow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2020-06-01T23:00:00+00:00

XI

TAVIA

I never drive Effie’s car, but she’s in no state. When I huddle next to her as we leave the theater—after giving Elric or Rick or whatever the hell that dick-face’s name is plenty of time to get out of the parking lot—I take her keys.

Now we’re sitting in her parked car, and she’s staring at her hands in her lap. I don’t want her to be embarrassed, but there’s no escaping it. How could she not be? That POS just made a fool of her, even if nobody but the group of us know it.

I will dance on his grave.

When Effie moves, I whip my head to face her more fully, to hear whatever she has to say. But she’s just untying her scarf and letting her twists cascade.

That makes sense. If I’d had a cloaking device after Priam dumped me right before homecoming, I for sure would’ve used it.

“Eff,” I whisper, but she sinks lower in her seat and shakes her head once. I shut up.

On the dashboard her phone buzzes, and when it’s obvious she couldn’t care less, I reach for it.

“It’s Isabella.”

Have you been super paranoid since the park, or am I losing it?

And then there’s a picture of what looks like a collection of butterfly wings. Cool.

“What’s she say?” Effie must’ve heard me snort. She doesn’t reach for her phone, but she almost looks at me.

“She thinks a sprite followed her home.”

I wonder if I should’ve told her that. Effie’s always had a hard time with sprites. A part of her has worried that she’s been sprite-kin all along. The last thing she needs is some eloko princess getting her worked up.

That’s not fair.

“Isabella’s nice, huh?” I ask.

“Yeah.” So quiet. “I like her.”

And she tucks her chin back into her chest and disappears behind her hair.

I try to think of all the gentle prompts Dr. Randall might use to pry her open. The ones she hated because it felt like he was trying to trick or trap her, even though she knows better. Effie goes back and forth between being okay with needing outside help, and feeling forced; sometimes Dr. Randall was a trusted confidante and sometimes she hoped she never saw him again. I think maybe both were true, but she’s got a right to process it however she wants, and for the last little while she hasn’t wanted to see him. So rather than trying to be her therapist—especially in light of my own baggage—I decide to be her sister instead.

“Talk to me,” I sign, but in the harsh light pouring in from the parking lot her eyes get glassy and I can’t keep from speaking out loud. “Eff, what’s the matter? Why did we come here?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” she says, at last.

“You aren’t,” I insist. “Elric’s the idiot if he didn’t love you for real.”

It’s easy for me to leap all the way to hating his guts, but I should know better than to think calling him names will bring her any happiness right now.

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