Burn It All by Maggie Auffarth

Author:Maggie Auffarth
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

CHAPTER

24

Thea

WE’RE FIFTEEN WHEN Marley starts sneaking in. It’s usually around midnight when she comes. Long after Mom and David have gone to bed. It starts with quick footsteps outside my window, then past me, to Austen in the next room over. The window there barely makes a sound anymore, after so many comings and goings, but I can still hear it through the thin walls. The slight hitch in the latch and the soft thud of her feet hitting the carpet. The deep tenor of Austen’s voice, muffled but unmistakable.

It started the summer after freshman year, and it’s happened almost every night since. It used to be me whose room she would sneak into, and I think I’m not supposed to know, but really, I listen for it. Almost need the ritual of it before I can fall asleep.

To know that she’s safe. That she’s here.

But tonight, it’s different. I’m tucked up in bed, the covers pulled to my neck, listening for the footsteps. But when they stop, it’s in front of my window, not Austen’s. I crane my neck toward the pane of glass where Marley’s face is looking in, pale and round as the moon. I get up and open the window, not nearly as quiet as Austen’s, and step back as she throws her leg over the sill and climbs in, a sheet of cold air coming in with her.

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling at me.

“Hi?”

Marley uses her toe to kick off one sneaker, then the other. She’s in old running shorts, despite the cold, and a T-shirt. I close the window and stand there, my back to the sill, eyebrows raised.

“I know you know I’m in Austen’s room most nights,” she says, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. “And I just … I can’t be at home tonight, but I need a break from Austen. Is it okay if I crash with you?” There’s something in her eyes, like doubt, like she isn’t sure I’d say yes, that makes me ache.

In answer, I crawl back in bed and hold the covers up for her. She slides herself in so she’s facing me, our knees almost touching underneath the cool sheets.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice barely audible.

She nods, the movement precise. Considered. “Yes,” she says.

“Are you sure?”

Now she looks at me. Blue eyes catching what little light there is and throwing it back at me, like an accusation. She lifts one shoulder in a small shrug. “Mom’s not home. I hate being there alone.”

“I know,” I say.

It’s just one more thing that makes us different. Sometimes I’d kill for a night alone in a quiet house. Away from David’s heavy footsteps and the squeaking kitchen cabinets, and the stereo always blasting from Austen’s room. For me, being alone is peaceful. But Marley’s never been like that. She’s always bouncing on the balls of her feet, ready to go somewhere, do something, see someone. She doesn’t do alone.

“Can I tell you something?” she says.

I press my lips together.

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