We'll Never Tell by Wendy Heard

Author:Wendy Heard [HEARD, WENDY]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2023-05-16T00:00:00+00:00

Back home, Grandma orders me to eat some chicken soup and shuts herself in the bathroom to get ready for bed. I escape to my bedroom, gratefully pulling the room divider closed behind me and collapsing on the bed. I get my phone out of my pocket and call Zoe.

It rings out to voice mail, and I hang up and check the time. It’s only nine; where is she? I call again, let it ring five times, hang up, then try FaceTiming. Nothing. Angry, I call one more time, and Maria picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?” She sounds irritated.

I’m surprised. Maria has never answered Zoe’s phone before. “Sorry, Maria. I was looking for Zoe. Is she there?”

“She can’t talk right now, Casey. You can see her at school tomorrow.” She hangs up. I stare at the phone for a minute, then pull up our chat app, which I know Zoe can check from her laptop. What’s up with your mom? Did she confiscate your phone?

No answer.

I’m assuming Zoe got called down to the station, too. Maybe her mom doesn’t want us talking to each other. I try Eddie, who doesn’t answer the phone or chat, and then I sit there for a minute, confused and scared.

I open the blinds and look out the window. I feel trapped, smothered. Maybe it’s my grandma’s grief, an ever-present substance in this house, hanging over us like smoke. Sometimes, I wish we could just… open a window.

Of course, I miss my mom every day. Her picture is smiling at me right now, urging me to never forget a single thing about her. But I have. I’ve forgotten a lot. I remember a few anecdotes, funny memories of her quirky sense of humor, but I don’t know if what I’m remembering is real or if it’s mutated over the years, formed from pictures and videos. Sometimes, I wish I could forget. How horrible is that? But what’s the alternative—an entire life spent with a hole inside me?

It’s different for my grandma. She lost her daughter. There’s no forgetting, no moving on. That cloud of grief smoke will follow her around until the day she dies.

I grab my purse and slip my shoes on. I slide the partition open and listen. Faintly, I can hear her snoring. She’s already asleep. My heart aches; she works incredibly hard, and she’s just so, so tired. I scribble a note on the Post-its we keep on the kitchen counter.

Couldn’t sleep. Be right back. Don’t worry, I’m safe. I have my phone if you need me.

She’ll be livid when she wakes up and finds this note, but she’d be angrier if I didn’t leave one at all. I burst out of my apartment building, walking so fast it’s almost a run. I’m making my way toward the Hollywood and Highland Metro Station, heading to North Hollywood; I’m going to Dallas’s house.

I need to see that footage. If the cops are moving in on us, I need to find new evidence, something to protect us.

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