The Reckoning Read online

  Olivia and Evander watched them go, and Olivia already knew what she was going to do. Using their abilities at school was a major no, but Emmeline and her cowardly friends had chosen to attack Tristan right before school closed down for two weeks. Using their abilities in Lavelle was ill-advised, but not forbidden, and so the girls were now fair game.

  “We're responsible too, you know?” Evander’s voice was tight as he responded aloud to Olivia's thoughts. “We're not best friends with Emmeline and hers, but we run with them. We're all to blame for this.”

  He walked away, and Olivia watched him go, knowing he was right. It had been easy to pin everything on Beckett because he'd been there, but the uncomfortable truth was that Olivia and Evander themselves had turned a blind eye and ear many, many times so they could climb socially, all at Tristan's expense.

  Tristan accepted a bag of ice from Umbris and let Sol walk her upstairs, but Tristan insisted she be left alone once they'd reached her bedroom doorway. She shut her door, walking over to her full-length mirror to look at herself.

  She and her uniform were muddy from head to toe, and her hair was a rat's nest. Her left eye was swelling up while a bruise was blossoming across her right cheek, her bottom lip was bloody, and scratches covered her legs and torso. Her blouse and blazer hung open, most of the buttons missing on both. Her entire body ached, but the physical pain was the only thing she felt as she stared at her reflection. Her emotions had fled, and she was numb.

  Tristan turned away, undressing and wrapping herself in her thick, fluffy pink robe. She headed down the hall to shower, standing under the too-hot water until her skin had gone as numb as her insides. When finished, she carefully combed the knots out of her hair, then walked meticulously through her skincare routine -- exfoliant, toner, serum, moisturizer. Tristan found that doing things step-by-step helped her focus; she kept getting overwhelmed to the point of breathlessness otherwise.

  She went back to her room and took a few painkillers, then dressed in a pair of leggings and her softest, long-sleeved t-shirt. She laid on her bed, staring unseeingly at the mobile above her head. Some time later a soft knock sounded on her door, and Tristan looked over at it, but said nothing. Her voice had apparently gone on vacation with her emotions.

  “Trinity?” Sol poked her head in the room. “Can I come in? I won't stay long.”

  Tristan nodded, and Sol entered, perching beside her on the bed.

  “Your father and I have a meeting tomorrow morning with Dean LeFebvre, Mr. and Mrs. Strandquest, Mr. and Mrs. Benson, and the chief of police. It's at eleven A.M. I don't want to pressure you in any way, but if you're up to it, I'd like to hear what happened before we go. I don't want to intrude by fetching the memory myself, but if that would be easier for you, I will.”

  Tristan closed her eyes, placing her hand over Sol’s and unsealing. It would be easier this way. Sol took a deep breath, and Tristan felt Sol enter her thoughts. Beginning with what Beckett had overheard the night before, Tristan guided Sol through the events as they'd unfolded. When she'd finished, Tristan opened tear-filled eyes, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Justice will be served,” Sol said, standing. Her face was ashen, but her voice was rock hard. “Rest now. We'll take care of this.”

  Tristan listened to the soft click of her bedroom door closing, and Sol’s footsteps fading down the hall. Vaguely, she could hear Evander’s TV, and Tristan rolled off of her bed, going to open her window.

  She laid back down, much more interested in letting nature occupy her ears than the mostly pressing silence of her own bedroom or the tinny sounds of a sitcom.

  After a long while, when the sun had started to set, Tristan heard the doorbell ring. Umbris called up for Olivia, and Tristan heard her go by, pausing just slightly at Tristan's door before continuing downstairs.

  Several minutes later, Tristan heard voices in the backyard. Olivia's, and someone else's -- a male? She told herself not to snoop, but she wasn't good at listening to herself, especially when her defenses were down.

  Tristan crept to her window seat, sitting down gingerly behind one of the opened curtain panels, out of view from the yard below.

  “How is she doing?”

  “How do you think she's doing?”

  “Right. Dumb question.”

  “What are you doing here, Tyler?” Olivia asked, her voice tired.

  “I just wanted to check on you, and Tristan.”

  Olivia laughed. “Check on Tristan, right, because you've ever spoken to her. Well, we're all just great. Real great. You can go now.”

  “Why are you mad at me, O?”

  “I'm mad at everyone!” Olivia's voice shook. “Myself and Evander included. We all have a hand in what happened to Tristan; can you imagine how that feels as her sister? I'm done, Tyler. With everyone. I'm out. No popularity in the world is worth even a fraction of this, and it's definitely not worth my loyalty to my sister.”

  What happened to Tristan. It had already become what happened to Tristan, which Tristan hated. She hated that she'd been targeted, hated that she'd been overpowered, hated that she'd lost control.

  “No, I can't imagine how that feels,” Tyler said quietly. “I'm sorry. And I know you're right about all of us being responsible for this, and I'm sorry for that too. I saw what went down between her and Beckett this morning, and I was going to say something and... I didn't. I don't know why.”

  “Do you feel better having confessed that?” Olivia asked icily.

  “No, I don't. I don't feel good about any of this. Olivia…”

  There were a few moments of silence.

  Then, “O, you know I've been backing away from everyone since the beginning of the year, just slowly backing off because I finally realized that I'm part of this groupthink that high school is the be all end all when it's not. I graduate this year, and I don't want to spend it clinging to my Jamestown roots. I want to spend it like I'll be out of there come June and the whole world will be at my feet.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because you helped me realize all of this. You've always had this cool, just passing through vibe, and you walk the walk. You say you're done with everyone now, and I believe that. I just… I want to be part of what's next for you, and I want you to be part of what's next for me.”

  “Tyler--”

  “I know we've joked about our crushes on each other through the years, O, but I'm not joking anymore.”

  “Tyler, please don't do this. Please just go. I can't--”

  “Don't be done with me. I take responsibility for the role I've played in Tristan's exclusion, and I'm bound to fuck up again, but if you're done with everyone, I'm done too. And I know Beck is, too. He's all broken up over what happened to Tristan, feels like he's solely responsible.”

  “You need to go. Do not talk to me about Beckett Benson.”

  “But Olivia, me and Beck, we're the same. We've both been pulling away from the group because we feel like we can finally see what you see, and what Tristan has always seen. Hell, he broke up with Eva because of Tristan. We made mistakes, we will make mistakes, but we are trying. We just want to be good enough for you and Tristan.”

  “Well, you're not.”

  Olivia's words crashed through the quiet evening like an anvil, and Tristan grimaced, closing her eyes. She had long suspected how Olivia felt about Tyler, and Tristan didn't want her giving up on him for her benefit.

  “Please go home.”

  Tyler said nothing, and before long, Tristan heard the back door close. She walked across her bedroom, Tyler's words echoing in her ears, her mind reeling. Beck and I are the same. He broke up with Eva because of Tristan. We just want to be good enough for you and Tristan.

  Tristan opened her door as Olivia was coming up the hallway, her eyes red-rimmed. She looked up in surprise, trying in vain to put on a happy face.

  “Trinity, hey. You OK?”

  “Yeah, I just… Did you want to come in?”


  “Oh.” Olivia glanced down the hall, clearly trying to compose herself. She sniffled. “Oh, no thank you. I uh, I'm really tired, so I was going to go to bed. But if you need me or you need something, just tell me and I'll stay up.”

  “No,” Tristan shook her head quickly, her voice reassuring. “I don't need anything, I'm fine. I'll see you in the morning.”

  Olivia nodded, continuing down the hall, and Tristan felt a pang of sorrow. Olivia tried so hard to be there for everyone, and almost always succeeded -- was Tristan failing her by not being there for her right now?

  “O, are you sure you're OK?” Tristan called after her. “If you need to talk…”

  “I'm fine,” Olivia said, without turning around. She opened her bedroom door, sniffling again, and her voice wobbled when she spoke. “Goodnight Trinity.”

  Chapter 18

  Tristan spent most of the night lying awake. Sometime around one A.M. her emotions had returned, and she'd had a panic attack that had culminated in an ugly cry into her pillow that she thought would never end. She'd fallen asleep for a couple of hours after that, just to jerk awake again.

  Tristan felt hollow, and, for better or for worse, she couldn't stop thinking about Beckett. Yes, he'd hurt her feelings yesterday morning, after she'd hurt his the night before, but it had been his friends who had chosen to take his dismissal of her as their cue to run wild. It had been Emmeline and her minions who had chosen to attack her, something Tristan was sure had not just been planned that day, and it had been Eva who had seen what was happening and done nothing. It had been Beckett, while clearly smarting, who'd intercepted Theo in the hall, who'd surreptitiously checked on her in English class, who had come to her rescue for the second time in less than two months, had held her tightly and made her feel safe until Olivia and Evander had arrived.

  Tristan must have fallen asleep again, because her alarm, which she'd forgotten to disable for break, startled her awake at six-thirty. She reset it for nine and went back to sleep, and when it went off again, she got out of bed, her mind made up.

  After she'd gotten dressed, Tristan swept both sides of her hair back, securing them with bobby pins, and looked at her bruised face in the mirror; it had gotten so much worse overnight, she had a hard time not immediately turning away from her reflection. Instead, Tristan's mouth set in a determined line, and the usual fire flared back to life in her eyes. Her body was stiff and sore, and her emotions felt as fragile as a dandelion, but Tristan gave the mirror a firm nod and went down to the dining room, where Umbris and Sol were having breakfast.

  “Trinity,” Sol said, putting her coffee cup down and taking in Tristan's skinny jeans and blush colored sweater. “You look great, but where are you going?”

  “To the meeting with you.” Tristan sat down, and Ruby brought her out a breakfast plate. Tristan thanked her, and Ruby stroked her cheek, looking regretful, before disappearing back into the kitchen.

  “I'm not sure that's a good idea,” Umbris mused, and Tristan leveled a look at him.

  “There is no doubt in my mind that Emmeline will be there with her parents, weeping like she's the victim, so I'm going. I am not letting her rewrite history for her own benefit this time.”

  Umbris raised his eyebrows and, after a few beats, nodded.

  “OK. Fair point.”

  “Trinity, honey, are you sure you're up to this?” Sol asked, surveying Tristan shrewdly.

  “Positive.”

  Tristan finished her eggs, finished her orange juice, and stood, toast in hand.

  “I'm going to go sit on the front porch.”

  And then she was gone, leaving Umbris and Sol to regard each other in astonishment.

  ***

  “Hey.” Evander greeted Tristan tentatively, coming out onto the porch and sitting beside her on the top step.

  “Hey.”

  “Mom and Dad said you're going to their meeting.”

  Tristan nodded. “I am.”

  “Good for you.”

  They sat in silence for a while.

  “I'm sorry you're frustrated that my being unsettled is unsettling the whole house. You're right that it isn't fair.”

  “Did Oceana tell you I said that?” Evander looked surprised, but Tristan shook her head.

  “I heard you.”

  “Was I still yelling?” Evander frowned.

  “I don't know,” Tristan said, and she didn't. She'd been focused on Beckett, but still able to hear Evander clearly.

  “I'm sorry I yelled at you,” Evander said, after a pause. “That wasn't fair of me. And really, I'm not that unsettled because of you. It's nothing compared to how you must be feeling, and will be feeling for a while.”

  “I appreciate it.” Tristan gave him a small smile.

  Umbris and Sol came outside, and Evander and Tristan stood.

  “Give ‘em hell,” Evander said, and Tristan smiled wider, nodding.

  The nerves didn’t hit Tristan until Umbris steered the SUV into the Academy’s parking lot. She took a few deep breaths, closing her eyes; she could do this.

  “We’re right here with you,” Umbris said, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror, and Tristan nodded.

  They walked into the silent school, turning left at the end of the hallway to find a small group standing outside of Dean LeFebvre’s office. Tristan’s stomach swooped -- in addition to the parents and who Tristan assumed was the chief of police, Emmeline had indeed shown up, already crying, but so had Beckett. His gaze hit hers head-on, and Tristan’s breath hitched just a little bit. Relief flooded his features as he looked at her, followed immediately by a mix of anger and sorrow, and even Emmeline took a break from making pathetic noises into her tissue to stare at Tristan, who once again cursed her lack of mind reading abilities.

  The trio joined the group, and Dean LeFebvre pulled open her office door, stopping short.

  “OK, I guess we’re doing this in the teacher's lounge. Give me a moment.”

  Dean LeFebvre disappeared back into her office, reemerging moments later with a stack of files and her laptop.

  “Follow me.”

  They walked the short distance in silence, Umbris and Sol placing themselves between Tristan and the others, their iciness rolling off of them in waves. The other adults, and Emmeline and Beckett, looked uncomfortable, and Tristan knew they were picking up on it too. She was pretty sure one would have to be dead to not be able to pick up on it.

  Everyone entered the teacher’s lounge, a soaring, lushly decorated room with a squishy patterned carpet in hues of rich blue, marigold, and burgundy, a wall of stained glass windows, and many pieces of comfortable-looking furniture. Dean LeFebvre led them to a long couch, in front of which sat a mahogany trunk-style coffee table, behind which sat a love seat and an armchair. Everyone sat, and, after a brief surveillance of Tristan's face, the Dean began the meeting.

  Tristan looked over at Emmeline, seated just a foot away from her, who was blatantly refusing to look back at her. Figured. Her eyes moved next to Beckett, seated diagonally across from her, who was staring at her. Also figured. She stared back at him, and his eyes traveled over her face once again, his expression pained. Tristan wasn’t sure where she stood with him at the moment, but she observed that he at least appeared to feel as badly as Tyler had claimed -- in fact, he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink the night before, dark shadows haunting his eye area. That made two of them.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, Mr. and Mrs. Benson, Mr. and Mrs. Strandquest, thank you for joining me here this morning,” Dean LeFebvre finally spoke, her face grave. “With us is Chief of Police Randall Bordelon, and today we’ll be discussing the actions taken against Tristan Wallace by several of her classmates, under the direction of Emmeline Strandquest, and the consequences that will follow. Chief Bordelon is here in the event you would like to press charges, Mr. and Mrs. Wallace and Tristan.

  “Yesterday afternoon, it was reported to me by Beckett here that Tristan had been attacked on school gr
ounds. Everyone was gone by then, but Jamestown Academy has cameras in multiple places on campus, including on the side of the building where the attack took place.”

  Tristan looked at Beckett, surprised to hear he’d been the one to report to the Dean. He looked back at her for a moment before his eyes flickered to Emmeline, who was glowering at him.

  “Before we view the video, which I will warn you is hard to watch, I’d like to hear from you, Tristan, or one of your parents if you’d prefer, your version of events.”

  All eyes turned to Tristan, and she swallowed nervously. Sol put her hand over Tristan’s, which Tristan knew was an inquiry, and she shook her head slightly. Tristan cleared her throat and, starting from running into Emmeline and the other girls outside of school, described what had happened. She avoided looking at Beckett, feeling an embarrassment she knew she shouldn’t feel, and instead mostly kept her eyes on Devin Strandquest, who was scrolling through his phone.

  “Emmeline, anything to add?” Dean LeFebvre asked, and, to Tristan’s utter shock, Emmeline shook her head.

  “Do you agree with Tristan’s version of events?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  Tristan gaped at Emmeline, who still wouldn’t look at her. In fact, she seemed to not really be looking at anything, upon closer inspection, her eyes glassy. Tristan looked at Umbris and Sol, whose faces were perfectly neutral, and then over to Beckett, who looked like he was ready to burn the world down.

  “Excuse me, this is ridiculous,” Victoria Strandquest spoke up, sitting forward.

  Dean LeFebvre looked at her.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You heard her.” Victoria inclined her head at Tristan, but kept her eyes on the Dean. “Emmeline didn’t do anything but stand there. Certainly those other girls should be in here answering to the Chief of Police -- which is excessive, by the way, I’m sorry to be the one to point out -- instead of my daughter.”

  “I did hear Tristan,” Dean LeFebvre said, looking at Victoria with distaste. “I heard her explain how Emmeline directed the attack, and I heard your daughter agree with Tristan.”