Saint Anything(16)
Author: Sarah Dessen

Now, on the wall, I read these familiar words once, then twice. Like it was some sort of mantra, a spell to cancel out what had happened that morning with my mom. I’d always remember the truth. Just to be sure, though, I made a point of bringing it front and center, right there before my eyes

There had been no shortage of bad moments in those early weeks after Peyton’s accident. But one had really stuck with me. It was a passing remark I’d overheard as I came down the stairs one day. My parents were in the kitchen.

“What was a fifteen-year-old doing out riding his bike at two in the morning, anyway?”

Silence. Then my dad. “Julie.”

“I know, I know. But I just wonder.”

I just wonder. That was the moment I realized my mom would never be able to really hold Peyton responsible for what he’d done. Their bond was too tight, too tangled, for her to see reason. Like anyone deserved to be hit by a car and paralyzed. Like he was asking for it. For days afterward, I had trouble even looking at her.

In February 2014, David Ibarra was hit by a drunk driver while riding his bike home from his cousin’s house, leaving him partially paralyzed. This page is dedicated to his story. Please leave a comment! And thank you for your support.

I just wonder.

“Hey.”

As I looked up, startled, I had this fleeting thought that I would see David Ibarra in front of me. But it was Layla. When she saw my face, her eyes widened.

“What’s wrong?”

I swallowed, hard. And then, somehow, I was talking. “My brother’s in prison for drunk driving. He left a kid paralyzed. And I hate him for it.”

As I spoke, I realized I’d held these words in for so long and so tightly that I felt the space they left empty once released. It was vast enough that I could think of nothing to follow them.

Layla looked at me for a long moment. Then she sat down beside me and said, “So there’s this thing about me.”

I don’t know what reply I’d been expecting from her, but it wasn’t this. I said, “I’m sorry?”

“I never forget a face. Like, never. I wish I could sometimes.” She swallowed, then turned to look at me. “I saw you, in the courthouse. A few weeks back? You were coming out of the bathroom.”

Until that moment, I had totally forgotten everything about that day except Peyton being sentenced. But as she said this, the rest of the details came rushing back. Ames taking me to the bathroom and waiting outside. Washing my hands, dreading rejoining him. And a girl who met my eyes and didn’t look away.

“That was you?” She nodded. “I’d forgotten.”

“I know. Anyone else would have. But I recognized you the minute I saw you at Seaside.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“Because it tends to creep people out.” She sighed. “I mean, for everyone else, you see a stranger and then forget them. Faces only stick for a reason. But with me, it’s like a photograph, filed away in my mind.”

“That’s nuts,” I said.

“I know. Mac always says I should join the circus, or run a scheme or something, so I’m at least putting my power to use.”

We were quiet another moment. Finally I said, “Why were you there?”

“At the courthouse?” I nodded. “I was with Rosie. She’s had to check in with the judge about her progress every couple of months since she got busted.”

I had a flash of the crack her sister had made about Logan Oxford and Layla’s equally snide reply. “Was it drugs?”

“Yep.” She sat back, turning up her face to the sun. “After her knee injury, she got a bit too fond of the Vicodin they gave her. Tried to pass off some fake prescriptions. Totally moronic. Got arrested, like, instantly.”

“Did she go to jail?”

Layla shook her head. “Rehab. Then they put an anklet on her. She just got it off a couple of weeks ago.”

“Really.”

“Yeah. You think she’s grumpy now, imagine her stuck in the house for six months.” She sighed. “It’s her own stupid fault, though. So infuriating. She had everything going for her and just blew it.”

“That’s like my brother.” It was new to be talking to someone I didn’t know well about this, but easier than I would have thought. “He had so many chances. But he kept getting into trouble anyway. And then the accident . . .”

I trailed off, not sure how much further I wanted to go into this. Layla didn’t say anything. In the silence, I realized I did want to keep talking. Really badly, actually.

“He’d been sober for over a year. Doing really well. And then one night, for no reason that we can figure out, he got drunk and behind the wheel. Hit a kid riding his bike. The kid is in a wheelchair now. Forever.”

Layla winced. “Wow. That’s awful.”

It was. It was really, really awful. And not just for Peyton, my mom and dad, or even me.

“His name is David Ibarra.” I looked down at my hands. “I think about him all the time.”

“Of course you do.” She said this simply, flatly. “Anyone would.”

“It’s like you with the faces. I can’t stop.” I took in a breath. “And my mom, it’s like she can’t see what Peyton did for what it is. She just worries about him and how he’s doing, and my dad doesn’t talk about anything, and now she wants me to visit him. And I don’t want to. At all. We got in a fight about it this morning.”

Saying this, I realized one reason I’d never spoken to Jenn or Meredith this way. Layla might have known my face, but she was still a blank slate when it came to Peyton, not already in possession of some bias or feeling toward him. Unlike everyone else in my world.

“If you don’t want to go, you shouldn’t,” she said. “Just tell your mom you’re not in that place yet.”

“I don’t know if I ever will be. I mean, I’ve always loved my brother,” I said. “But I really hate him right now.”

Across the courtyard, someone laughed. Two girls in field hockey uniforms passed by, one on the phone, the other opening a piece of gum. Happy, normal lives going on in happy, normal ways, in a world that was anything but. Once you realized this, experienced something that made it crystal clear, you couldn’t forget it. Like a face. Or a name. However you first learn that truth, once it’s with you, it never really goes away.

Chapter 6

FOR THE first couple of days after I told Layla about Peyton, I kept waiting to regret it. It was strange, telling the story from the beginning instead of catching someone up on only the latest awful chapter. Like finally I was in a place quiet and safe enough to hear it, too. Just the facts, laid out like cards on a table. This happened, then this, then this. The end.