1
The
day of the accident
Something
screams at me to open my eyes. Just open your eyes. I don’t want to.
Darkness thicker than molasses surrounds me like a cloak. It feels safe.
Comforting. As if my brain already knows I can’t handle what I’ll see. If I
look, no matter how small or fast of a glimpse, I’ll never forget.
As I press my eyes shut, trying to block out the
voice in my head, long spindly shadows emerge from the depths of my mind. They
beckon me to follow them, down, down, and I give in, ignoring the screaming as
I let myself sink deeper and deeper into the stillness, a place of peace.
Vienna, open your eyes.
It won’t go away. Won’t leave me alone. A thought
emerges from the thick fog swirling through my brain. The voice isn’t mine.
It’s not inside my head. I raise a hand in a feeble attempt to bat the words
away.
“Vienna, wake up,” the voice says, clearer now.
“Please, please wake up.”
It’s a herculean effort to do
as I’m asked, and as my eyes flicker open, I turn my head, glance over my left
shoulder.
Madison’s leaning forward and staring at me, her fiery red hair
disheveled, her emerald eyes wild, wide with fear and a hint of what might be
relief. I’m not sure what to make of the mixture. I’m not sure what to make of
anything. I look away, but not before I see tears snake down her cheeks and
drop onto her blue hoodie.
“Can you hear me?” she says.
My throat’s dry, rough as sandpaper. I don’t think I can speak but manage
to push out a weak-sounding “Yes.” I nod in case Madison didn’t hear, and the
movement brings a stabbing pain to the side of my temple. When I touch my head,
I feel a tender lump beneath my fingers. Why am I hurt? Why—
Everything returns all at once. A sudden whoosh of thoughts and memories
and fear—so much fear—banishing the darkness like birds startled from a tree.
Six of us were in my old Tahoe SUV. The Bittersweet—Madison, Gabi,
Evelina, Isabel, and me—plus Libby, the documentary research assistant who’s
been shadowing us over the past few weeks. It’s midafternoon in early December,
and we were driving from Brooklyn to a holiday party in the Catskills hosted by
our record label. A major event Madison insisted we couldn’t miss, no matter
what.
No matter the impending storm.
A sequence of images flashes through my mind. Gabi offering to drive
because I was tired. The weather turning earlier than expected, and far worse
than anything we’d anticipated. Whiteout conditions. Getting lost in the middle
of nowhere. A steep, winding, narrow road up a hill. Slippery lanes. Me
tightening my grip on the cup of coffee in my hands, opening my mouth to tell
Gabi we were perhaps going a little too fast.
And then…
My fists bunch tight as I recall the sudden movement when the
Tahoe slid. This is when the memories slow down. It’s as if I’m watching the
events unfold from above, all in slow motion. I remember the SUV getting
closer and closer to the edge of the road. When I looked out of the passenger
window, there was no asphalt left on my side, only the tops of snow-laden trees
and a sharp drop below.
Renewed panic rises, making my heart pound. It leaps into my throat,
threatening to choke me when I relive the sound of our collective screams as we
crashed into the metal barrier.
There was a tiny moment of disbelief. A fraction of an instant when I
truly believed we’d be fine, before the barrier gave way, and the Tahoe toppled
over the edge of the road, right side first. One second, I thought we’d be all
right, we’d be safe, and then we rolled once, twice.
After that…
I search my brain for what came next but there’s nothing.
My coffee cup’s empty, its contents spilled, the scent turning my
stomach. At least the vehicle’s upright now, which I’m grateful for, but the
front passenger side where I’m sitting is severely crushed, the windshield and front
window shattered, half-gone. Thumb-size snowflakes drift in through the holes,
landing on my jacket. As I watch them soak into the fabric and disappear, I
long to go back into the darkness. Pretend none of this has happened. Maybe if
I escape for a while, everything will be back to normal when I wake up.
Except I know it won’t.
“Are you all right?” I ask Madison, turning around again, and she nods.
I look at the others. Gabi’s in the driver’s seat, shoulders trembling,
face pale, but she’s not making a sound. Libby’s in the back row, one hand over
her mouth as she sobs. Evelina’s slumped face down on the floor, her body
twisted at an unnatural angle. There’s blood on her jacket. My gaze searches
for its origins but can’t find it.
Madison leans over, touches Evelina’s shoulder, but she doesn’t
move. Was she knocked unconscious, too? Is that why it’s taking her longer to
wake up? My gaze sweeps the rest of the vehicle, my temple throbbing again. It
takes me a moment to spot what else is wrong.
There are five of us.
Five.
There should be six.
“Wh-where’s Isabel?” I say.
“Where did she—”
“Look.”
The tone of Gabi’s whisper
makes a shiver tear down my spine. She points to the broken windshield, and I
follow her line of sight. At first, I’m unsure of what I’m seeing. A jumble of
clothes at the base of a tree? It’s what I tell myself until I register the
bright teal color. The exact shade of the puffer jacket Isabel wore when we
left Brooklyn. The coat she refused to take off, even after we cranked up the
heat.
“No,” I say, wrestling with my
seat belt, breaking free. “No, no, no, no.”
Scrambling, I heave myself up
and climb over Gabi, hands yanking on the driver’s door. Mercifully, her side
opens, and I jump out.
Driven by pure adrenaline, all
temptation of going back to the darkness banished for good, I run to the heap
of clothes—the heap I know is Isabel—gasping as I fall to my knees at her side.
A tree branch thicker than my
arm is embedded in the left side of her chest where her heart should be, her
shirt torn and spattered with deep red. Her eyes are open, staring at the gray
skies above, but she doesn’t blink. She doesn’t move.
A guttural scream rises from
deep within me, and I put my head back to let it escape. Before it can emerge,
the smell of smoke makes the noise wither and die in my throat.
The Tahoe’s on fire. My friends
are still inside.
2
4
years 4 months before the accident
Landing
at the principal’s office two hours into the first day of twelfth grade had to
be some kind of record. Considering I was a brand-new student at Rosemont High,
and the aptly named, stone-faced Principal Mason didn’t seem to have much of a
sense of humor, I decided not to ask.
“I’m not impressed with either of you,” he said,
before turning to me. “Vienna, I understand you’ve just arrived in town but
it’s no excuse. Madison, I’m surprised to find you in this predicament. I’d
have thought you’d know better.”
Tuning out his monotone about decorum, expectations,
and mutual respect, I snuck a glance at Madison. I didn’t know her last name
and didn’t care. She was the reason we found ourselves in this mess. If it
weren’t for her, I’d be in calculus class. Although in a way she’d done me a
favor as math was my least favorite subject.
Neither
of us had said much, Principal Mason clearly enjoyed hearing himself talk.
While I leaned back in my chair, Madison sat with a rod-straight spine, hands
neatly folded in her lap, giving the occasional nod. Enviable, natural red
waves tumbled past her shoulders, and she had choppy bangs, which
emphasized her big green eyes and near flawless skin.
My gaze dropped to her perfectly manicured nails, and the Lululemon
backpack by her feet. I’d seen her cute tan suede ankle boots at Portland’s
Maine Mall on Saturday, had quickly calculated I’d need over ten shifts at my
ice cream parlor job to buy them, double if Mom’s boyfriend found the money I’d
hidden again.
I bet Madison never needed to save for anything. Her jean shorts were as
trendy as her backpack and boots, and they were strategically ripped in all the
right places. Not the DIY job I’d done on the pair I’d got from the local
pawnshop.
At least nobody had the same ones, and I liked the fact mine were original
whereas Madison was a carbon copy of all the other rich girls circulating
around the building. The ones who air-kissed, flicked their hair, and pretended
commoners like me were invisible. Girls who summered.
I wondered if this was the
first time Madison had ended up in front of Principal Mason. She seemed too
much of a goody-two-suede-boots to me. Her mom was probably head of the
parent-teacher committee, baked treats for the staff to keep them on her side. Whatever
consequences came our way, no doubt Little Miss Madison would shimmy out of
them faster than I could say blueberry muffins.
“Are you going to answer me,
Vienna?” Principal Mason’s use of my name snapped my wandering attention back
to him. “Or do you plan to continue sitting in silence?”
My eyes flickered over his
fluffy dark brown hair, which reminded me of a duckling, and I took in his
polyester-blend suit and Snoopy tie. Maybe he wore the latter to prove to
himself he was a fun guy. He wasn’t fooling me.
A knock on the door stopped me
from answering his question. Principal Mason’s assistant stepped into the
office, a short guy whose desk nameplate read Harry Sweet. He didn’t look much older than me and might’ve borrowed his dad’s pine-green corduroy
jacket to give himself an air of authority, but all it did was transform him
into a kid playing dress-up.
“I made the calls to the parents,” Harry said. “Ms. Taylor didn’t pick
up.”
Unable to help myself, I let out a snort.
“Something you can share with us, Vienna?” Principal Mason asked.
There were a million things I could’ve said about my mother. My total lack
of surprise at how Harry’s quest to reach her had failed would’ve been as good
a place as any to start. She’d ignored school phone calls pretty much since
first grade, including the time I’d fallen off a stone wall and Grams had
taken me to get stitched up.
Mom’s excuse was her busy work schedule at the gas station in Falmouth
where we’d lived until the beginning of this summer, except most days I could
smell alcohol on her because she’d been at her local bar.
Maybe I should’ve told Principal Mason how Mom had never attended any of
my school performances since I was eight, despite her knowing they were my
favorite thing in the world.
Once you’ve seen one goddamn
school concert you’ve seen them all, Mom told her boyfriend du jour when she hadn’t known I
was within earshot, or maybe she’d seen me and hadn’t cared. There’s two
hours of your life you’ll never get back.
She had no idea how wrong she
was. My previous school’s production of The Addams Family had been such
a success, we’d added another date. Mom still hadn’t come. Instead, she’d partied
with Rick, her latest beau and the man who was the reason why I’d ended up at
Rosemont for my senior year.
I hated how we’d moved from
Falmouth to Portland’s North Deering area, and now lived in his house. So did
Grams, who seemed to loathe Rick more than I did, but at least we had a
non-leaky roof over our heads and no longer shared a bedroom.
I loved Grams more than anyone but sleeping in the same room was
exhausting now her dementia had got worse and she confused the time of day,
thinking it was afternoon when it was the middle of the night.
Principal Mason cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows as he waited
for an answer. Was there something I could share? Sure. Something I wanted to?
“Nope.” I omitted the customary
sir to see if it would infuriate him, but to his credit, the guy didn’t
react.
“Mr. Pierce will be here any
minute,” Harry said, and as I glanced at Principal Mason, I noticed a twitch of
his upper lip, a small widening of his eyes. This news clearly bothered him.
“Madison,” he said, turning to
my newfound nemesis. “Before your father arrives, would you please explain
what happened at the cafeteria?”
Madison swallowed hard and took
a deep breath. Wait for it, I thought, expecting a master class in how
to wrap people around your little finger. What would she do? Go vamp and bat
her eyelashes at the principal? Lean forward while subtly using her arms to
push her boobs together as she insisted none of this was her fault? Maybe she’d
wait for her father to rush through the door, and do a daddy’s little girl
routine, bursting into tears so he felt protective of her.
As I studied her, Madison
looked straight ahead, raised her chin, and crossed her arms, her body language
almost identical to mine. Her whole demeanor was interesting and…unexpected.
Principal Mason was about to
speak when another man pushed past Harry, who immediately fled and closed the
door behind him. I swear the temperature in the office dropped twenty degrees,
making me sit up straight as if on autopilot.
The tall man I presumed to be
Mr. Pierce wore a dark suit with a crisp white button-down shirt. Instead of a
fun comic-strip tie, his was black, covered in silver spheres, and secured with the
most precise knot I’d ever seen. I guessed him to be in his late forties, and
whatever he did for work, it had to pay more than well. With his clothes,
haircut, and shiny shoes, Madison’s father oozed cash.
I’d never known my dad. Mom had me when she was twenty-one, another
drunken one-night stand with an out-of-towner whose name she couldn’t remember.
She’d regretted him, and me, ever since.
“Mr. Pierce,” Principal Mason said, holding out a hand, fingers trembling
slightly.
“Ronald,” Mr. Pierce said as they shook. “What’s going on?”
“There was an incident at the cafeteria,” Principal Mason offered.
“What are the specifics of this incident?”
“Well, uh, Madison and Ms.
Taylor here—” the principal gestured at me “—ended up in a scuffle.”
Mr. Pierce whipped his head in
Madison’s direction, and she shrank into her seat, almost as if she wished it
would swallow her. “You got into a fight? Explain.”
“It was nothing,” Madison said,
her voice small now, her defiance gone.
“Which is why you ended up
here,” her father replied, waving a hand around. “On your first day back.
Let’s try this again. Tell me what happened. I rearranged a client call to be
here, and I’d appreciate you not wasting more of anyone’s time.”
There had been a few occasions
over the past years when I’d longed for supportive parents who’d come to the
school. A few years ago, I’d been bullied by a girl named Patsy. She’d picked
on me for whatever reason, and when I’d asked Mom for help, she’d instructed me
to do whatever Patsy did to me but twice as hard.
Mom’s idea hadn’t gone down
well—when Patsy kicked me in the shins, I’d done it back, and the teacher had
spotted me. Then again, Patsy had limped for a week, and she’d left me alone
thereafter, so maybe Mom’s approach hadn’t been the worst idea. Still, it
would’ve been nice to have her show her face from time to time, although
looking at Mr. Pierce now, I was thankful for her lack of interest, and for the
fact my dad wasn’t around.
“Madison.” His tone could’ve sliced
Harry’s metal nameplate in half. “I want an answer.”
When I glanced over, my
animosity toward Madison faded. She seemed terrified. Shoulders hunched, arms
still crossed, chin now pointing to her chest.
“It was my fault,” I said, and
Madison let out a tiny gasp.
I don’t know why I spoke up or
why I chose to lie. Maybe it was because I saw part of myself in Madison, the
way I’d been until I’d clued into building myself a suit of invisible armor, so
nobody’s jabs, taunts, or comments got beneath my skin.
Her father stared at me. “I
don’t believe I was talking to—”
“Who cares? You wanted an
answer,” I said, cutting him off, figuring it would be the easiest way to draw
his ire in my direction and away from his daughter. I didn’t have to live in
the same house as him. In fact, I’d never see him again, so I didn’t care what
he thought. “I cut in front of Madison at the cafeteria. She pointed out the
back of the line, and I told her to get lost. Things got heated.”
“And who pushed whom first?”
Principal Mason said, his authoritative tone making a comeback now he was
talking at a student, not with an intimidating parent.
I shrugged. “I shoved her.”
“Very well,” Principal Mason
said. “Thank you for being honest, Vienna. You’re new to this school, but we
don’t take assault lightly here.”
“Assault?” I said with a laugh.
“Seriously?”
“I shoved her back,” Madison
jumped in, “which means technically I assaulted her.”
“Madison.” Mr. Pierce’s blue eyes
bored into her. “You’re almost an adult. You most certainly know this is no way to
behave.”
As he paused, his gaze swept over me while a distasteful look he couldn’t
quite—or didn’t want to—hide crossed his face. As he took in my edgy raven bob,
the rows of silver hoops in my ears, my homemade ripped jean shorts, and the
Joan Jett Bad
Reputation tank
top—the black one with the set of bright red lips—I knew exactly what he was
thinking: this one’s trouble.
“Principal Mason,” he said,
still staring at me, “I expect consequences for them both.”
“Well, seeing as it’s the first
day of school and they spoke up, I think we should—”
“Start as we mean to go on?
Quite.” Mr. Pierce made his way to the door and pulled it open, rattling the
gray set of blinds covering the window. Before stepping out, he turned and
looked at each of us in turn before adding, “I trust you’ll make the right
decision, Ronald. Madison isn’t busy this afternoon.”
“That’s not true, Dad,” she
said. “I have my audition for the orchestra after school.”
He waited a beat. “Not
anymore.”
I watched as Principal Mason
gave Madison a pained look while she clenched her fists and bit her bottom lip
almost hard enough to draw blood. Seemed I’d been too quick to judge. A love of
music and a shared hatred for at least one of our parents? Maybe we had stuff
in common after all.
Excerpted from Only One Survives by
Hannah Mary McKinnon. Copyright © 2024 by Hannah McKinnon. Published by
arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
