Napier's hand grabbed my shirt, slamming me against the door, and the only thing I could feel was relief. As his mates swarmed around us and he shouted that this was all because of me, my head was whispering yesyesyes to every word he said, my body tingling with anticipated pain.
"Dec, he's not worth it!" cried Bridget.
Too right, Parker. I'm not worth a damn thing. She was grabbing at his arm as he lifted his fist, trying to drag him away.
"Go on," I said quietly, looking straight into Declan's furious, chalk-white face. "Hit me. I deserve it." I knew this was going to happen from the second I stepped into the classroom, and I was almost looking forward to it. I'd deserve everything Napier gave me and then some.
But Declan wasn't moving. He stood there, staring at me, for a few seconds, then walked out. His friends all followed him, and I closed my eyes, leaning back against the door. Someone touched my shoulder. I jerked back.
"You OK, mate?" Mr Fitzgerald was looking down at me, wearing his famous concerned face. What the hell do you think? You were there. Your girlfriend nearly drowned, and her brother did. I am not OK, and I am not your mate.
"Fine, sir."
"Better get to class then, eh?"
I picked up my bag and went to leave.
"Kyle." I turned around. "Don't let that lot get to you. Declan . . . He just took it pretty hard."
I wasn't expecting the burst of rage that swelled up in me at those well-meaning words. So Declan took it hard, did he? It must have been torture for him, having to wait a whole hour before he found out Bridget was fine. I'd spent all goddamn summer not knowing whether Zeke was alive or dead, and now I was being told to make allowances when Napier as good as called me his murderer. But with that thought, the anger drained out of me. Because Declan was right, wasn't he? I'd killed the guy I love.
* * * * *
The guy I love. Did I realise that before the river, or just in hindsight? I couldn't remember. I wasn't sure if I'd even thought about it. I always knew I liked Zeke. He was a cool guy – miles beyond Justin and those tools. I knew I liked talking to him, liked hanging out with him, liked his brains and his jokes and his music. And liked pashing him. Maybe the l-word crossed my mind, maybe not. It never crossed my lips. That's one of the things that haunts me when I'm trying to sleep.
When I was about seven, I asked my mum what the difference was between love and like. She told me that you love someone if, when they die, you cry.
I cried the day it happened, for the first time in years. No-one noticed, we were all dripping wet anyway. There was chaos as people dragged themselves out of the water, shouting for everyone else. I think I was in shock. I couldn't even scream his name. All I could do was stare at the water, willing him to be OK, praying harder than I ever had in my life that he'd surface. He didn't.
There's one thing Napier and I are agreed on – it was my fault. Mr Simpson only came up with the idea of the kayak race as a way to settle a fight between me and Declan. I started it by making a pass at his girlfriend, basically telling the whole class that since she obviously wasn't afraid to get freaky, she may as well do it with me. The most frigging ironic thing is that I didn't even have a problem with Bridget. She's got crappy taste in men, and getting herself knocked up wasn't the smartest thing to do, but apart from that she's not a bad chick. I was just getting sick of the way that whole crowd had been treating Zeke lately, looking at him like he was some sort of traitor. They kept telling him that he was being an idiot and screwing things up with the only real friends he'd ever have. It pissed me off. Did they think they had him under contract just because they lived on the same street? Zeke could hang out with whoever the hell he wanted, and if that happened to be me, so much the better. So I went after Bridget, because I wanted to show Napier what it was like to see someone else trying to publicly claim the person who mattered most to you. And that was it. Bloody stupid thing to lose a life for . . . to lose Zeke's life for.
* * * * *
The SES weren't exactly happy about us wandering around in the bush, but they let us keep looking. They warned us it probably wouldn't do any good. They were right, of course. OK, maybe not. Bridget and Ms Kennedy got found. I would have been happy about that – two fewer deaths for my conscience – if there was room left for me to feel anything that wasn't about Zeke. I was out there for hours before it finally occurred to me to check back, see if anyone else had seen him. When I got there, I saw his step-father talking to one of the emergency workers. "It's extremely unlikely that your son survived." She was holding a helmet. It was cracked, dented, broken . . . I didn't get to here the rest of the conversation. I had to go off behind a tree and throw up. I couldn't stop seeing his head in that helmet as it smashed against the rocks. His head without the helmet. I was shaking like crazy, and I knew I couldn't go back out there. I wasn't going to find him. Even if I did, it wouldn't be Zeke any more, just a bloody, broken corpse. There was a cluster of parents up around the tent. Mum was there, and she came running over when she saw me coming. I let her hug me, even though anyone could have been looking. Just goes to show how screwed up I was by the whole thing. After hanging on to me for five solid minutes, she asked if I was OK.
"Zeke . . ." That was all I could get out.
"Oh, no. Honey, I'm so sorry."
Her eyes were huge with pity. I never exactly told her about me and Zeke, but she knew. She knew everything. I used to laugh about it with him. Ninja powers. I was going to start bawling in a second.
"Can we go home?"
"Of course."
We didn't talk until we were in the car. I'd almost fallen asleep against the window when I heard her saying "This isn't your fault."
Yeah, right.
