Brandi greets me in the lecture theatre, gushing. ‘I’m so happy. You know, we should go on a double date sometime.’ She twirls a necklace in her fingers. A silver chain. My heart stalls. She told me months ago it was a gift from her boyfriend. I shake my head clear.
‘I need to look after my father,’ I say. ‘He’s not doing as well as some.’
She ignores my inference and slouches in her lecture chair. ‘Why run after him? Isn’t he the reason your sister did what she did?’
‘She was sixteen,’ I remind her. ‘Sixteen. How could she even think to do that?’
‘Maybe you’re thinking about it too much,’ she says abruptly.
Two weeks in, wounds raw, and my friend might as well soak them with acid.
‘You don’t give a shit, Brandi.’ The tears sting as I stand up.
‘Wait,’ she says. ‘Here.’ She hands me a ball of crumpled paper.
I recognise the floral prints, hand-written scrawl. ‘From Emily’s diary?’
She nods.
‘Did you tear this out?’
‘Yes.’ She won’t look me in the eye.
I snatch it from her hands. ‘Why would you do that?’
She shrugs. ‘I had no idea Emily was involved with him. Maybe that’s why she …’
‘Who?’ I demand. ‘Who was Emily involved with?’
Brandi clams up, so I ask her the same thing I asked her yesterday, when she gave me Emily’s diary.
‘Why didn’t you return this to Emily when you found it? You kept it for weeks. Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘I guess I didn’t want anyone else to see it. I wish I hadn’t seen it.’
I want to slap Brandi. It hurts knowing she’s read my sister’s innermost thoughts.