Blood on My Hands

the cookie sheet and busied myself pressing green sugar letters into the dough, spelling out “Go Tigers,” “Win,” and “Tiger Pride!” Not only did Slade work with his father in construction but they’d also helped renovate that very kitchen.
    I remembered Slade telling me that it was the biggest kitchen he’d ever seen. It seemed like it had acres of dark green marble countertops, punctuated by dual sinks, brushed-steel appliances, and a large iron ring suspended from the ceiling with a dozen pots and pans hanging from it. Slade had said it had been one of those jobs for which money wasn’t an issue. The Jenkinses had wanted everything to be perfect.
    Just when I thought the topic of Slade had been dropped, Jodie said, “How long have you two been together?”
    “Three years,” I answered.
    “So … you’ve never been with anyone else?” Jodie was a funny girl, with short hair and a bouncy personality and a wicked sense of humor when she felt like displaying it.
    I shook my head.
    “How can you know if he’s the one for you?” she asked. “I mean, when you’ve had no one else to compare him to.”
    “I just do,” I said, and thought, I don’t need to compare him to anyone else .
    “I think you could do so much better,” Katherine declared.
    My ears burned. This was something else I’d learned about Katherine. Sometimes she’d get into moods and had to stir things up, cause excitement, and push buttons. She was like a schoolyard bully who couldn’t resist picking fights. But unlike some bullies, who picked fights only with kids they knew they could beat, Katherine seemed to have this need to create confrontations even when the outcome was uncertain.
    I could have reacted to what she’d said about Slade, could have gotten angry or more defensive, even argued. I think Katherine actually liked it better when you fought back than when you meekly obeyed her, the way Mia always did. But instead, I decided to try a strategy based on something my father used to say: A good offense is the best defense .
    “Tell me, Katherine, have you ever been in love?” I asked.
    Dakota and Jodie froze like meerkats on TV. Katherine conjured up a haughty “Ha!” but after that, the kitchen fell uncomfortably quiet again. I was tempted to push Katherine on the question—after all, “ha” didn’t exactly qualify as an answer—but I sensed I’d gone far enough. I’d stood up to the queen and silenced her.
    Katherine glanced around and her gaze stopped at a block of wood containing a set of kitchen knives. Her hand closed around the largest handle and she drew out a long, heavy-looking blade and held it in my direction for a moment in a way that could have been either innocent or threatening. The mood in the kitchen was ominous. Even though what Katherine was doing was a teasing gesture, there was something menacing about it.
    Staring at the knife, I noticed the design on the side of the blade—two tiny white stick figures against a square red background.
    Katherine turned toward me. Dakota and Jodie could see what she was doing, but they couldn’t see her expression change from a chatty smile to an intensely unamused glare. Suddenly she jabbed the knife forward, not nearly enough to reach me, but enough to make me jump back.
    “Aaah!” Jodie gasped, as if she really thought Katherine was going to stab me.
    Katherine turned and smiled at her. “You didn’t think I’d do it, did you?”
    A nervous grin appeared on Jodie’s face, while Dakota’s remained a mask. Katherine slid the knife back into the block and gazed at me again, nodding slightly. I couldn’t help interpreting the act as a serious warning not to overstep my boundaries.

Chapter 6
    Sunday 12:34 A.M.
    CAN I BRING myself to call Slade now, after what I did to him? And I did it in the worst possible way and at the worst possible time. He was at National Guard training camp, far from home, his friends, and family. Farther away than he’d ever gone alone.
    For the first two months he’d been allowed only one three-minute phone call—to tell his dad he’d made it to the training camp safely. After that, he was allowed to speak to me once a week. He’d confide about how lonely and miserable he was, about how scared he was of being called up for active duty and sent overseas, and about how much he regretted signing up for the guard in the first place. These were things he never could have admitted to anyone else. But he could say