“My dad died last year on September... 26...” 

“Oh...” was all Emilio seemed capable of saying. I looked up to see his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. His face scrunched when I met his gaze and he told me, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Yeah, people say that but what does it do?” I bit out. “It wasn’t their fault some idiot thought they could make a u-turn in the middle of a slippery road! I mean, why would you make a turn while going fast, especially when it’s raining at night!” 

I turned my head to glare at the dancing students in front of us. I was lashing out, I knew that, but I couldn’t seem to hold myself back. I didn’t want him to see my face, see the anger contort my features and the tears well up in the corner of my eyes. I was weak, and I didn’t want him to see. 

I felt hate and anger and grief swell up in my chest, breaking through the careful chains I’d locked around them and expanding to fill every part of me. I felt like a balloon, full to bursting with my rage. 

“You know the worst part?” I asked him quietly, my voice retaining the fury I felt. I heard it slip out and entangle with my words. “The worst part? It was that he was-” 

My voice broke, and a tear slipped out of my careful restraints. I quickly wiped it away before he could see, trying to keep myself together. I swallowed the knot in my throat and took a breath. I continued. 

“The worst part was that he was on his way home from work.” I told him. My voice was quiet and controlled, but I heard how dangerous it sounded. If anything, the quiet enhanced the emotions that plagued my words. I tried to continue. “He was late because... Because he...”

I couldn’t say it. I felt the words shrivel in my throat, halfway through my mouth as I broke. I was a fragile china doll, tipping on the edge of the thin shelf it was set on. With every word, I felt myself tip, slowly, slowly, closer to falling, falling, down to the floor, and shattering into a billion miniscule pieces. Miniscule, yet razor-sharp pieces. 

I felt the world distort. The music faded out, but I wasn’t sure if it was what was actually happening or if it was just my crushing emotions. I felt like I was spinning. Am I still standing? Where’d the ground go? 

All of a sudden, I was back. I was leaning out over the edge of the balcony, the cool, crisp autumn air biting at my exposed arms and legs and nipping at my face. The rain was drenching me, dripping down my face and slicking my usually curly hair to my forehead and shoulders. But all the while, I couldn’t stop smiling. Dad had promised to get my present for me today, and he was coming home with it soon! 

“Iris! You’re gonna catch a cold!” a voice shouted from inside the apartment. “Come inside! Dad’ll be home soon!” 

I was about to obey my mother’s commands when I heard the sirens. I turned and saw an ambulance and police cars speeding down the road. I remember thinking, oh no, what happened? I hope they’re okay! How ironic. 

I slipped inside the warm comforts of home to join my family. We watched a movie while waiting for Dad, completely unaware that we weren’t going to be seeing him again. 

When the movie was over, we checked the time. It was way later than we expected, nearing midnight, and Dad still wasn’t home. We started to worry, getting anxious. 

“Is Dad okay?” I remember Kaytelin asking. 

“Everything’s fine. He probably got stuck in traffic. Why don’t you kids go to bed? I’ll wait up for him,” she told us, trying to reassure all of us. It worked. 

We all went to our respective rooms and slept, unknowing of the disaster that had happened that would change all of us. Forever. 

The next morning, we got ready like usual. I was all hyped up because it was my birthday, and I was officially fourteen years old. I remember bouncing into the kitchen with a great big smile on my face only to be met with Mom and Kyler, sitting with their hands clasped together, and Kaytelin standing over them. There were tear stains on their cheeks and small water drops all over the table.  

“What’s wrong?” I asked, confused as to why they were upset. 

They looked up at me. Mom sighed before saying, “I’m not sure how to tell you this, Sweetheart, but-” 

“Dad’s dead,” Kaytelin deadpanned, interrupting Mom. Mom and Kyler winced at her bluntness, but she stared deep into my eyes with accusation. “You killed Dad.” 

“What?” I remember feeling those words slice through my heart, burying themselves into my brain and tumbling my stomach’s sparse contents in a whirlpool. I felt my face fall as the pain shone in my eyes. 

“You heard me,” Kaytelin told me sharply. She started to walk around the table, advancing toward me with each word. “You killed Dad. He died while getting your birthday present.” She was right in front of me, but didn’t stop walking, forcing me backwards. “If it weren’t for you, Dad would STILL BE HERE!” 

I’d walked into the wall and she was up in my face, screaming her accusations at me. My sixteen year old sister was yelling at me, a freshly turned fourteen year old. Tears were streaming down both of our faces as she glared at me with boiling hatred. I heard Kyler stand up, scraping his chair backwards against the tile as he approached us. He gripped his twin’s shoulder and yanked her backwards, away from me. 

“Enough, Kaytelin,” he told her sternly. “It’s not her fault Dad got in a car crash.” 

“DON’T TAKE HER SIDE!” our sister screeched. She violently jerked her shoulder out of Kyler’s grip and growled, “It’s her fault. She’s the reason he’s dead.” 

“No, it’s not,” Kyler told her. 

“Believe what you want, Kyler, but I know the truth,” she spat. She twisted to give me one last glare before turning on the spot and marching out of the apartment. 

I didn’t move from where I stood, cowering against the wall. My sister blamed me for our father’s death. Dad’s dead. He’s dead. He died. 

It was then that I remembered the sirens and the cars I saw speeding down the road. They were going to him, I realized. This got me laughing. I laughed hysterically, all the while crying. Big fat crocodile tears slipped from my eyes and flowed steadily down my face as I laughed until my ribs felt like they would crack. 

I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, but my laughter never subsided. I laughed, and I cried. I probably looked like a maniac, a psychopath who had killed her father, but I didn’t care. My emotions were on autopilot, and I was just a passenger on this disaster of a roller coaster. Kyler and Mom tried to reassure me, comfort me, tell me it wasn’t my fault, but this just made me laugh harder, cry harder. It was my fault. Kaytelin was right to hate me. I hated me, too. 

Eventually, I exhausted from my hormone driven emotional fit and passed out in the hallway. I missed school that day. All of us did. 

“Iris?” I heard a voice call distantly. 

I snapped back to reality. There were two hands wrapped around my arms again, and I latched onto the arms connected to them to help ground myself. I didn’t want to drift back off into the nightmare that took over me again. 

“Iris? Are you okay?” the same voice asked. 

This time, I looked up to meet the gaze of my savior. Emilio, of course. I nodded faintly. 

“Are you sure? Are you having a panic attack?” he asked, concerned. 

“Yes, no,” I told him. When his frown deepened, I clarified, “Yes, I’m fine. No, I’m not having a panic attack.”  

“What happened?” he asked me. 

I realized he was bending down slightly so that he was at my eye level. I straightened up and he took it as a sign that he should too. 

“I was just... remembering that night,” I told him. “And that morning,” I added. 

“What-? Oh,” he said, answering his own half verbalized question. His hands hadn’t left my arms, and I gripped his own arms tighter. 

“It was my fault,” I whispered softly. I’d never told anyone about this. My family thought I was over it and I’d never told Dahlia. Emilio looked down at me, shocked. I kept his gaze, defiance written on my face, daring him to contradict me. 

He did. 

“Why would it be your fault? Did you distract him while he was driving or something?” Emilio asked, confused. 

I shook my head and simply told him “No.” 

“Then why?” he asked. 

“Dad was getting a birthday present. For me. My birthday present,” I confided. 

Realization bloomed in his face. He bent down slightly again and gave me a slight shake. “Iris,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault. It was the driver that crashed into him. They’re to blame, not you.” 

“Sure,” I allowed, nodding. I didn’t agree. 

“Iris, I’m serious. It was not your fault!” he said, exaggerating his last three words by giving me a small shake per. 

“I hate my birthday,” I whimpered softly. Something wet touched the corner of my mouth. Something wet and warm and salty. A tear. My tongue, with a mind of its own, flicked out to catch it. 

“Come on, you need some fresh air,” Emilio told me. He released my arms, instead wrapping his arm around my waist and practically dragging me outside. From the corner of my blurry vision, sorry, from my blurry peripheral vision, I thought I saw a flash of red hair. I turned, but it was gone. It was probably just the lights, I told myself. 

Emilio led me outside, and the fresh air hit me with immense force. I didn’t realize how claustrophobic I’d been feeling until I left the cramped room filled with teenage hormones. My pain and anger and grief and loathing slowly floated away, slipping from my chest down my arms and legs and out through the tips of my hands and feet. It left me, leaving behind only an empty space. It felt numb. I felt tired. I hadn’t felt like this since the week after my birthday last year. The week before Dad’s funeral. The week I spent entirely in bed. 

He took us towards the tables and sat us down on them with our backs to the table connected to the bench as well as the buzzing cafeteria. 

I took a few calming breaths, and I felt the arm around me tighten comfortingly. I leaned against Emilio, closing my eyes. It was strange, what it felt like. Emilio’s presence was similar to my dad’s: strong and stable, but still silly and kind and fun. But at the same time, it was completely different. Different in a way I had no words for, but that was fine. I didn’t need words. Words failed me. Over and over, they failed me. 

“I still have it,” I told him. My eyes were still closed, my voice was faint, weak. 

“Have what?” I heard him ask, just as quietly. I opened my eyes and turned my head to look up at him. He stared back down at me, patiently waiting for my answer. 

“The present he died getting for me,” I told him. There was little emotion left in my voice. It echoed exactly how I felt; empty of everything. I turned back away from him, closing my eyes again and leaning my head against him. “They managed to salvage it from the wreckage. A hoodie. Tie-dyed a bright orange with swirls of red and yellow.” 

He hummed his understanding, and I felt it vibrate through both of us. 

“Do you have a ride home?” he asked me quietly after a few more moments of peaceful silence. 

I nodded. “Yeah, I came here with Dahlia. We’re planning on leaving together, too.” 

“Do you want to leave now? Where is she?” 

He started to twist around to see if he could spot her all the way inside the cafeteria full of teenagers, but I shook my head. 

“I want to stay for a while longer. I just... needed a breather,” I told him. 

I took one last deep breath before opening my eyes. I pulled away from his embrace and he let me. I stood and turned around. “I’m ready to go back, now.” 

He nodded and stood up. We walked back towards the doors, a veil of quiet covering us. 

As soon as we walked in, Dahlia appeared in front of us. 

“Hi, sorry I was gone so long. You okay?” she asked, concern marring her face. 

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks to Emilio,” I told her, gesturing to him. 

“Oh, good! Want to dance some more with me?” she asked. At some point when we were outside, the music must have changed back into upbeat songs. 

“Sure,” I told her, nodding. She smiled widely, and like a virus, I found myself infected with her joy. “Let’s dance!” 

“Bye, Emilio! Thanks for taking care of Iris,” Dahlia said as we skipped into the center of the dance floor. 

I didn’t hear his reply over the pounding music, but at the moment, I didn’t care. I was safe, I was free, I was fine. I was fine. I was with Dahlia, of course I was fine. 

I looked at Dahlia, slowing my movements as I watched her dance. She was finally letting go of her uptight worries and was literally dancing like no one was watching. 

I smiled, and a thought bubbled up through my mind. I need to tell her. She's my best friend, she deserves to know.