Blood Entwines by Caroline Healy Page A

locker, practically flinging it off its hinges again.
    â€˜Ashleigh,’ she said, loud enough for the gathered mass at the other end of the corridor to hear. ‘I’m so over you, it’s not even funny.’
    One of the students began to giggle nervously and a hush fell over the crowd.
    Ashleigh didn’t register what was going on for a brief second, couldn’t fathom that her proposal had been rejected.
    Kara shook her head. ‘Sorry, Ashleigh,’ she said at a lower volume this time. ‘I’ve outgrown you.’
    Ashleigh’s eyes narrowed to slits and Kara thought fiery daggers might pierce through her forehead.
    She waited.
    In all the time that they had known each other, Kara had never been the recipient of her friend’s cruelty. She had seen her take it out on weaker students. To her shame she had witnessed Ashleigh chew up and spit out people like Hannah Quinn, but had never felt the true spite herself. Until now.
    She heard Ashleigh gather a lungful of air and saw her chest fill with it; she saw in slow motion the lips moving. The words kicked her so hard in the gut that she couldn’t breathe, could barely move.
    â€˜At least I didn’t cause my father to fling himself off a building. Even
he
wanted to get away from you.’
    The silence in the corridor was complete.
    Ben moved across the space, his hand outstretched. Kara did not wait to see him reach for Ashleigh, could not bear to see him touch her. It was all she could do to stop herself from crying.
    She closed her locker and turned slowly away from the group. Ignoring everyone, Kara walked with an even pace down the hallway, trying to keep her hands from shaking.
    Her sharp hearing picked up the sound of Ashleigh’s laughter as it trailed after her.
    Hannah came looking for her a short time later.
    Kara heard the door of the toilets open and listened to the sound of shuffled footsteps. A pudgy mental finger prodded her in what could only be described as the centre of her brain.
    â€˜Stop it,’ she said hoarsely, but without much effort. Her voice was husky and dry. Her eyes she knew would be puffy, her nose glowing, but she hadn’t shed a single tear.
    She was tired now, tired of the whole stupid business. Her dad had jumped off a building, committed suicide.
    Sometimes these things just happen.
Those were the words of wisdom offered by the counsellor. And Kara had already realised those sessions were a total waste of time.
    She hadn’t meant to set the whole lab on fire. She just wanted to light a little flame. Get people’s attention, so they would listen to her. No matter how hard she tried, how many times she’d argued that it wasn’t true – nobody would listen.
    In the end, Kara began to doubt her conviction, began to question all she knew, or thought she knew, every word, every glance from her father in the hours leading up to his suicide. She had analysed and reanalysed a thousand times. Finally, she didn’t know what to believe, so she had listened to the professionals, listened to Rosemary, changed schools, made new friends and pretended everything was OK.
    But it wasn’t. Everything was definitely
not
OK.
    She heaved herself up from her sitting position, her limbs creaking in complaint at the movement. She unbolted the door and glared at Hannah, aware that her face was probably a blotchy, red mess.
    â€˜Will . . . you . . . stop . . . doing . . . that!’ Kara pushed past Hannah on the way to the sink. She turned on the tap and began to splash cold water on her puffy face. ‘Anyway, whatever you’re trying to do, it’s not working.’
    â€˜I know,’ said Hannah.
    â€˜You know what?’ asked Kara, a little less hostile this time.
    â€˜That it doesn’t work on you. I can’t find you. In there.’ She gestured towards Kara’s head.
    Kara looked at her in the mirror. ‘What do you mean?’
    â€˜Well, usually