The Mary Shelley Club Goldy Moldavsky (android based ebook reader txt) 📖

each other, already regretting their decision to invite me here, and a small panic settled over me. After all this, I might have just messed up my one shot.

“Try again,” Bram said. “And don’t waste our time.”

The panic mixed with relief, both emotions tingling through me. I could’ve said anything. I had the same universal fears that most people had. I was afraid of something happening to my mom. I was afraid of losing everything I had. But in the end, there was one thing that weighed heavier than everything else. The thing I thought about all the time.

“I’m afraid of myself.” I blurted. “I’m afraid that I’m a monster.”

After another moment of silence, Thayer quietly asked, “Why do you feel like that?”

I’d thought if I gave them something real, they’d lay off me. If I’d known there would be follow-up questions, I would’ve stuck to spiders. Felicity’s beam of light shone higher up on my face and I flinched away.

“I don’t know, I just … I feel like, what if I’m not normal? What if I’m capable of doing really bad things and that’s the real me?”

I tried to keep it vague, turn my confession into a more common fear, something less uncomfortable. It didn’t work.

“Tell us about Matthew Marshall,” Felicity said.

Hearing his name made my blood run cold. “How do you know about that?”

“We know everything,” Felicity said.

I stammered, “Those records are—are sealed. I’m a minor.”

“My dad’s the state’s attorney,” Thayer said, actually sounding vaguely apologetic. “It wasn’t that hard to find out.”

My heart pounded against my ribs like it was begging to be let out. I couldn’t say anything. I could hardly breathe.

“Rachel, you don’t have to tell us anything,” Freddie said. “But we can’t let you in unless you give us something real. It isn’t supposed to be easy. But it’ll prove something to us. And hopefully we can prove something to you.”

“Yeah, you don’t have to tell us,” Felicity chimed in, less kindly. “But we already know.”

“You can tell us,” Freddie said softly. “We won’t judge you.”

I’d taken so much care to hide this part of myself. To leave my life on Long Island behind and start anew. But here was this group of people who wanted to hear it out loud. Now it felt like a challenge. They were daring me to talk about it. And I wanted to challenge them back. Dare them to hear it.

“Last year my house got broken into while I was home,” I said, my voice steadying. “A guy with a mask chased me. Attacked me in my kitchen. His name was Matthew Marshall.”

Something about the fact that I couldn’t see their faces made the words come more easily.

“I tried to fight him off, but he grabbed me, and he was strong. We both fell. He pinned me to the floor. And I just remember how cold the tile was.” I took a deep breath as I felt it now, clear as if I was back there, helpless. It was like the flashlight beam was a tunnel leading straight to that moment.

“I was kicking my legs and fighting as hard as I could, but I…” The memories were coming fast, but instead of squeezing my eyes shut and trying to keep my mind blank, I kept going. It was getting harder to talk, like hands were encircling my throat and tightening their grip.

“He had a knife…”

I was getting to the hardest part, the part that I’d only spoken about to my mom, the police, and my therapist before I had refused to go back. But I had come this far. I could either swallow the words or spit them out. “I fought to point it away from me. We both fought. He slipped and…”

I scratched at my arms even though nothing itched. Actually, I couldn’t feel anything at all. I scratched harder and harder, unable to stop myself, waiting to feel something hurt. “The knife went in him. And he died.”

The words sounded inadequate once spoken. But they contained within them an entire history. Of who I was. Of what I’d done.

Of whose life I’d cut short.

I did not say the words I killed him. Even though that’s what I did. I couldn’t say it, even now as I tried to free myself from the truth of it. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to.

This was the part I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for a year. The ghost that haunted me.

“He was just a senior in high school. He’d been accepted to Brown.” I’d memorized the facts of his life like sports fans memorize stats. I was a masochist for it, hungry, devouring all of these details, all his social media, until it made me sick.

“He was a middle child with two sisters. He was on the soccer team. He had a girlfriend named Ally. His favorite food was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but only with apricot jelly. He loved anime and books by James Patterson. He was…”

I closed my eyes, trying to suppress the flow of tears. I’d torn my heart open admitting the worst thing I’d ever done—the worst thing that anybody could ever do. I felt hollow.

“It was self-defense,” I said in a small voice.

Felicity’s flashlight beam dipped, spilling over the dirty floor. Without the light shining in my face, I could make out the forms of the people in front of me again. I could not yet tell if they were full of judgment or disgust. Probably both.

I was officially out of my daze and crashing back to the now, realizing with searing clarity that I’d just shared my darkest secret with four strangers. No, worse: with four kids from Manchester Prep.

But then out of the darkness came Freddie’s voice. “Thank you for sharing that.” And then, “We accept you. If you’ll have us.”

I blinked. It took me a minute to process what he had said. No judgment. No disgust. As I wiped the tears from my cheeks, I realized I