Click

I ran my fingers along the spines of all the photo albums. Each one contained pictures of us. Of the family. Some of them with just me, some with mom, Lizzie and I, some just George and Edwin, a lot with Marti, her smiling face welcoming the camera. Very few of them contained Derek, though.

I smiled slightly, remembering how he would always refuse to let us take his picture. I had quite a few pictures of his hand in my room from when he would cover the lenses at the last second. He claimed it was against his religion to let us take his photo; that it would suck out his soul. We all knew he was full of it. Nobody but me ever insisted to get a picture of him though. The rest of the family was perfectly fine with leaving him alone. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t going to let him get his way again.

I pulled out the last photo album I had put together and sat down with it on the couch. It was of our camping trip the previous year. I don’t know why, but Derek had actually let me take his picture a few times that summer. It was as if he knew what would happen…

Click

The first picture of him was when he was helping Marti. I smiled at how cute it was. They were roasting hot dogs over the fire with a stick. Derek was kneeling down behind her, his hand over hers and they gripped the stick so he could show her how to cook it all the way through.

Neither of them paid any attention to the camera. They stared at the fire, the light reflecting in their eyes, making them both look so alive and happy.

Click

The second picture was on the next page. It was my favorite. Derek was sitting on the picnic table, his feet on the bench and he was leaning forward on his elbows. The picture was taken from the side and his head was turned so he was looking straight at the camera and actually smiling. Not smirking or rolling his eyes. Smiling.

Tears started to sting my eyes and I couldn’t stop them from coming. Looking at the photographs was opening the wound that I had tried to hard to ignore. Then, just as it starts to feel completely unbearable, it’s like someone poured salt onto it.

A tear fell onto the picture and I wiped it away.

I could hear his voice echoing through the house, teasing me. “I finally let you take my picture and you’re gonna cry on it?”

But then I remembered.

Suddenly, rage boiled up inside me and I stood, closing the picture album and chucking it as hard as I could at the wall. I had meant for it to hit his school picture, but instead it hit the photo underneath it, shattering the glass as the frame fell to the floor.

He wasn’t going to tease me about it. He was never going to tease me again. And it was entirely his fault.

He was gone. And I was mad at him. How could he? He had messed up before, but never this bad. I wanted to scream and yell at him, hit him, do something to let him know how much his mistake had hurt this time. He couldn’t make it better. This time, he can’t apologize. I can’t tell him I forgive him. He can’t claim that he never felt guilty about it anyway.

I didn’t want to be standing there in the middle of the living room. I didn’t want to see or feel or think. I didn’t want to do anything that Derek couldn’t.

My knees hit the floor. Tears rolled down my face as I crossed my arms over my stomach, feeling sick.

Click

I closed my eyes and I could just picture it.

Click

Derek driving at night on a deserted road, having taken the long way home just so he could drive longer than necessary.

Click

The icy patch on the road that goes unnoticed by a teenage boy.

Click

Derek’s face when he hits it. His eyes open wide in shock and he panics, not sure how to get the car back in control. He doesn’t know it’s impossible. The bridge is too slippery.

Click

The front left wheel slips off the bridge first. Then the right. It finally stops, but it’s dangerous. The car is slipping and he knows it. Nobody will be able to get to him before the car slides off the bridge.

So he calls home.

I answer.

Click

You’re really not that bad, Case. You can be cool sometimes.

Tell Marti that she’ll always be my little Smarti.

Tell Edwin he still can’t have my room.

Tell Lizzie she makes a good Venturi.

Tell Dad and Nora I love them.

Click

Derek, what’s going on?

Click

You don’t want to know.

Click