1
The day of the accident.
Something screams at me to open my eyes. Just open your eyes. I don’t want to. Darkness thicker than molasses surrounds me like a cloak. It feels safe. Comforting. As if my brain already knows I can’t handle what I’ll see. If I look, no matter how small or fast of a glimpse, I’ll never forget.
As I press my eyes shut, trying to block out the voice in my head, long spindly shadows emerge from the depths of my mind. They beckon me to follow them, down, down, and I give in, ignoring the screaming as I let myself sink deeper and deeper into the stillness, a place of peace.
Vienna, open your eyes.
It won’t go away. Won’t leave me alone. A thought emerges from the thick fog swirling through my brain. The voice isn’t mine. It’s not inside my head. I raise a hand in a feeble attempt to bat the words away.
“Vienna, wake up,” the voice says, clearer now. “Please, please wake up.”
It’s a herculean effort to do as I’m asked, and as my eyes flicker open, I turn my head, glance over my left shoulder.
Madison’s leaning forward and staring at me, her fiery red hair disheveled, her emerald eyes wild, wide with fear and a hint of what might be relief. I’m not sure what to make of the mix¬ture. I’m not sure what to make of anything. I look away, but not before I see tears snake down her cheeks and drop onto her blue hoodie.
“Can you hear me?” she says.
My throat’s dry, rough as sandpaper. I don’t think I can speak but manage to push out a weak-sounding “Yes.” I nod in case Madison didn’t hear, and the movement brings a stabbing pain to the side of my temple. When I touch my head, I feel a tender lump beneath my fingers. Why am I hurt? Why—
Everything returns all at once. A sudden whoosh of thoughts and memories and fear—so much fear—banishing the darkness like birds startled from a tree.
Six of us were in my old Tahoe SUV. The Bittersweet—Madison, Gabi, Evelina, Isabel, and me—plus Libby, the doc¬umentary research assistant who’s been shadowing us over the past few weeks. It’s midafternoon in early December, and we were driving from Brooklyn to a holiday party in the Catskills hosted by our record label. A major event Madison insisted we couldn’t miss, no matter what.
No matter the impending storm.
A sequence of images flashes through my mind. Gabi offer¬ing to drive because I was tired. The weather turning earlier than expected, and far worse than anything we’d anticipated. Whiteout conditions. Getting lost in the middle of nowhere. A steep, winding, narrow road up a hill. Slippery lanes. Me tightening my grip on the cup of coffee in my hands, opening my mouth to tell Gabi we were perhaps going a little too fast.
And then…
My fists bunch tight as I recall the sudden movement when the Tahoe slid. This is when the memories slow down. It’s as if I’m watching the events unfold from above, all in slow mo¬tion. I remember the SUV getting closer and closer to the edge of the road. When I looked out of the passenger window, there was no asphalt left on my side, only the tops of snow-laden trees and a sharp drop below.
Renewed panic rises, making my heart pound. It leaps into my throat, threatening to choke me when I relive the sound of our collective screams as we crashed into the metal barrier.
There was a tiny moment of disbelief. A fraction of an in¬stant when I truly believed we’d be fine, before the barrier gave way, and the Tahoe toppled over the edge of the road, right side first. One second, I thought we’d be all right, we’d be safe, and then we rolled once, twice.
After that…
I search my brain for what came next but there’s nothing.
My coffee cup’s empty, its contents spilled, the scent turn¬ing my stomach. At least the vehicle’s upright now, which I’m grateful for, but the front passenger side where I’m sitting is severely crushed, the windshield and front window shattered, half-gone. Thumb-size snowflakes drift in through the holes, landing on my jacket. As I watch them soak into the fabric and disappear, I long to go back into the darkness. Pretend none of this has happened. Maybe if I escape for a while, everything will be back to normal when I wake up.
Except I know it won’t.
“Are you all right?” I ask Madison, turning around again, and she nods.
I look at the others. Gabi’s in the driver’s seat, shoulders trembling, face pale, but she’s not making a sound. Libby’s in the back row, one hand over her mouth as she sobs. Evelina’s slumped face down on the floor, her body twisted at an un¬natural angle. There’s blood on her jacket. My gaze searches for its origins but can’t find it.
Madison leans over, touches Evelina’s shoulder, but she doesn’t move. Was she knocked unconscious, too? Is that why it’s taking her longer to wake up? My gaze sweeps the rest of the vehicle, my temple throbbing again. It takes me a moment to spot what else is wrong.
There are five of us.
Five.
There should be six.
“Wh-where’s Isabel?” I say. “Where did she—”
“Look.”
The tone of Gabi’s whisper makes a shiver tear down my spine. She points to the broken windshield, and I follow her line of sight. At first, I’m unsure of what I’m seeing. A jumble of clothes at the base of a tree? It’s what I tell myself until I reg¬ister the bright teal color. The exact shade of the puffer jacket Isabel wore when we left Brooklyn. The coat she refused to take off, even after we cranked up the heat.
“No,” I say, wrestling with my seat belt, breaking free. “No, no, no, no.”
Scrambling, I heave myself up and climb over Gabi, hands yanking on the driver’s door. Mercifully, her side opens, and I jump out.
Driven by pure adrenaline, all temptation of going back to the darkness banished for good, I run to the heap of clothes—the heap I know is Isabel—gasping as I fall to my knees at her side.
A tree branch thicker than my arm is embedded in the left side of her chest where her heart should be, her shirt torn and spattered with deep red. Her eyes are open, staring at the gray skies above, but she doesn’t blink. She doesn’t move.
A guttural scream rises from deep within me, and I put my head back to let it escape. Before it can emerge, the smell of smoke makes the noise wither and die in my throat.
The Tahoe’s on fire. My friends are still inside.
2
4 years 4 months before the accident
Landing at the principal’s office two hours into the first day of twelfth grade had to be some kind of record. Considering I was a brand-new student at Rosemont High, and the aptly named, stone-faced Principal Mason didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, I decided not to ask.
“I’m not impressed with either of you,” he said, before turn¬ing to me. “Vienna, I understand you’ve just arrived in town but it’s no excuse. Madison, I’m surprised to find you in this predicament. I’d have thought you’d know better.”
Tuning out his monotone about decorum, expectations, and mutual respect, I snuck a glance at Madison. I didn’t know her last name and didn’t care. She was the reason we found our¬selves in this mess. If it weren’t for her, I’d be in calculus class. Although in a way she’d done me a favor as math was my least favorite subject.
Neither of us had said much, Principal Mason clearly en¬joyed hearing himself talk. While I leaned back in my chair, Madison sat with a rod-straight spine, hands neatly folded in her lap, giving the occasional nod. Enviable, natural red waves tumbled past her shoulders, and she had choppy bangs, which emphasized her big green eyes and near flawless skin.
My gaze dropped to her perfectly manicured nails, and the Lululemon backpack by her feet. I’d seen her cute tan suede ankle boots at Portland’s Maine Mall on Saturday, had quickly calculated I’d need over ten shifts at my ice cream parlor job to buy them, double if Mom’s boyfriend found the money I’d hidden again.
I bet Madison never needed to save for anything. Her jean shorts were as trendy as her backpack and boots, and they were strategically ripped in all the right places. Not the DIY job I’d done on the pair I’d got from the local pawnshop.
At least nobody had the same ones, and I liked the fact mine were original whereas Madison was a carbon copy of all the other rich girls circulating around the building. The ones who air-kissed, flicked their hair, and pretended commoners like me were invisible. Girls who summered.
I wondered if this was the first time Madison had ended up in front of Principal Mason. She seemed too much of a goody-two-suede-boots to me. Her mom was probably head of the parent-teacher committee, baked treats for the staff to keep them on her side. Whatever consequences came our way, no doubt Little Miss Madison would shimmy out of them faster than I could say blueberry muffins.
“Are you going to answer me, Vienna?” Principal Mason’s use of my name snapped my wandering attention back to him. “Or do you plan to continue sitting in silence?”
My eyes flickered over his fluffy dark brown hair, which re¬minded me of a duckling, and I took in his polyester-blend suit and Snoopy tie. Maybe he wore the latter to prove to himself he was a fun guy. He wasn’t fooling me.
A knock on the door stopped me from answering his ques¬tion. Principal Mason’s assistant stepped into the office, a short guy whose desk nameplate read Harry Sweet. He didn’t look much older than me and might’ve borrowed his dad’s pine-green corduroy jacket to give himself an air of authority, but all it did was transform him into a kid playing dress-up.
“I made the calls to the parents,” Harry said. “Ms. Taylor didn’t pick up.”
Unable to help myself, I let out a snort.
“Something you can share with us, Vienna?” Principal Mason asked.
There were a million things I could’ve said about my mother. My total lack of surprise at how Harry’s quest to reach her had failed would’ve been as good a place as any to start. She’d ig¬nored school phone calls pretty much since first grade, includ¬ing the time I’d fallen off a stone wall and Grams had taken me to get stitched up.
Mom’s excuse was her busy work schedule at the gas sta¬tion in Falmouth where we’d lived until the beginning of this summer, except most days I could smell alcohol on her because she’d been at her local bar.
Maybe I should’ve told Principal Mason how Mom had never attended any of my school performances since I was eight, de¬spite her knowing they were my favorite thing in the world.
Once you’ve seen one goddamn school concert you’ve seen them all, Mom told her boyfriend du jour when she hadn’t known I was within earshot, or maybe she’d seen me and hadn’t cared. There’s two hours of your life you’ll never get back.
She had no idea how wrong she was. My previous school’s production of The Addams Family had been such a success, we’d added another date. Mom still hadn’t come. Instead, she’d par¬tied with Rick, her latest beau and the man who was the reason why I’d ended up at Rosemont for my senior year.
I hated how we’d moved from Falmouth to Portland’s North Deering area, and now lived in his house. So did Grams, who seemed to loathe Rick more than I did, but at least we had a non-leaky roof over our heads and no longer shared a bedroom.
I loved Grams more than anyone but sleeping in the same room was exhausting now her dementia had got worse and she con¬fused the time of day, thinking it was afternoon when it was the middle of the night.
Principal Mason cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows as he waited for an answer. Was there something I could share? Sure. Something I wanted to?
“Nope.” I omitted the customary sir to see if it would infu¬riate him, but to his credit, the guy didn’t react.
“Mr. Pierce will be here any minute,” Harry said, and as I glanced at Principal Mason, I noticed a twitch of his upper lip, a small widening of his eyes. This news clearly bothered him.
“Madison,” he said, turning to my newfound nemesis. “Be¬fore your father arrives, would you please explain what hap¬pened at the cafeteria?”
Madison swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Wait for it, I thought, expecting a master class in how to wrap people around your little finger. What would she do? Go vamp and bat her eyelashes at the principal? Lean forward while subtly using her arms to push her boobs together as she insisted none of this was her fault? Maybe she’d wait for her father to rush through the door, and do a daddy’s little girl routine, bursting into tears so he felt protective of her.
As I studied her, Madison looked straight ahead, raised her chin, and crossed her arms, her body language almost identi¬cal to mine. Her whole demeanor was interesting and…un¬expected.
Principal Mason was about to speak when another man pushed past Harry, who immediately fled and closed the door behind him. I swear the temperature in the office dropped twenty degrees, making me sit up straight as if on autopilot.
The tall man I presumed to be Mr. Pierce wore a dark suit with a crisp white button-down shirt. Instead of a fun comic-strip tie, his was black, covered in silver spheres, and secured with the most precise knot I’d ever seen. I guessed him to be in his late forties, and whatever he did for work, it had to pay more than well. With his clothes, haircut, and shiny shoes, Madison’s father oozed cash.
I’d never known my dad. Mom had me when she was twenty-one, another drunken one-night stand with an out-of-towner whose name she couldn’t remember. She’d regret-ted him, and me, ever since.
“Mr. Pierce,” Principal Mason said, holding out a hand, fin¬gers trembling slightly.
“Ronald,” Mr. Pierce said as they shook. “What’s going on?”
“There was an incident at the cafeteria,” Principal Mason offered.
“What are the specifics of this incident?”
“Well, uh, Madison and Ms. Taylor here—” the principal gestured at me “—ended up in a scuffle.”
Mr. Pierce whipped his head in Madison’s direction, and she shrank into her seat, almost as if she wished it would swallow her. “You got into a fight? Explain.”
“It was nothing,” Madison said, her voice small now, her defiance gone.
“Which is why you ended up here,” her father replied, wav¬ing a hand around. “On your first day back. Let’s try this again. Tell me what happened. I rearranged a client call to be here, and I’d appreciate you not wasting more of anyone’s time.”
There had been a few occasions over the past years when I’d longed for supportive parents who’d come to the school. A few years ago, I’d been bullied by a girl named Patsy. She’d picked on me for whatever reason, and when I’d asked Mom for help, she’d instructed me to do whatever Patsy did to me but twice as hard.
Mom’s idea hadn’t gone down well—when Patsy kicked me in the shins, I’d done it back, and the teacher had spotted me. Then again, Patsy had limped for a week, and she’d left me alone thereafter, so maybe Mom’s approach hadn’t been the worst idea. Still, it would’ve been nice to have her show her face from time to time, although looking at Mr. Pierce now, I was thankful for her lack of interest, and for the fact my dad wasn’t around.
“Madison.” His tone could’ve sliced Harry’s metal nameplate in half. “I want an answer.”
When I glanced over, my animosity toward Madison faded. She seemed terrified. Shoulders hunched, arms still crossed, chin now pointing to her chest.
“It was my fault,” I said, and Madison let out a tiny gasp.
I don’t know why I spoke up or why I chose to lie. Maybe it was because I saw part of myself in Madison, the way I’d been until I’d clued into building myself a suit of invisible armor, so nobody’s jabs, taunts, or comments got beneath my skin.
Her father stared at me. “I don’t believe I was talking to—”
“Who cares? You wanted an answer,” I said, cutting him off, figuring it would be the easiest way to draw his ire in my direction and away from his daughter. I didn’t have to live in the same house as him. In fact, I’d never see him again, so I didn’t care what he thought. “I cut in front of Madison at the cafeteria. She pointed out the back of the line, and I told her to get lost. Things got heated.”
“And who pushed whom first?” Principal Mason said, his authoritative tone making a comeback now he was talking at a student, not with an intimidating parent.
I shrugged. “I shoved her.”
“Very well,” Principal Mason said. “Thank you for being honest, Vienna. You’re new to this school, but we don’t take assault lightly here.”
“Assault?” I said with a laugh. “Seriously?”
“I shoved her back,” Madison jumped in, “which means technically I assaulted her.”
“Madison.” Mr. Pierce’s blue eyes bored into her. “You’re almost an adult. You most certainly know this is no way to behave.”
As he paused, his gaze swept over me while a distasteful look he couldn’t quite—or didn’t want to—hide crossed his face. As he took in my edgy raven bob, the rows of silver hoops in my ears, my homemade ripped jean shorts, and the Joan Jett Bad Reputation tank top—the black one with the set of bright red lips—I knew exactly what he was thinking: this one’s trouble.
“Principal Mason,” he said, still staring at me, “I expect con¬sequences for them both.”
“Well, seeing as it’s the first day of school and they spoke up, I think we should—”
“Start as we mean to go on? Quite.” Mr. Pierce made his way to the door and pulled it open, rattling the gray set of blinds covering the window. Before stepping out, he turned and looked at each of us in turn before adding, “I trust you’ll make the right decision, Ronald. Madison isn’t busy this afternoon.”
“That’s not true, Dad,” she said. “I have my audition for the orchestra after school.”
He waited a beat. “Not anymore.”
I watched as Principal Mason gave Madison a pained look while she clenched her fists and bit her bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood. Seemed I’d been too quick to judge. A love of music and a shared hatred for at least one of our par¬ents? Maybe we had stuff in common after all.
Excerpted from Only One Survives by Hannah Mary McKinnon. Copyright © 2024 by Hannah McKinnon. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
