Avoid All Entanglements

Sara was wild.

With her long, loose dark curls and her quick, brilliant smiles that knocked you off your feet, Sara was easy to befriend but hard to understand. She had tons of friends; a string of exes and too many parties for her to attend on any given weekend. Hers was a beauty untamed, small freckles dotted her cheeks that only seemed to draw attention to her high cheekbones and dark green eyes. There were girls at school who slathered beauty products, hoping to achieve her effortless look but never quite matched up. There were guys at school who fell head over heels for her and she wasn't very selective either, dating anyone from class geek Jared King to quarterback Tom Henderson, both of whom happened to be my age.

In short, she was wild.

It might seem poetic the way I described her, but it’s only because I’ve spent a long time thinking about this. You would’ve had a long time too if your whole life had been overshadowed by your beautiful, younger sister. Though I was three years older, I was more likely to be known as Sara’s sister.

I’d never really resented her for it; because being beautiful was her thing. My thing had been track. Her crowd was the Chosen Ones, my group were the jocks/girls-next-door—the type that was more likely to wake up at six the next morning for training or to babysit for cash than to party till the morning. It’d all paid off too, because my times had been great and so had my bank account.

Natalie was right that day. I was dedicated because I loved track, I loved running. The wind in my hair, the way things around you seemed to slow as you whipped past it. There were a million awesome things I could compare running to.

But it all amounted to how I loved it. I had. But I didn't Now. Not anymore.



“What?” I snapped. Cracking open an eye, my clock read four a.m. After cleaning up after Lauren Forster’s nasty kids who’d thrown pasta everywhere, I was in no mood to do this especially because I was supposed to go for my weekly morning run in an hour. And it was just so typical of Sara to drunkenly call me and not remember it the next day.

“Spence? Are you awake?”

I shook myself, wondering if I was still dreaming, because it didn’t sound like she was at a party. There was no obnoxious laughter in the background. She didn’t sound drunk either. And no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't quite hold onto my anger when it came to her. Exhaling slowly, I said, “Yeah I am, what’s going on?”

“I think I’m in a trouble.” The words came out in a rush and it took my tired brain a moment to understand. “I...I might have done something I shouldn’t. I’m just, I’m scared.”

“What are you talking about? Are you pulling a prank on me again?”

She hiccupped and sucked in a breath; she was crying.

It didn’t take a lot to make Sara cry. But hearing this and what she said, my heart started to pound. Something felt wrong. “What happened? Where are you? Do you want me to come and get you?”

“I’m on Pacific Avenue. Come quick, please.”

Then she hung up.

I peered out of my window, cursing aloud when I realised that Sara had taken the car with her when she snuck out last night. Sara and I shared a car, an old unlovable family sedan which didn’t earn Sara many fashion points from her crowd. But she didn’t care as long as it got her wherever she wanted to go.

It didn’t take long before the school parking lots were filled with family sedans from girls trying to copy Sara’s carefree style. But just by doing that, it showed how much they cared.

Stuffing my feet into my well-worn track shoes, my mind started mapping out the fastest route to Pacific Avenue. It wasn’t that many miles away from where we lived, maybe about three. I could make it but it would stretch me.

But it wasn’t some practice run I was planning. It was Sara I was talking about here. She sounded so scared, like she needed me. Ever since she entered high school, she hadn't acted like that at all. Her needing me seemed like something of the past, when we were kids and fear could consume you whole.

And if it was a stupid prank of Sara’s, I was going to give her a piece of my mind.

My feet hit the pavement and I smiled faintly through my worry. Running always gave me an adrenaline rush, maybe it was the feeling of having a goal to work towards or maybe it’s just because I was a freak that liked it. I knew Sara didn’t; she didn’t see the point.

The first mile was easy; it was my speciality after all. But after that, my breathing started to get a little uneven.

I slowed a little. It didn’t really work. My breathing got ragged; I got a stitch. I pressed on it, trying to ignore it.

When the view of the bakery on Pacific Street came into view, I sped up, knowing I had less than half a mile to get to Pacific Avenue. I could make it. I was almost there.

Pacific Avenue appeared and I slowed down, not seeing Sara at all. Gritting my teeth and wondering if she was lying to me, I slowed to a walk and walked down the street.

Pacific Avenue was a pretty street in our town, a place where the Chosen Ones often hung out because the neighbourhood was mostly made up of young, working adults who weren’t home until early morning. That gave them plenty of time to party without getting complaints.

Needless to say, there were plenty of hidden make-out spots for the Chosen Ones to seek off to mid-part on Pacific Avenue, most of which were located at the park, at the end of the street. I jogged there, rolling my eyes at not having thought of it earlier. Sara was never all that original when it came to hiding spots.

The park was very quiet in the early morning light. It was a little eerie actually, considering how a few hours ago the street had probably been filled with partying teenagers.

I walked in and then I stopped.

No. This wasn’t happening.

There was a body on the floor.

Sara’s.

Later on, the police would show me a photo they had taken of her body. She was lying flat on the grass, one leg at an angle. Her skirt was riding up slightly, her brown coat still primly worn. There were a few bruises around her wrists, one around her right forearm and another on her leg. Her lips were bruised and chapped. Medical reports, which I wasn’t supposed to read, would show that she’d been raped.

I didn’t know any of this then. All I knew was that her eyes were wide open. They were a gorgeous green and I’d always been envious of them, not only because my own were a dull brown, but also because they just seem to sparkle, with life and happiness. It was like she knew she had great things ahead of her.

But her eyes, they were lifeless now; vacant like she wasn’t even here.

I screamed.



My eyes snapped open and I sat up.

I was dreaming again, remembering the Saturday when Sara had died. It seemed like my subconscious was working overtime, reminding me that I wasn’t normal though I fought to present myself that way.

It was a month since I’d moved to Rosewood. Things were settling down here, I’d been kind of accepted by Tyler’s crowd though Riley steered clear of me and Sasha followed. The other popular kids spent most of their time ignoring me. It wasn't exactly an acceptance but I didn't mind. I'd had enough of attention.

It struck me as ironic that this crowd, the crowd I was kind of hanging out with, was more like Sara’s than my own.

Whenever my old group walked past, I ignored the pang I felt. The only person, aside from Tyler, who wanted to include me in that group, was Natalie. She had tried to talk to me about Sara a few more times but I shot her down each time. Eventually, she stopped and only made small talk with me during English.

I couldn’t help but think that I would’ve liked Natalie Before. She was a little blunt, a little too persistent but she cared about people and she was brave, putting her feelings on the line every time. But it was too late for me to change anything. She knew about Sara and I didn’t want a constant reminder of what had happened and how people treated me after that.

I slept back down and rolled to my side, closing my eyes. I knew the message my subconscious was trying to tell me. No matter how much I tried, how I'd physically left Kingston, Florida behind, it was no use.

Sara had only been fifteen when she died. But she would haunt me for the rest of my life.