The cavernous space of the gym is quiet except for Dorsey’s speech, so I can hear the tiny whimper that escapes from Lainie’s mouth, even though she’s several rows ahead. It’s the sound you make when you’re trying your hardest not to scream. I want to scream with her.
My eyes keep flitting around the room, desperate for a distraction. Most of the crowd is calm. Half listening. It could almost be a regular old assembly on bullying, or drugs. How do they all do this? Go back to normal like nothing happened. Fill the space Ava left behind like she was never there at all.
Is her killer in this room right now? Bored and waiting for this to be over so they can go back to class? Or maybe fidgeting in their seat, afraid to confront what they did?
Dorsey proselytizes, “And we must ask ourselves: How can this happen here? In our town. In our country!” There’s a slight flush to his cheeks. His eyes are dark and shining. “How can someone so brave and bright be taken from us?”
I can’t take it anymore. Elliot was wrong: Ava would have hated this. Her own memorial isn’t even about her. Dorsey’s turned it into some kind of campaign event.
Something brushes against my ankle, and I barely avoid screaming. Cass and I both look down.
VT’s face pokes out between our feet. The weirdness of the image is enough to jolt me out of my fury for a moment.
I lean over and whisper, “What are you doing here?”
“Need to talk to you. Come down.”
I turn my attention back to Dorsey. He’s moved on to some stump speech about innovative policing strategies. I need to get out of here.
I touch Cass’s hand. She nods. She has my back.
I slide through the gap in the bleachers, landing light on my feet.
“What is so urgent?” I turn to Valentine and cross my arms over my chest. Light winks through the slats of the bleachers and hundreds of legs above our heads.
He’s looking at me strangely. No smirks or shifty, clever eyes, but straight on and intense, like he’s reading me.
I try not to fidget under his gaze. Yesterday, we shared our darkest secrets, and now I feel laid open in a way that is both beautiful and horrifying, like a butterfly pinned under glass. As excruciating as that feels, as much as I’ve told myself it’s a bad idea to get too close to him, there’s a part of me that wants it.
The thought immediately makes me feel dirty. This is Ava’s memorial.
“What do you want?” I repeat.
He finally looks away. “Never figured you for a snitch, Cherry.”
Not what I was expecting. “What are you talking about?”
“You tipped off the cops. I was booked for a fight last night, but when the police got there the show had already been called off. Lot of people lost out on their pay.”
“So?” After everything I’ve learned, I’m not going to feel bad. One less night for someone to get hurt.
He takes a step forward. “Boss in charge must be pretty powerful to get a warning from the cops like that.”
Out in the gym, Dorsey’s voice rises to the big finish as he calls for commonsense gun legislation to keep our children safe.
Valentine jerks his head in that direction. “Takes a special kind of evil, doesn’t it? To kill her and then speak at her service.”
His words send a chill shuddering through me. I know there’s no hard evidence pointing toward Dorsey, and a million other possible explanations for Ava’s death.
But Cass and Gramps have both given me that same sympathetic, dubious look every time I’ve brought Dorsey up. Valentine is the first person to see what I see, to act like it’s not all in my head.
The air is thick and close under the bleachers. The ceaseless vibrating charge between us reaches an almost painful intensity.
I don’t want to be feeling this right now. The guilt of it is suffocating. But every time I remind myself of that, he goes and says something that cuts right through to the heart of me. I find myself stepping forward, drawing closer to him without meaning to.
Carefully, he steps back, and it’s both a relief and a disappointment. “I have to tell you something. Something you won’t like.”
I go still. Nothing good is about to happen.
It takes him a while to work up to it. “The other night, at the Basement, I didn’t follow you on a whim. I was told to check up on you, ask a few questions, get on your good side.”
That ever-shifting ground between us falls out from under my feet again.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. I’ve been suspicious of him from minute one. But yesterday at the park, I thought I saw him—really saw him. I certainly let him see me.
“By who?” I manage.
“Man named Boyd. He runs things at the Basement. He wanted me to point you in the right direction.”
My voice is eerily calm. “And what direction would that be?”
“Ava McQueen’s death was a tragic accident. The killer was a nervous, trigger-happy kid looking to score her wallet.”
I knew. I knew I shouldn’t trust him.
Valentine’s expression is serious. “There’s something else. Boyd manages the fights, but he’s not the top of the pyramid. I don’t know for sure who he answers to”—he hesitates, like he’s deciding if he wants to tell me this next part—“but I’d bet anything it’s Dorsey pulling the strings.”
“You’ve been lying to me this whole time. Why should I listen to anything you have to say?”
“I wasn’t totally straight with you yesterday.” He steps forward, but this time it’s me who steps back. I can’t bear being any nearer to him. I was straight with him yesterday. I told him stuff I haven’t even told Cass.
“The beginning parts, my sister, Juilliard, that’s all true, but I didn’t come back to town because I got bored.” He rubs the back of his neck. “After about six months with the circus, I got a package in the mail. No return address. It’s a bunch of documents from the Daylight Foundation. You heard of ’em?”
I shake my head. I should walk away. He knows I want answers so bad, and he’s using it to get me to stay, to listen to him, to trust him. I just don’t know why.
“They track dirty money. Political contributions, money laundering, that sort of thing. My sister worked for them. Then she died. I got that package in the mail, and I started to think maybe her death wasn’t an accident. I don’t think your girl Ava’s was, either. I think someone”—he shoots a meaningful look in the direction of Dorsey’s voice—“wanted something kept quiet.”
It’s too much information. Too many questions screaming in my head.
I go with the easiest one. “Why tell me now?”
“I’ve spent the last year doing one thing: searching for my sister’s killer. The other night? I was following orders. I found out what you knew and gave you a push in a convenient direction, so I could get back to my own work. Then you found that wallet.” There’s a flicker of a smile near the corner of his mouth. “I was staring up at you, knee-deep in trash, and I thought: this girl is the real thing. I’m telling you the truth now because I think we’re better off fighting together. Side by side.”
“Why should I believe you?”
He looks down, struggling with the words. “I haven’t told a single soul besides you about Annabelle’s death, or why I’m back in this hellhole of a city. I figure you can understand a vengeance quest better than anyone.” He reaches out slowly and takes my hand. His rough, calloused fingertips graze the soft skin on the underside of my wrist.
Maybe he’s finally telling the truth, or maybe that open, vulnerable look he’s giving me is just more bullshit. I can’t make the mistake of trusting him again.
Then again, if Dorsey’s really behind all this, Valentine’s too valuable a source of information to give up completely.
I pull my hand away. “I have to think about it. You can’t lie to me and then expect me to have your back.”
A heavy moment passes. “Yeah. Guess not.”
He ti
lts his ear toward the gym. Dorsey has finished speaking. Adams takes the microphone again, but her words are muddied and slow to me down here. A shaft of light cuts across the floor as someone crosses their legs above. “Sounds like they’re wrapping up out there. Be seein’ you, Cherry.”
He leaves me alone in the stillness under the bleachers.
I need air. I find the drinking fountain in the hallway and cup some of the lukewarm water in my palm. Splash it on my cheeks and neck. Wet tendrils of hair cling to my skin.
I’m shaking so hard I feel almost weak with it. Hard to say who I’m angrier at, Valentine or myself.
So stupid. I let myself think maybe I could have him on my side. I knew it was a bad idea, knew I shouldn’t trust him.
I lean my head back against the wall and try to catch my breath. I text Cass and tell her that I’ll meet her in class.
Voices down the hall. Voices I recognize.
“That speech was terrible.”
“Enough. I don’t need it from you on top of everything else on my plate.”
I hug the wall and peer around the corner. My heart thumps double time: Elle Dorsey and her father are arguing in the hallway, just feet away.
Elle’s hands are clenched in fists. “Could you be any more transparent? Everyone knows you’re only here to boost your polling numbers with soccer moms. You couldn’t care less about Ava McQueen.”
It’s almost exactly what I was thinking during the memorial. Elle wasn’t all that broken up about Ava’s death the last few times I spoke to her. Why is she suddenly acting so upset on Ava’s behalf?
Congressman Dorsey scrolls through his phone. “I may not have known the poor girl well, but it’s my responsibility to be a leader during times of hardship.”
Elle and I both roll our eyes at the same time.
“Yeah, your concern is super believable,” she says.
He switches subjects as though he didn’t hear her. “Listen, I spoke with a friend of mine at the Whitley Gazette. They want you to write an op-ed about crime and Ava’s death. Get a student’s perspective.”
“Absolutely not.”
Dorsey pockets his phone and turns sharp eyes on his daughter. “Elle, don’t test me. You’ll do this because it’s advantageous to me. When I look good, the whole family succeeds.”
His tone is cold and flat, with just the edge of a threat underneath. So this is the real Dorsey, the one I suspected was hidden under the veneer of homespun, blue-collar charm.
Elle scoffs, “Funny how you don’t care about the whole family succeeding until we’re politically useful to you.”
“That’s enough, young lady.”
She crosses her arms. “I barely knew Ava. I’m not going to take advantage of her death like that.”
I can’t get over how weird it is to see Elle acting like a decent human being. Sure, she gave me some information the other day, but she also said some truly horrible things about Ava. Was she just pretending not to give a shit about her death before?
“Yes, Ava’s death was a tragedy.” Dorsey’s bored, dismissive tone is so at odds with his fervor in front of the crowd. “But it’s also an opportunity. One that I’m not going to let you pass up.” He smiles. It’s the same smile I’ve seen him give at political rallies. Inhuman.
Hatred burns bright in me. He just called Ava an opportunity.
I can’t deny it anymore: I think this man killed Ava.
I just have to prove it.
Elle looks at the ceiling. “You’re repulsive, and you’re trying to make me be repulsive, too.”
Dorsey’s voice has the deadly calm flatness of lake water before a storm. “No, I’m trying to show you how to wield your power and moral authority in the world. Those are important lessons. But if you can’t find it within yourself to support my ambitions, I have no need to support yours. You’ve been awfully excited about that Future Businesswomen of America seminar at Stanford this summer. I can make that go away, like last year.”
Elle sniffs and tucks her hair neatly behind her ears. “You wouldn’t do that. It makes you look good if I do something impressive this summer.”
He sticks his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I’m sure we can squeeze in a photo op of you manning the phones at the campaign office. That’ll serve fine. Now, get me your draft by the end of the week, okay, sweetheart? I’ll see you at home.” He claps her on the shoulder once before walking away. Elle stays put. She stares at the ground, blinking fast.
Holy shit, is she crying?
Elle looks up. I freeze in place. We stare at each other, and I swear there’s something fragile and scared in Elle’s eyes.
“Tell anyone what you heard and I will ruin you.” The heels of her boots click against the linoleum as she walks away.
I head toward my locker, my mind still running over everything I just heard. All of the voices play at once in my brain, jostling for attention with an endless loop of questions I can’t answer.
Do I feel bad for Elle Dorsey?
How could I let myself trust Valentine?
Did Congressman Dorsey kill Ava? It feels true, but at the same time I have no real clue what his motive would be. Even if he’s the man behind the curtain at the Basement, and even if Ava was involved in some way, that still doesn’t explain how she ended up dead. Maybe he killed her to keep her quiet, like Valentine said? But what could she possibly have on Dorsey that would make her such a threat?
The questions circle each other, round and round, louder and louder in my brain. And even if I figure it all out, how am I ever going to convince someone to take me seriously?
I have a headache again. I think it might be a permanent condition at this point.
A knot of people clusters around my locker bay. How many kids does it take to write another threat? I quicken my pace. This is something I can handle. These idiots think they can scare me, and I’m not taking it anymore.
But this time, it’s not my locker they’re gathered around.
“You like that, you ice-queen bitch?” Austin Yi, one of those muscly square-jaw football players, looms over Paige Thomas as she tries to get into her locker.
Her shoulders are hunched around her ears. “Stop. Leave me alone.” She scrambles desperately with her locker combination. Her curly black hair is pulled up in a high bun that makes her look like a tiny, delicate ballerina compared to Austin’s brawn.
I get in between them. “Hey, hey! What’s going on here?”
Austin doesn’t back down. “You know what you did. You better watch your back. She has a lot of friends.” He leans over me to get to Paige.
“Hey!” I try to draw his attention to me. My mind is racing again. Who’s Austin talking about? Who did Paige piss off?
With a bang, Paige finally gets her locker open. She barely looks at me as she swaps her books. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”
Jake Ellis, one of Austin’s friends, pulls at his shoulder. “Stop it, man. She’s not worth it.”
“What the hell is the matter with you?” I demand.
Austin’s furious eyes are stuck on Paige. “She knows. She knows why.”
I cross my arms. “Yeah, well, maybe I’d like to know why, too.”
“Go ask Molly Sawyer. I bet she’d love to tell you,” Austin yells.
“Shut up.” Jake finally succeeds in yanking Austin away. He shoots us an apologetic grimace. “Sorry.”
Austin looks back to glare at Paige as his friend leads him down the hall.
I turn to her. “What was that all about?”
Paige slams her locker closed. “Nothing.” She gives me a resentful look, which is kind of confusing, seeing as I’m on her side.
“Paige—”
“I said it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Paige walks away, and then, as if remembering her manners, tosses back a “Thanks.”
Other eyes follow Paige as she departs. There’s something scratched into the paint on her locker. Someone carved out the words You know w
hat you did.
Someone’s trying to scare Paige, too. But why? I honestly don’t know much about her, even though I’ve probably had at least one class with her every year. I rack my brains for details. She always hands her homework in on time in our calculus class. Her family’s so rich that even Hartsdale’s extremely white, extremely racist country club couldn’t find an excuse to reject them like they do with most black applicants. Paige plays the part perfectly—golf, pearls, the whole deal. I think I’ve heard her mention a horse? That’s all I’ve got, though. Nothing that would kick up this kind of shit storm.
So who the hell is Molly Sawyer?
Add that to my never-ending list of questions.
I switch out my books and head to English. We have a big research paper coming up, so Mr. Kelly relocates us all to the library for a work period. Cass and I set ourselves up at a pair of computers and pretend to do research while she grills me about Valentine. I go over the basics of my conversation with him, but I’m not in the mood to unpack the whole thing.
I stay focused on the mission. “Molly Sawyer. That name mean anything to you?”
Cass shrugs. “Sounds familiar. So, like, how much older is this VT character?”
Anger and shame burn through me again at the sound of his name. “Eighteen, and enough, seriously. Unless you want to share all your squishy feelings about Elliot?”
Her mouth snaps shut.
I take the opportunity to switch us to a safer subject. “I saw Austin Yi harassing Paige Thomas in the hall. I tried to talk to him, but all he said was to go find Molly Sawyer.”
That gets her attention. “Why Paige? She’s so normal.”
“Exactly.” I have the same feeling I got when I ran into Ava in the hall the day she died. She seemed so scared, and she died before I could figure out why. Is Paige in that kind of danger now, too?
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