by Sarah Mello
“That’s not what I meant, smart-ass. I thought she was a registered nurse.”
I tried getting comfortable in our off-white booth, although I was beginning to realize comfort wasn’t a word in the design plan. “She quit six months ago.”
“To work here?” he asked.
“I was just as shocked as you are,” I replied. “I think it’s a midlife-crisis type of thing.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not exactly something that rolls off the tongue in a town like Westcott. Especially while talking to you. Your mom’s day consists of massages, salads, and Pilates.”
“I would never want my mom working at a café, serving perverted old men their Reubens and rum all day.” JC took a sip of his soda, which had a fancy cocktail umbrella in it—with the club’s emblem on both sides. “No offense.”
“What about that sentence made you think I’d take offense?” I asked.
“Sorry,” he said. “My mom also walks the dog a lot. That’s something . . . else . . . she does. . . .” JC took the cocktail umbrella out and tossed it to the side.
“She’s lucky your dad took care of her after their divorce,” I said.
“I think it was a no-prenup type of thing.”
I nodded and took a sip of my tea. “So, what were you and Mrs. Penn talking about earlier?”
JC cracked his neck to relieve some pressure. “She was pretty pissed at me.”
“And why’s that?” I asked.
“I may have pointed at my headphones when she tried speaking to me in the hallway this morning.”
“JC!”
“What? She was just reminding me to get to class. I still had five minutes before the bell rang.”
“That’s pretty disrespectful,” I said.
“One could say it’s disrespectful to come between a guy and his Led Zeppelin songs.”
I raised my brows. “One could say you’re pushing it.”
He ran his strong hand through his curly brown hair. “What’s the point in trying to be the nice guy anymore? No one thinks it.” JC’s voice softened. “And with this stupid one-year ineligibility, wrestling is off the table for me.”
I rolled my hands into a ball. “You’re lucky it’s only a one-year suspension. You know how strict the SCC is.”
The Westcott High SCC, aka the student conduct contract. Those daunting papers that hung over our heads like thousand-pound weights. Every student had to sign one upon entering the school. It was essentially a rule book mapping out the various regulations us Westcott kids were required to follow—in and outside of school. If you broke any of the rules, even one, you got written up. And if you got written up more than once, you got kicked out of Westcott. No questions asked. No second chances. No mercy.
JC picked up his glass and started swirling the ice cubes around. “Have you talked to Piper recently?” The ice cubes clicked against his glass.
“No. She doesn’t talk much anymore—to anyone.”
“Especially not to me.”
I leaned in. “Can you blame her, JC?”
JC stared off into the room, the weight of his suspension showing across his face. It looked like he’d been awake for months. He seemed tired—but the kind of tired innocent people feel when they’ve been wrongly accused of something.
“What if I could?” he asked.
My eyes left the tabletop and shifted toward his. “What are you talking about?”
JC looked side to side and then back at me. “What if I could blame her?”
I poked my head toward him. “For?”
“During one of my practices last year, I saw Piper walk into the gym. She discreetly walked by me and sat on the bleachers.”
“Yeah. So?”
“A little strange,” he said, “considering she’s typically too busy to text me back—much less come watch me wrestle. But I brushed it off, waved, and went on with my practice.” He took a sip of his soda, collecting ice cubes in his mouth. “She didn’t look like she normally does, Sonny. She looked disheveled. Nervous. She was wearing a baggy T-shirt and biker shorts.”
“Piper?”
“Exactly,” he said. “Next day, your dad’s suddenly picking me up by the back of my shirt and escorting me out of the cafeteria for a bag search.” He shook his head. “It was the last day I saw any of you—because after they ransacked my bag, I was suspended.”
“I remember,” I said, dropping my chin to my chest. “But what did any of that have to do with Piper?”
“Nothing.” He shifted in his seat. “Until I remembered she slipped something into my bag before leaving the gym that night.”
Suddenly, I sunk into the uncomfortable booth.
“I thought it was a note,” he continued. “We did that sometimes . . . wrote letters back and forth. We exchanged a quick smile, and then she walked out of the gym. I thought nothing of it, and I forgot to check my bag after practice, but a week into my suspension . . . it hit me.”
I leaned in. “What are you saying?”
“It was Piper,” he said. “She planted the answer key in my bag.”
At Westcott, there was one thing more frowned upon than cheating on your boyfriend with the history teacher—and that was getting caught cheating on a test.
“Seriously, JC?” I was repulsed by his accusation. “That’s your position? Piper framed you?”
He rolled up his sleeves, his veins bulging from his arms. “It’s not a position, Sonny. She did it. How else could that paper get into my wrestling bag?”
“Maybe you put it in there,” I said.
“Jesus.” His taut voice stepped forward. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? Why would I risk my wrestling career by cheating on our end-of-year exam? How would I even have access to the answer key? And if I did, I’d never carry it around in my gym bag for anyone to see.”
I gave him a suspicious look. “Did you tell your dad you thought Piper framed you?”
“Not exactly.” He gently flicked the table with his finger.
With narrowed eyes, I waited patiently for his follow-up statement.
“I told my dad it was mine,” he said. “That I stole it.”
“Why would you do that?”
JC stared down at the table in a daze. “Because I refuse to rat on Piper. I can’t do that to her.”
“So you take the fall for something you didn’t do?” I asked.
“Look, Sonny. I don’t know why she did it. But there has to be a reason. If I accused her of framing me, it could start a war. And nothing is worth never getting to see or talk to Piper again. Not even saving face.”
“Why would you want to speak to her again? If what you’re saying is true?”
“Because she means everything to me, Sonny. She’s my life. We planned to go to Princeton together, and I don’t want to go without her. I don’t know what inspired her to turn on me, but I need to be here when she’s ready to come clean,” he said. “I need to stay. For her.”
“Come on, JC. Piper aside, I find it hard to believe you’d put your tail between your legs and take on these accusations.”
His eyes sunk. “Hey, I love that little lady. I got to be her fool.”
“What?”
“The Led,” he replied.
I rolled my eyes. “Do you realize how ridiculous this sounds?” With crossed arms, I leaned forward. “Why would Piper plant the answer key in your backpack, tip off my dad, and ruin your wrestling career?”
He shrugged. “Let me know if you can figure it out. Because I’ve spent all summer trying to wrap my brain around it, and I still can’t understand why.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a dirty white envelope, tossing it onto the table. “And while you’re at it, let me know if you can figure this one out too.”
I removed the folded piece of paper from the envelope, ironing it out in front of me with flat hands. “What is this?”
JC cracked his knuckles. “It appears to be a riddle.”<
br />
“ ‘No one is safe at Geraldine’s,’ ” I read aloud. “The coffee shop on Nelser Street?”
“I guess so,” he replied.
“Who gave this to you?”
JC took a deep breath. “When I got suspended and was sent home to finish sophomore year, I nearly lost my mind. I still wrestled, sparring with my brother in our gym, but nothing was taking my mind off of Piper. So I started running. I ran for miles, every night, through my neighborhood and down the boulevard. I got pretty good at it too, for a wrestler. And then one night, a week before I came back to school, I went on a long run to mentally prepare myself. As I approached the tail end of my run, I saw an SUV parked outside of my house. I was pretty far back, and it was getting dark, but I recognized the car. I started picking up my pace, but the taillights lit up and the car sped off into the opposite direction before I could get to my driveway.”
I scooted to the edge of the booth’s seat, completely fascinated and petrified by his storytelling.
“So I started running full speed ahead, and when I got to my front porch, I saw this envelope. All it said was—”
“ ‘Jeremy Coleman,’ ” I said, staring down at the envelope. “I’ve only ever heard one person call you by your real name. He said referring to yourself by your initials is not only a form of laziness, it’s also—”
“A missed opportunity to show confidence in who I truly am,” JC said. “Which makes no sense, by the way.”
My heart began to race as I looked into JC’s brown eyes.
“Mr. Russell.” He nodded. “That’s whose car I saw speeding off down my street.”
I fell back against the booth, my head bouncing from the impact. “Wait a minute. Mr. Russell? Why would he drop this on your doorstep?”
“No clue.” JC shrugged again. “I tried calling him, but he never answered his phone. I told myself I’d wait to talk to him on my first day back at school, but when I came back, I realized he’d been fired. That’s when I knew something was up. I planned to go visit him after school that day, but then I got the news that he was dead.”
“Why didn’t you show up on the first day of school?”
“It was Winchester’s idea for me to come back the next day,” he said. “He thought showing up on the first day would cause too much commotion or some BS.”
“I saw you pulling into the parking lot when school was over,” I said.
“I saw you too.” JC nodded. “I was turning in some updated forms.”
I looked down at the paper. “What do you think Mr. Russell is trying to tell you?” I asked. “Do you think he’s trying to show you why Piper framed you?”
“That’s my guess,” he replied. “Why else would he give this to me?”
I read the riddle again. “What could this mean?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “But until I figure it out, the silver lining is that I’m allowed to stay at Westcott and get off with a write-up.”
“One that cost you everything.”
“Not Piper.” He dropped his head to his chest. “Not yet.”
JC’s eyes disappeared under his eyelids, reappearing shortly after—even more lifeless than before. And although there were so many uncertainties in the air, in that moment, I knew he was telling the truth.
“Let me look into this.” I folded the piece of paper, then placed it inside the envelope and tucked it into my back pocket. “I’ll be quiet while I do.”
JC took a sip of soda. “Knock yourself out.”
I exhaled. “I think you should know Mrs. Penn’s son is trying out for the wrestling team.”
“I heard.” He checked the time on his cell phone. “I have to go. I’m meeting Jacob at the park courts to shoot hoops.”
“Jacob?” I sat up straight. “You know him?”
“Sort of. He came to my house for a party over the summer. He lives a couple of blocks down from me.”
I blinked. “That was your party?”
“Well, it was my brother’s. I don’t think anyone would have come if it were my party.”
I looked down at his cell phone. “Jacob plays basketball?”
“Plays?” He paused. “Yeah, you could say that. He’s freaking sick.”
“Freaking sick?” I asked. “As in incredibly talented?”
JC wrote his club ID number down on the receipt to pay for our drinks. “As in freaking sick.”
“Wait, is he trying out for the team?” I asked.
“That’s the plan,” he said.
My heart began to beat at an uncomfortable speed as my mind flashed to Dean.
“I didn’t see Jacob much that night, though,” he said, taking one last sip of his soda. “The night of the party. He popped in and popped out.”
I grinned. “Did you slip in the puddle?”
JC gave me a blank stare as he chewed on an ice cube. “I gave up on trying to understand your jokes years ago.”
I picked up the cocktail umbrella and threw it at his chest. “I heard Jacob was drooling over Norah all night.”
“Norah?”
“Yeah. Norah Soros.”
“Norah wasn’t at the party,” he said.
Confusion crossed my face. “I’m sure she was. Red dress?”
“Sonny. My brother would never invite Norah Soros to our house. I can promise you that.”
“Maybe she slid in without you noticing,” I said.
“Everyone notices when Norah Soros slides into a room. She wasn’t there,” he said, shifting out of the booth. “He must have been talking about somebody else.”
Secrets. We all have them. We all tell them. Maybe the only thing worse than learning a secret is being kept from you is knowing you aren’t the type to let it go.
6
The fall
There is one irrefutable truth in life: every girl will fall down. If you’re lucky, you’ll enjoy a slow, graceful fall. One that’s cushioned with supportive friends and loving family. Or one in which your blood dries up before you’ve broken skin on your knees. That’s the kind of tumble you take if you’re fortunate. And if you aren’t? You become the girl who free-falls. And there are no ledges to grab onto. And there’s no one there at the bottom to stop you from calamity. Because some girls don’t just fall down; some fall from grace.
On Friday mornings, the student body attended a weekly rally in the auditorium. It was essentially a school-wide meeting where we received information regarding the newest events at Westcott. In actuality, it was a chance for us to engage with one another on a large scale.
“I can’t believe Jacob likes Norah. Does everyone like that trollop?” Winston leaned against a navy-blue folding chair.
“Trollop? Who’s the poet now?” I rested both elbows on my knees and cupped my hands under my chin. Below a blue-and-white Westcott High banner, Principal Winchester was setting up his microphone in preparation for his speech. The freshly waxed stage on which he stood was as big as his ego.
“And thanks for telling him I could introduce him to Norah,” I said.
“It’s not my fault. I misread his ability to recognize sarcasm.”
“I figured as much.”
“So?” Winston asked. “Did you do it?”
“Yes. It was brief and miserable and awkward all at once, and I wish to forget it entirely.”
“I’m assuming Norah flirted with him?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Conveniently forgetting she’s dating Dean?”
“Naturally.”
Winston shook his head. “Trollop.”
“Can we talk about something else?” I asked.
“Let’s talk about your conversation with JC,” he replied.
I shot up from my seat. “Keep your voice down! I don’t want anyone finding out I’m looking into this.”
With narrowed eyes, Winston tilted his head. “You don’t honestly believe him, do you?”
“Would you—” I looked side to side and stepped forward. “Shhh!�
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“So what’s your plan?” He shook his head. “You mentioned you had a plan?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow night when we meet with the rest of the gang. I’m calling a meeting.”
Just then, I spotted Buckets sitting against the wall on the other side of the dreary room. His legs were extended out in front of him, and his eyes were glued to the tablet on his lap. It was his usual look.
“Excuse me for a second,” I said as I slowly walked away.
I pushed through the crowd, eventually landing in front of Buckets. With crossed arms, I stood and waited for him to acknowledge me. He eventually looked up.
“Were you at Dustin Coleman’s summer party?” I asked.
Buckets took a sip of his energy drink, keeping eye contact. “Sit. You look suspicious.”
I nestled close to him, my ripped blue jeans almost blending in against the navy-blue Berber carpet.
“I see you don’t listen,” he said dryly. “I thought we agreed to change our investigative ways after what happened to Mr. Russell.”
“Were you there or not?”
“What makes you think I’d go to that party?” he asked.
“Because you’re Buckets. What good is your nickname if you don’t collect information to spill? And what better place to collect gossip than a summer party?”
Buckets sucked in his cheeks. “Wow,” he said. “Good work. If I needed an assistant, I’d take your resume.”
“So?” I said. “Were you there?”
“I may have stopped by,” he replied.
“Was Norah Soros there?”
“I can assure you if Norah Soros was at the party, I would have skipped it.”
“So she wasn’t?”
Buckets’s eyes continually scanned the audience of high schoolers, never settling. “No,” he replied. “Not that I know of.”
“Why would Jacob lie?” I whispered.
Buckets looked at my lips. “What?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Look, I’m calling a group meeting tomorrow night. I need you to be there.”
“Group? Since when are we a group?”
My eyes rolled to the right. “Don’t fight it.” I stood up to walk away, pushing myself off the boring beige wall. “I’ll text you the address,” I said as I dragged my feet toward the other side of the auditorium.
