Mr. Riordan can be intimidating, though. He’s a my-way-or-nothing sort of man. Whenever I mention that, Ashton starts muttering about apples not falling far from trees.
“Hi, Addy. I’m on my way out, but Jake’s waiting for you downstairs.”
“Thanks,” I say, stepping past her into the foyer.
I can hear her lock the door behind her and her car door slam as I take the stairs down to Jake. The Riordans have a finished basement that’s basically Jake’s domain. It’s huge, and they have a pool table and a giant TV and lots of overstuffed chairs and couches down there, so our friends hang out here more than anywhere else. As usual, Jake is sprawled on the biggest couch with an Xbox controller in hand.
“Hey, baby.” He pauses the game and sits up when he sees me. “How’d everything go?”
“Not good,” I say, and start shaking all over. Jake’s face is full of concern I don’t deserve. He gets to his feet, trying to pull me down next to him, but I resist for once. I take a seat in the armchair beside the couch. “I think I should sit over here while I tell you this.”
A frown creases Jake’s forehead. He sits back down, on the edge of the couch this time, his elbows resting on his knees as he gazes at me intently. “You’re scaring me, Ads.”
“It’s been a scary day,” I say, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. My throat feels as dry as dust. “The detective wanted to talk to me because she thinks I…She thinks all of us who were in detention with Simon that day…killed him. They think we deliberately put peanut oil in his water so he’d die.” It occurs to me as the words slip out that maybe I wasn’t supposed to talk about this part. But I’m used to telling Jake everything.
Jake stares at me, blinks, and barks out a short laugh. “Jesus. That’s not funny, Addy.” He almost never calls me by my actual name.
“I’m not joking. She thinks we did it because he was about to publish an update of About That featuring the four of us. Reporting awful things we’d never want to get out.” I’m tempted to tell him the other gossip first—See, I’m not the only horrible person!—but I don’t. “There was something about me on there, something true, that I have to tell you. I should have told you when it happened but I was too scared.” I stare at the floor, my eyes focusing on a loose thread in the plush blue carpet. If I pulled it I bet the whole section would unravel.
“Go on,” Jake says. I can’t read his tone at all.
God. How can my heart be hammering this hard and I still be alive? It should have burst out of my chest by now. “At the end of school last year, when you were in Cozumel with your parents, I ran into TJ at the beach. We got a bottle of rum and ended up getting really drunk. And I went to TJ’s house and, um, I hooked up with him.” Tears slide down my cheeks and drip onto my collarbone.
“Hooked up how?” Jake asks flatly. I hesitate, wondering if there’s any possible way I can make this sound less awful than it is. But then Jake repeats himself—“Hooked up how?”—so forcefully that the words spring out of me.
“We slept together.” I’m crying so hard I can barely get more words out. “I’m sorry, Jake. I made a stupid, horrible mistake and I’m so, so sorry.”
Jake doesn’t say anything for a minute, and when he speaks his voice is icy cold. “You’re sorry, huh? That’s great. That’s all right, then. As long as you’re sorry.”
“I really am,” I start, but before I can continue he springs up and rams his fist into the wall behind him. I can’t help the startled cry that escapes me. The plaster cracks, raining white dust across the blue rug. Jake shakes his fist and hits the wall harder.
“Fuck, Addy. You screw my friend months ago, you’ve been lying to me ever since, and you’re sorry? What the hell is wrong with you? I treat you like a queen.”
“I know,” I sob, staring at the bloody smears his knuckles left on the wall.
“You let me hang out with a guy who’s laughing his ass off behind my back while you jump out of his bed and into mine like nothing happened. Pretending you give a shit about me.” Jake almost never swears in my presence, or if he does, he apologizes afterward.
“I do! Jake, I love you. I’ve always loved you, since the first time I saw you.”
“So why’d you do it? Why?”
I’ve asked myself that question for months and can’t come up with anything except weak excuses. I was drunk, I was stupid, I was insecure. I guess that last one’s closest to the truth; years of being not enough finally catching up with me. “I made a mistake. I’d do anything to fix it. If I could take it back I would.”
“But you can’t, can you?” Jake asks. He’s silent for a minute, breathing hard. I don’t dare say another word. “Look at me.” I keep my head in my hands as long as I can. “Look at me, Addy. You fucking owe me that.”
So I do, but I wish I hadn’t. His face—that beautiful face I’ve loved since before it ever looked as good as it does now—is twisted with rage. “You ruined everything. You know that, right?”
“I know.” It comes out as a moan, like I’m a trapped animal. If I could gnaw my own limb off to escape this situation, I would.
“Get out. Get the hell out of my house. I can’t stand the sight of you.”
I’m not sure how I manage to get up the stairs, never mind out the door. Once I’m in the driveway I scramble through my bag trying to find my phone. There’s no way I can stand in Jake’s driveway sobbing while I wait for Ashton. I need to walk to Clarendon Street and find her. Then a car across the street beeps softly, and through a haze of tears I watch my sister lower her window.
Her mouth droops as I approach. “I thought it might go like this. Come on, get in. Mom’s waiting for us.”
Bronwyn
Monday, October 1, 7:30 a.m.
I get ready for school on Monday the way I always do. Up at six so I can run for half an hour. Oatmeal with berries and orange juice at six-thirty, a shower ten minutes later. Dry my hair, pick out clothes, put on sunscreen. Scan the New York Times for ten minutes. Check my email, pack my books, make sure my phone’s fully charged.
The only thing that’s different is the seven-thirty meeting with my lawyer.
Her name is Robin Stafford, and according to my father she’s a brilliant, highly successful criminal defense attorney. But not overly high-profile. Not the kind of lawyer automatically associated with guilty rich people trying to buy their way out of trouble. She’s right on time and gives me a wide, warm smile when Maeve leads her into the kitchen.
I wouldn’t be able to guess her age by looking at her, but the bio my father showed me last night says she’s forty-one. She’s wearing a cream-colored suit that’s striking against her dark skin, subtle gold jewelry, and shoes that look expensive but not Jimmy Choo level.
She takes a seat at our kitchen island across from my parents and me. “Bronwyn, it’s a pleasure. Let’s talk about what you might expect today and how you should handle school.”
Sure. Because that’s my life now. School is something to be handled.
She folds her hands in front of her. “I’m not sure the police truly believed the four of you planned this together, but I do think they hoped to shock and pressure one of you into giving up useful information. That indicates their evidence is flimsy at best. If none of you point fingers and your stories line up, they don’t have anywhere to take this investigation, and it’s my belief it will ultimately be closed out as an accidental death.”
The vise that’s been gripping my chest all morning loosens a little. “Even though Simon was about to post those awful things about us? And there’s that whole Tumblr thing going on?”
Robin gives an elegant little shrug. “At the end of the day, that’s nothing but gossip and trolling. I know you kids take it seriously, but in the legal world it’s meaningless unless hard proof emerges to back it up. The best thing you can do is not talk about the case. Certainly not with the police, but not with school administrators either.”
“What if they ask?”<
br />
“Tell them you’ve retained counsel and can’t answer questions without your lawyer present.”
I try to imagine having that conversation with Principal Gupta. I don’t know what the school’s heard about this, but me pleading the Fifth would be a major red flag.
“Are you friendly with the other kids who were in detention that day?” Robin asks.
“Not exactly. Cooper and I have some classes together, but—”
“Bronwyn.” My mother interrupts with a chill in her voice. “You’re friendly enough with Nate Macauley that he showed up here last night. For the third time.”
Robin sits straighter in her chair, and I flush. That was a big topic of discussion last night after my dad made Nate leave. Dad thought he’d stalked our address in a creepy way, so I had some explaining to do.
“Why has Nate been here three times, Bronwyn?” Robin asks with a polite, interested air.
“It’s no big deal. He gave me a ride home after Simon died. Then he stopped by last Friday to hang out for a while. And I don’t know what he was doing here last night, since nobody would let me talk to him.”
“It’s the ‘hanging out’ while your parents aren’t home that disturbs me—” my mother starts, but Robin interrupts her.
“Bronwyn, what’s the nature of your relationship with Nate?”
I have no idea. Maybe you could help me analyze it? Is that part of your retainer? “I hardly know him. I hadn’t talked to him in years before last week. We’re both in this weird situation and…it helps to be around other people going through the same thing.”
“I recommend maintaining distance from the others,” Robin says, ignoring my mother’s evil eye in my direction. “No need to give the police further ammunition for their theories. If your cell phone and email are examined, will they show recent communication with those three students?”
“No,” I say truthfully.
“That’s good news.” She glances at her watch, a slim gold Rolex. “That’s all we can address now if you’re going to get to school on time, which you should. Business as usual.” She flashes me that warm smile again. “We’ll talk more in depth later.”
I say good-bye to my parents, not quite able to look them in the eye, and call for Maeve as I grab the keys to the Volvo. I spend the whole drive steeling myself for something awful to happen once we get to school, but it’s weirdly normal. No police lying in wait for me. Nobody’s looking at me any differently than they have since the first Tumblr post came out.
Still, I’m only half paying attention to Kate and Yumiko’s chatter after homeroom, my eyes roaming the hallway. There’s only one person I want to talk to, even though it’s exactly who I’m supposed to stay away from. “Catch you guys later, okay?” I murmur, and intercept Nate after he ducks into the back stairwell.
If he’s surprised to see me, he doesn’t show it. “Bronwyn. How’s the family?”
I lean against the wall next to him and lower my voice. “I wanted to apologize for my dad making you leave last night. He’s kind of freaked out by all this.”
“Wonder why.” Nate drops his voice as well. “You been searched yet?” My eyes widen, and he laughs darkly. “Didn’t think so. I was. You’re probably not supposed to be talking to me, right?”
I can’t help but glance around the empty stairwell. I’m already paranoid and Nate’s not helping. I have to keep reminding myself that we did not, in fact, conspire to commit murder. “Why did you stop by?”
His eyes search mine as though he’s about to say something profound about life and death and the presumption of innocence. “I was going to apologize for stealing Jesus from you.”
I recoil a little. I have no idea what he’s talking about. Is he making some kind of religious allegory? “What?”
“In the fourth-grade Nativity play at St. Pius. I stole Jesus and you had to carry a bag wrapped in a blanket. Sorry about that.”
I stare at him for a second as the tension flows out of me, leaving me limp and slightly giddy. I punch him in the shoulder, startling him so much he actually laughs. “I knew it was you. Why’d you do that?”
“To get a rise out of you.” He grins at me, and for a second I forget everything except the fact that Nate Macauley still has an adorable smile. “Also, I wanted to talk to you about—all this. But I guess it’s too late. You must be lawyered up by now, right?” His smile disappears.
“Yes, but…I want to talk to you too.” The bell rings, and I pull out my phone. Then I remember Robin asking about communication records between the four of us and stuff it back into my bag. Nate catches the gesture and snorts another humorless laugh.
“Yeah, exchanging numbers is a shit idea. Unless you want to use this.” He reaches into his backpack and hands me a flip phone.
I take it gingerly. “What is it?”
“An extra phone. I have a few.” I run my thumb across the cover with a dawning idea of what it might be for, and he adds hastily, “It’s new. Nobody’s going to call it or anything. But I have the number. I’ll call you. You can answer, or not. Up to you.” He pauses, and adds, “Just don’t, you know, leave it lying around. They get a warrant for your phone and computer, that’s all they can touch. They can’t go through your whole house.”
I’m pretty sure my expensive lawyer would tell me not to take legal advice from Nate Macauley. And she’d probably have something to say about the fact that he has an apparently inexhaustible supply of the same cheap phones that corralled us all in detention last week. I watch him head up the stairs, knowing I should drop the phone into the nearest trash can. But I put it in my backpack instead.
Cooper
Monday, October 1, 11:00 a.m.
It’s almost a relief to be at school. Better than home, where Pop spent hours ranting about how Simon’s a liar and the police are incompetent and the school should be on the hook for this and lawyers will cost a fortune we don’t have.
He didn’t ask if any of it was true.
We’re in a weird limbo now. Everything’s different but it all looks the same. Except Jake and Addy, who’re walking around like they want to kill and die, respectively. Bronwyn gives me the least convincing smile ever in the hallway, her lips pressed so tight they almost disappear. Nate’s nowhere in sight.
We’re all waiting for something to happen, I guess.
After gym something does, but it doesn’t have anything to do with me. My friends and I are heading for the locker room after playing soccer, lagging behind everyone else, and Luis is going on about some new junior girl he’s got his eye on. Our gym teacher opens the door to let a bunch of kids inside when Jake suddenly whirls around, grabs TJ by the shoulder, and punches him in the face.
Of course. “TF” from About That is TJ Forrester. The lack of a J confused me.
I grab Jake’s arms, pulling him back before he can throw another punch, but he’s so furious he almost gets away from me before Luis steps in to help. Even then, two of us can barely hold him. “You asshole,” Jake spits at TJ, who staggers but doesn’t fall. TJ puts a hand to his bloody, probably broken mess of a nose. He doesn’t make any effort to go after Jake.
“Jake, come on, man,” I say as the gym teacher races toward us. “You’re gonna get suspended.”
“Worth it,” Jake says bitterly.
So instead of today’s big story being Simon, it’s about how Jake Riordan got sent home for punching TJ Forrester after gym class. And since Jake refused to speak to Addy before he left and she’s practically in tears, everyone’s pretty sure they know why.
“How could she?” Keely murmurs in the lunch line as Addy shuffles around like a sleepwalker.
“We don’t know the whole story,” I remind her.
I guess it’s good Jake’s not here since Addy sits with us at lunch like usual. I’m not sure she’d have the nerve otherwise. But she doesn’t talk to anybody, and nobody talks to her. They’re pretty obvious about it. Vanessa, who’s always been the bitchiest girl in ou
r group, physically turns away when Addy takes the chair next to her. Even Keely doesn’t make any effort to include Addy in the conversation.
Bunch of hypocrites. Luis was on Simon’s app for the same damn thing and Vanessa tried to give me a hand job at a pool party last month, so they shouldn’t be judging anyone.
“How’s it goin’, Addy?” I ask, ignoring the stares of the rest of the table.
“Don’t be nice, Cooper.” She keeps her head down, her voice so low I can hardly hear it. “It’s worse if you’re nice.”
“Addy.” All the frustration and fear I’ve been feeling finds its way into my voice, and when Addy looks up a jolt of understanding passes between us. There’re a million things we should be talking about, but we can’t say any of them. “It’ll be all right.”
Keely puts her hand on my arm, asking, “What do you think?” and I realize I’ve missed an entire conversation.
“About what?”
She gives me a little shake. “About Halloween! What should we be for Vanessa’s party?”
I’m disoriented, like I just got yanked into some shiny video-game version of the world where everything’s too bright and I don’t understand the rules. “God, Keely, I don’t know. Whatever. That’s almost a month away.”
Olivia clucks her tongue disapprovingly. “Typical guy. You have no idea how hard it is to find a costume that’s sexy but not slutty.”
Luis waggles his brows at her. “Just be slutty, then,” he suggests, and Olivia smacks his arm. The cafeteria’s too warm, almost hot, and I wipe my damp brow as Addy and I exchange another look.
Keely pokes me. “Give me your phone.”
“What?”
“I want to look at that picture we took last week, at Seaport Village? That woman in the flapper dress. She looked amazing. Maybe I could do something like that.” I shrug and pull out my phone, unlocking it and handing it over. She squeezes my arm as she opens my photos. “You’d look totally hot in one of those gangster suits.”
She hands the phone to Vanessa, who gives an exaggerated, breathless “Ohhh!” Addy pushes food around on her plate without ever lifting her fork to her mouth, and I’m about to ask her if she wants me to get her something else when my phone rings.
One of Us Is Lying Page 9
