“I STILL CAN’T GET over that dream,” I whispered to Derrick when we sat down for lunch at our usual spot on the bleachers by the football field. Dark clouds covered the sky in a cool, damp fury that turned everything grey. Behind us, a steady stream of students walked into the brick gym bearing gifts and mementos in an impromptu student-led memorial. “I’m telling you, it felt like something that was really happening, and then it did.”
The sheriff had seemed reluctant to drop us off at school after she told us what had happened to Isaac. But Derrick and I had way too much to talk about to sit around his house speaking in hushed whispers while his mom caught up on her sleep.
Derrick didn’t bother whispering. “It feels all real and ominous because you know what happened now, so your brain is linking it to some hazy recollection. You probably didn’t even dream about a fan. But once you heard about Isaac’s fan, your mind started filling in the gaps with whatever it could.”
“Gee, Derrick, whatever would I do without you mansplaining my nightmares? You’re right. It’s way more likely you know what’s going on in my head than I do. How silly of me to even try to explain it for myself.”
Derrick cut me an annoyed look. “Yeah, okay, fine. Let’s go with your explanation. Spontaneous clairvoyance makes much more sense.”
“That’s not what I said.” Sometimes it was really hard not to punch Derrick in his know-it-all face. You’re stressed, you’re tired, and so is he. My brain backpedaled before I could feed my aggravation any further. “But moving on, do you think Isaac’s death was really an accident?”
“I don’t know, but Mom is at least open to the possibility it’s not.” Derrick held up his phone. “She linked the case numbers.”
“Really?” I rifled through our lunch bag and passed Derrick a can of soda before opening mine.
“Here.” He pulled out the plastic bags containing our sandwiches. “So far, they haven’t found anything to indicate foul play. The ceiling fan had been off-balance for . . . years, probably. If you look at the pictures—”
I shuddered. “No thanks.”
He rolled his eyes. “You can see where the fan wore through the sheetrock by rocking back and forth. If a person yanked it down, there would be something to show that’s what happened. I think.”
“We need to watch more crime shows.” I sighed.
“I’ll do some more digging online. Oh!” he said after swallowing a gulp of soda. “I think another agency picked up the bonfire case. The emails have started referencing reports Mom’s not getting.”
A sharp whistle on the football field caught my attention. Coach had the poor freshmen running laps again. They probably couldn’t hear us talking over the wind, but I lowered my voice anyway. “What agency? Like the FBI?
“Could be.” Derrick shrugged. “The National Forest is technically a federal reserve. Mom got to stay in the loop for longer than usual by bringing in Fish and Wildlife right away and lending out our coroner, but . . . “ Derrick took another bite of his sandwich. “That’s a lot of dead for an animal attack.”
“Do you think they’re going to question us all again?”
“Not without going through a lot of red tape.” Derrick finished off his sandwich and took another swig of soda. “The Worthingtons fought like hell to keep the press and police from questioning you guys too much, on account of emotional trauma and all that.” Derrick rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. Even if they do pry, they won’t find anything. We covered our tracks.”
Derrick’s phone chimed before I could even begin to articulate how much was wrong with what he’d just said. “What is it now?”
He held up a finger as he scanned the email, his face darkening as he took in the text.
I waited for as long as I could before asking again. “Derrick, what?”
His fingers gripped his phone so tight, I worried the slim, metal device might break. “They . . . uh . . . they—”
I snatched the phone to see it for myself.
My shirt. Torn, tattered and caked in mud. They’d found it in the Kinlock Falls River Basin, along with my leggings, shoes, bra, underwear, and one sock.
My hands shook as I scrolled through the pictures. I remembered picking out that outfit, making sure it looked perfect. I remembered every second of getting ready. But I didn’t remember taking it off. “This doesn’t mean anything,” I managed to say. “It’s nothing we didn’t already know. The dress I showed up in wasn’t mine, so obviously at some point I changed, and—”
“Tess . . .” Derrick’s voice sounded raw. “It’s torn.”
“It was in a river, Derrick,” I spat. Some part of me felt guilty for the way I was talking to him, but the rest was too defensive, too on edge to care. “It’s fabric, not chainmail. It tears.”
“Okay.” He gathered up the remnants of his lunch without argument, and somehow, that made me feel even worse.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” I insisted. “I didn’t have a scratch on me, remember?” My voice rose with every word. “Do you really think I would just sit there while they tore off my—”
“Tess.” Derrick grabbed my hand, squeezing my fingers.
“—clothes. I took them off. I changed. It’s a party. Things spill at parties, so obviously—”
“Tess.”
I looked up at him.
“We’re going to figure out what happened that night. I promise.”
Chapter 17: Tess
Friday, September 16th
DERRICK’S MOM WAS waiting for us with a trunk full of groceries when we got home from school. I helped bring them inside, but I was so out of it from reading the Kinlock Falls report that it took me a second to process the sleek department store bags she pushed in my hands.
“They had a sale.” She beamed. “I’ve got the receipt. If anything doesn’t work out, let me know, and we can swap it out. Oh, Derrick, those go in her room.”
Stricken, I glanced over to see Derrick holding out several more department store bags in question.
“Her room?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Mrs. Hernandez,” I managed. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“Honey, it’s getting cold in the mornings, and I haven’t seen sleeves on you since you moved in. Go try it all on. I want to see if I need to return anything before I head back to work.”
“But—”
“Go.”
Overruled, I took the bag into Derrick’s room and started laying the clothes out on the bed. Shoeboxes, sweaters, shirts, jeans, socks, bras, and matching underwear. I was going to die—just sink through the floor and die.
“Mom, you know she doesn’t . . .” Derrick’s frustrated voice dropped too low to hear. But I got the gist.
I peeled off my clothes, cringing when I realized how faded and worn they looked compared to the new stuff.
A minute or two later, the sheriff knocked on the door. “Did I get the right size? Are you decent? Can I see?”
“Uh . . .” I buttoned the new pants and glanced in the mirror. “Yeah. Okay.”
She opened the door. “I know the underwear might have been a bit much, but proper support is important, and—”
I burst into tears.
“Oh, honey.” She rushed over to me. “I’m sorry, I overstepped, I—”
“No, no, it’s nice. It’s really nice.” I sank down onto the bed. “Mom used to do this. She would just, ‘Surprise!’” I waved my hands. “She’d bring home all these great finds, and, and—I haven’t had this, in a really long time.”
She sat on the bed beside me. “What’s going on between you and your mother, Tess? I keep expecting to hear from her, but—”
“She’s sick.” Sobbing, I told her everything.
“I had no idea.” She took a shaky breath. “You
should be home. If she doesn’t have much time, then—” Something in my expression must have tipped her off that home was the last place I wanted to go, because she broke off. “Unless . . . there’s some reason you don’t want to go back. If one of her boyfriends is bothering you again, I can—”
“It’s not that.” I took a deep breath, panic setting in as I realized there was no way I could balance this. Staying here put me in her debt enough, no matter how much I tried to help out around the house. But these clothes . . . it was too much money. Too much effort. So what the hell was I doing arguing with her about going home? “I—You’re right. Thank you so much for letting me stay here this week. And for the clothes. This must have cost a fortune. I shouldn’t have—”
“Tess.” She knelt in front of me. “You can stay here as long as you need.”
She said that, she probably even believed it, but how much longer before she realized I was taking too much?
You’re a leech. My mother’s voice echoed in my mind. A parasite. You take and take and take.
I drew in a sharp breath. “Thank you, but I really—”
“I love having you here. And I don’t want you worrying about the clothes. If I didn’t cash in my rewards points, I was going to lose them.” She waved off her gift with a smile. “Besides, thanks to you, I’ve come home to a sparkling house every day for over a week. You’ve even got Derrick picking up after himself. It was the least I could do.”
No, it was the least I could do, since she was letting me stay here and eat all their food. My mind raced, trying to think of some way I could make this up to her. “I can’t—”
“It’s so much more fun to shop for girls. Look, did you see this one?” She grabbed a black shirt off the bed. “And this! I swear even when you two were babies, there were maybe three shelves of stuff to choose from for Derrick. The rest of the store was all about the cute coordinating outfits and bows and shoes and accessories for little girls. I always wanted—” She ducked her head and cleared her throat. “I don’t know why shopping for you didn’t occur to me before. I had so much fun.” Her lips turned down in a frown as the shirt caught the light. “Oh, this is a little slutty though. I didn’t realize it was see-through.”
I laughed, despite myself. “You’re supposed to wear one of these under it.” I held up one of the camisoles.
“Oh. Well, try it on,” she urged. “Make sure they all fit. I’ll get dinner started.”
When the door closed behind her, I flopped down on the bed and stared up at Derrick’s peeling stars, overwhelmed with guilt. She’d been so incredibly kind to me, and how did I repay her generosity? By dragging her son into . . . whatever this was and lying to her at every turn.
You’re a horrible person.
I was.
You’re going to destroy them.
I drew in a sharp breath, fighting back tears.
But it doesn’t have to be like that.
What could I do? I couldn’t go back in time and not involve Derrick. And telling the truth now would only make everything more complicated and possibly make her look incompetent. That was no way to fix things.
You don’t deserve them.
That . . . wasn’t my voice. I sat up, chills racing down my spine. “H-hello,” I whispered hesitantly. No answer came.
“Of course no one answered.” I snorted, imagining what Derrick would say. No doubt he’d offer some logical mumbo-jumbo about lack of sleep and trauma and how really, I never actually hear my own voice in my mind. That’s just how I interpret my own thoughts.
I settled back down, staring up at the ceiling. In any case, I didn’t deserve to watch my mother’s life drain away while a tumor turned her into a stranger, and I didn’t deserve whatever happened at that bonfire. What I deserved wasn’t a factor here.
I was lucky to have Derrick and his mother, sure. Lucky for Mr. Gilbert and his art supplies; Mrs. Atkins and her never-ending stack of notebook paper; and Wren and her shoes. I was lucky to live in a small town where people didn’t tolerate their children going without, though they didn’t mind spreading gossip about them one bit. They stepped up when they saw you needed something. But that kind of luck was a double-edged sword. I didn’t deserve to need the kindness of others to get by in the first place.
I’d balance this. I’d find a way to make everything up to Derrick’s mom. But I couldn’t do that moping around on Derrick’s bed and feeling sorry for myself. My gaze caught on one of the peeling stars on Derrick’s ceiling, and my lips curved in a smile.
The best way to thank the sheriff right now was by doing exactly what she asked. Try the clothes on, make sure they fit, and act damned grateful doing it. As for Derrick, I had an idea.
Chapter 18: Derrick
Friday, September 16th
“HEY, MOM?” I walked down the short hall to her room, carrying a bag of random odds and ends she’d picked up at the grocery store. “Where did you want me to put this stuff?”
I pushed her door open and found Mom curled up against the wall, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.
“Mom?” I hovered in the doorway.
“Did you know?” Her voice sounded raw. “About Analia? Did you know she was—” She broke off, taking a sharp breath.
Somehow in all of this, I’d forgotten my mom grew up with Tess’s mother. Fairdealings was a small enough town that acquaintances made bigger ripples in your life than they should. Tess’s mom was significantly younger than mine, so they hadn’t been super close growing up, but they still went to the same school, hung out at the same haunts, and knew the same people. Heck, they’d been neighbors longer than Tess and I had been alive. “She told me last week.”
“Last week?” Mom swiped at her eyes and tried to compose herself. “Tess kept it from you for that long?” She took another deep breath and raked her hair back, sending it sticking up in all directions.
“Her mom didn’t want her to tell anyone.” I took a hesitant step into the room and crouched next to her, setting down the grocery bag. “I only found out after the thing with the hairbrush.”
Mom’s head snapped up. “What thing with the hairbrush?”
And Tess probably hadn’t told her that bit. Shit. “Uh . . . I think you should ask Tess—”
“Derrick. Tell me.”
Glancing up at the ceiling, I took a deep breath before I told Mom about the incident with the brush. As I spoke, I found myself sharing more concerns. Like the way Tess apologized whenever she heard the slightest bit of heat in someone’s voice. “She didn’t want me to say anything . . . but . . . her mom sounded insane. I really think she would have hurt Tess if I hadn’t stepped in.”
Mom’s voice sounded coarse when she spoke again. “Analia didn’t even pick Tess up from the hospital. How did I not see—?” She broke off again and looked at me with damp eyes. “How did I miss this?”
I glanced toward the door, hoping Tess couldn’t hear us. “I didn’t know how bad it was either. She didn’t say anything. She—”
Mom shook her head. “You’re a child, Derrick. This is my job. Analia . . . she’s never made the best choices, but she loves Tess. She tried, Derrick. So I helped where I could, and I told myself that was enough. I got so used to ignoring all the craziness people said about her that I brushed off their concerns. But this whole time, she was right there.” She jabbed a finger toward Tess’s house. “Dying. And I didn’t notice.”
“Mom . . .”
“Oh, God. Honey, I’m sorry.” She dried her eyes and climbed to her feet. “I can’t even imagine how stressful all of this must be for you, and here I am—”
“I’m fine.” I let her draw me into a hug, knowing she needed it more than I did. Her arms closed around me and squeezed tight as she wrestled for her composure.
When she pulled away, her eyes still lo
oked too bright. “You are so—” She ruffled my hair. “I love you, kiddo. Here.” She turned away and pulled open the top drawer of her nightstand and pulled out my car keys. “Why don’t you take Tess and go get dinner then do something fun for a while. Get your mind off all this for a bit. And later, if you need to talk . . .” She smiled. “Well, you know where I live.”
In other words, she wanted to be alone. I took the keys. “Thanks.”
“Oh, you’ll need money. Hang on, let me get my purse.”
I grabbed the grocery bag and followed her to the kitchen “You want me to bring something home?”
Mom’s lips twitched up in a guilty smile as she reached into the freezer and pulled out a pint of ice cream with a picture of a wine glass decorating the front. “I’m good.”
I grabbed a pizza out of the freezer and hit preheat on the oven.
“Even better.” She put the wine-cream back in the freezer for later.
“Ooh, is that pizza?” Tess walked into the kitchen.
I glanced at her and almost dropped the frozen pizza.
“It all fits,” she said meekly. She wore a dress that looked like a sweater with equally confused leggings and a pair of calf-length boots. It shouldn’t have looked as good as it did, but the clothes clung to her in ways that made me wish my mom wasn’t in the room.
“You look beautiful!” Mom’s voice sounded far too upbeat. “Doesn’t she look beautiful, Derrick? Does the fabric feel scratchy? I tried to get something soft, but sometimes it’s hard to tell if—”
“It’s not scratchy at all.” Tess looked at me in alarm when Mom wouldn’t meet her eyes.
I slid the pizza in the oven and crossed the kitchen to grab Tess’s hand and pull her toward the door. “See you, Mom.”
“Be safe!”
“Always.”
“What the hell was that?” Tess demanded the second we got in the car.
“That was my mom about to have a breakdown.” I backed out of the driveway. “It’s an election year, twenty-three teenagers were killed on her watch, and no one is happy she had to turn the case over. Then you’ve got Chris’s suicide, that freak accident with the ceiling fan, and the drunk driving accident up in Carbon Hill. People are starting to point fingers.” I’d seen enough comments online to know people were questioning why the boys were allowed out drinking in the woods in the first place. They blamed parents, coaches, teachers, and Mom for looking the other way when they “knew” these parties were going on. The whole town was a powder keg in search of a spark. “She’s put in over eighty hours this week, she just found out her friend is dying, and I’m about ninety percent sure that her random shopping spree happened right after she read the Kinlock Falls report.”
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