Phoebe chokes on her smoothie, and I pound her on the back. “Are you serious?” I ask while she coughs. Knox nods. “Like who?”
He spreads his hands wide. “Not sure. Sean, maybe? He was right there when it happened, and he gave me a concussion when I got too close. Maybe he wanted Brandon out of the picture so he could finally be top dog at Bayview, or something.”
“Huh.” I prop my chin in my hands and stare at a poster for Wicked on the wall, a bold graphic print of a green witch with a sly smile. I think about the conversation I had with Lucy Chen in the auditorium during the Into the Woods rehearsal, right after Knox quit the play. Everyone knows how to win this game by now, she’d said. Just take the Dare. And she was right. After seeing what happened to Phoebe and me versus what happened to Sean and Jules, nobody at Bayview High who’d gotten a prompt would have done anything except text back Dare. Especially someone as competitive and confident as Brandon.
Still—this is Sean Murdock we’re talking about. “I don’t know,” I say slowly. “Sean has always struck me as more of an in-your-face bully. Not to mention a short-term thinker. I can’t picture him setting up something this elaborate.”
Phoebe looks doubtful, too. “Your dad might’ve just meant that the construction company didn’t do their job properly. They went bankrupt, right? That’s probably because they’re bad at constructing things.”
“Entirely possible,” Knox says.
“They’re not done investigating the site yet, are they?” Phoebe asks. Knox shakes his head. “So maybe let your dad finish, and see what the final report says? The video’s not going anywhere. We can share it anytime.”
It all sounds perfectly reasonable—but there’s a little voice in the back of my mind urging me to turn PingMe back on. Just to keep an eye on any ongoing chatter related to the Truth or Dare game. I take my phone out of my pocket and reactivate the alerts, then jump when it rings in my hand. When I look down at the screen my heart nearly stops. Dr. Ramon Gutierrez.
“Oh my God, you guys.” My voice is low, strangled. “It’s my oncologist.”
“Do you want us to stay or go?” Phoebe asks.
“I don’t—” I can’t think.
Phoebe stands as my phone continues to ring, grabbing Knox’s arm to haul him to his feet. “We’ll give you some privacy but we’ll be right outside.” She circles me in a one-armed hug while simultaneously shoving Knox out the door. “It’ll be okay.”
My phone is still ringing. Oh God, it’s not. It stopped. I missed it. I stare at the screen until my phone locks, then unlock it with shaking hands and call back.
“Ramon Gutierrez’s office,” says a cool female voice.
I can’t talk. I should have asked Phoebe to stay.
“Hello?” comes the voice again.
“Um. Hi,” I croak. My palms are sweating so badly, I don’t know how I’m managing to hang on to my phone. “This…this is Maeve…” I lose my words again, but she catches enough.
“Oh, Maeve, of course. Hold on, I’ll put you right through.”
I slide my bracelet up and down my wrist, the smooth glass beads reassuringly cool beneath my clammy fingers. It’ll be okay, Phoebe said. Everyone says that, and sometimes they’re right. But I’ve lived years on the other side of okay. I’ve always expected that, sooner or later, I’d wind up there for good.
“Maeve Rojas!” I don’t recognize the hearty tone as Dr. Gutierrez’s at first. “I just got off the phone with your mother, and she gave me permission to reach out to you directly while she—well. She needed a moment.”
Oh God. What does that mean? But before I can torture myself with possibilities, Dr. Gutierrez keeps going. “I’m calling with good news. Your blood work is one hundred percent normal. Your white cell count is fine. I’ll speak to your parents about running further diagnostics if they want additional reassurance, but as you know, this particular test has not steered us wrong before. As far as I’m concerned, your remission is not compromised.”
“It’s not?” The words aren’t sinking in. I need him to say it a different way. “My leukemia isn’t back?”
“That’s correct. There is no indication in your blood work that the leukemia is back.”
I let out a deep, shuddering sigh as all the tension I’ve been storing up over the past month flows out of me, leaving me light-headed and boneless. My eyes fill and quickly spill over. “But the nosebleeds…and the bruises…”
“You do show signs of an iron deficiency, which is obviously not something we like to see in someone with your history. So we’re going to nip that in the bud with a vitamin prescription and more frequent check-ins. Also, I’d suggest you start putting Vaseline inside your nose twice a day. Your membranes are inflamed, which is exacerbating the issue.”
“Vitamins and Vaseline. That’s it?” The words slip out of me flat and numb, with none of the buoyant relief that’s fizzing through my veins. My mouth hasn’t caught up with my heart yet.
“That’s it,” Dr. Gutierrez says gently. “I’ll talk to your parents in greater detail about follow-up and monitoring. This was a frightening bump in the road, but in my opinion it truly is just that.”
“All right,” I manage, and then he says some other things but I don’t hear them because I’ve already dropped my phone into my lap and put my head in my hands so that I can full-on bawl my eyes out. Hinges squeak and I smell floral shampoo as Phoebe kneels on the ground and wraps her arms around me. Knox crashes into me from the other side.
“We eavesdropped. I’m sorry, but we’re so, so happy,” Phoebe chokes out.
I can’t speak enough yet to tell her Me too.
* * *
—
I need a few minutes by myself after the news. As much as I appreciate Phoebe and Knox being there, I’m relieved when they leave and let me pull myself together. I want to talk to my parents but the lunch bell is about to ring, so I send quick texts with a promise to call later. I already know what their reactions must be: so happy I’m not dying that they won’t even be mad at me for keeping them in the dark for weeks.
Which, I’m only starting to realize, is something I need to sort out if I’m ever going to truly move on from being the sick girl. For most of my life, I’ve gotten a free pass for the things I do wrong. Hardly anyone gives me a hard time or holds a grudge. Even Knox came around once leukemia reared its ugly head again.
It’s not a crutch I ever asked for, but I’ve been leaning on it anyway.
I send one final text to a number that I saved to Contacts instead of deleting like he’d suggested:
Hi Luis, it’s Maeve. I’ve been meaning to thank you for the video. It was helpful. Also, I’m sorry for what I said at Cooper’s game. I didn’t mean it. Not that this is any excuse, but I was having a bad day and took it out on you.
I really am sorry.
I’d like to talk more sometime, if you would too.
Then I drop my phone in my bag. It’s not enough, but it’s a start.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Phoebe
Thursday, March 26
The graffiti scrawled across the dividing wall next to the paper towel dispenser in the girls’ first-floor bathroom is brand-new, written in wavering blue ink. Phoebe Lawton is a total…Except I can’t read the last word, because somebody crossed it out with a black Sharpie. Thank you, unknown benefactor who is probably Maeve. Then again, no. She’d have covered the whole thing so I wouldn’t see my name.
My hands don’t even shake as I’m washing them. At this point, personalized graffiti in the bathroom is nothing. In the past few days I’ve gotten two more Instagram messages from Derek, cleaned up after my sister twice, and flunked a science test because I can’t concentrate in this hellhole. Plus Maeve keeps texting me screenshots of that forum she’s gotten obsessed with all over again, where somebody named
Darkestmind constantly yells WHERE ARE YOU BAYVIEW2020? Like it’s some kind of Missed Connections board for freaky loners.
Me? I’m just relieved that school is over for the day, and I can forget about Bayview High for a few hours.
I’m pulling a paper towel from the dispenser when the door opens, and a second later Jules appears. “Oh, hi,” I say, flustered. I haven’t talked to Jules since I watched the video Luis took from Sean’s phone. I barely see her at school anymore, unless you count all the times I’ve skulked past her hallway makeout sessions with Sean.
“Heyyy,” Jules says, her eyes flicking toward the graffiti. She doesn’t look surprised. I’d love to think she’s the one who halfheartedly crossed it out, because at least that would mean she still cares a little bit about me. But it’s just as likely that she wrote it in the first place, considering how far up Sean’s ass she is now. She’ll even lie for him—something I’d never have believed possible if I hadn’t seen the video with my own eyes.
I toss my wet paper towel in the wastebasket. “How’s Sean?”
Her mouth purses as she pulls out a tube of lip gloss and unscrews the top. “Don’t pretend you care.”
Watching her outline a perfect pout makes me acutely aware of my own dry lips. I pull a tube of Burt’s Bees lip balm from my bag, grimacing when I realize it’s coconut flavored. My least favorite. I swipe it across my mouth anyway. “He must miss Brandon, though.”
Jules’s eyes go flat as they meet mine in the mirror. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I shrug. “Nothing. I just feel bad for him.” Even to my own ears, the words sound fake. Sean hasn’t been acting like someone who lost his best friend. If anything, he’s swaggering around Bayview High more than ever.
Do you think there’s any possibility that somebody wanted Brandon to get hurt?
Knox asked that, and I brushed it off as too ridiculous to even consider. Still, Sean was standing right next to Brandon when he died, egging him on. Sean sounded shocked and terrified in that video, but let’s face it—he’s proved since then that he can play a part when he has to.
I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, and tug on my ponytail to tighten it. “Pretty scary to know it could have been any one of you, huh?” I ask.
“What?” Jules blinks at me, confused.
“Any one of you could have fallen through that landing. Since you were all going to take the same shortcut.”
Jules’s face is blank for a few seconds too long. She’s not a particularly good liar once you know to look for it. “Oh yeah,” she says finally.
“Just random chance that Brandon went first,” I add. I don’t know why I’m still talking, or what I’m hoping to get out of the conversation. Jules won’t confide in me. She picked her side a while ago. But there’s still part of me hoping to spot a crack in her armor, some sign that we could talk like we used to.
Hey, Jules, did you know that lying to the police could get you in trouble?
Don’t you think Brandon’s parents deserve to know what really happened?
Did you ever think your new boyfriend might be a sociopath?
“I don’t really like to talk about it.” Jules smacks her lips and drops the tube of gloss in her bag, then flips her hair over one shoulder and turns for the door. “I have to go. Sean and I have plans after school.”
“Me too,” I say. Her eyebrows shoot up. “I mean, I have plans too.”
Sort of. I’m working. But I’m bringing friends, so it counts.
Jules looks at me appraisingly. She knows my social options are pretty limited right now. “You and Knox?” she guesses. The disdain in her voice is clear enough that I know exactly what she’s implying.
I resist the urge to say It’s not a date. “And Maeve.”
Jules smirks and heads for the door, yanking it open. “Well, that sounds like a fun ménage à trois.”
I stomp after her, trying to marshal some kind of comeback, but as soon as she hits the hallway she’s engulfed in the octopus-like embrace of Sean Murdock. “Baby,” he growls, suctioning himself to her face. I skirt around them, my jaw clenched, suddenly wishing I’d tried to make the Nate thing happen while I had the chance.
* * *
—
Café Contigo is quiet for a Thursday, and by four o’clock most of the people in the restaurant are staff. Mrs. Santos, who’s making a rare appearance at the cash register, gestures me over when my only customer gets up to leave. Ahmed, the other waiter on duty, is leaning against the counter beside her, his eye on the table full of hip young Bayview moms sitting in his station with expensive strollers. They’re all wearing cute yoga clothes, their hair in carefully messy ponytails. The babies have been quiet since they arrived, but one of them has started to fuss.
“Hush, hush,” the baby’s mother says in a singsong voice, moving the stroller back and forth. “You’re okay, go back to sleep.” Ahmed looks wary, and I don’t blame him. I have five cousins under the age of three, and I know for a fact that as soon as one baby starts to cry the rest will join in solidarity.
“Why don’t you go ahead and clock out, Phoebe,” Mrs. Santos says. She’s tall and slender, with expressive dark eyes and elegant cheekbones. Luis gets his good looks from her. “Addy will be in at five, and Ahmed can handle the room until then.”
“Okay,” I say, starting to untie my apron.
Ahmed, still hovering beside Mrs. Santos with his eyes on the yoga mom table, asks, “Did you give Phoebe that thing, Mrs. S?” We both blink at him, and he clarifies, “The note?”
Mrs. Santos makes a tsk sound and shakes her head. “I completely forgot! My apologies, Phoebe. Ahmed said someone dropped this off for you earlier.” She roots under the counter and hands me a sealed envelope with my name scrawled across the front. “A young man. What did he say again, Ahmed?”
“That you were expecting it,” Ahmed says. The blondest yoga mom waves her hand to catch his attention, and he starts across the room toward her.
“Expecting what?” I ask, but he doesn’t hear me. I pull my apron off and stash it behind the counter, heading for the table where Knox, Maeve, and Luis are sitting. Luis is working, supposedly, but he’s been sitting and talking for the past hour. I could swear that every time I look over, his chair is a little closer to Maeve’s. She’s been looking especially pretty since she got her test results back, and today she’s wearing a fitted T-shirt with shimmery gold threading that brings out the honey color of her eyes. That unexpected clean bill of health has her practically glowing. Or maybe something else does.
I rip the envelope open as I walk, curious, and pull out a single sheet of paper. “Are you done for the day?” Maeve asks, but I only half hear her. My heart jumps into my throat as I read the words in front of me:
What’s with the disappearing act?
We need to talk.
Meet me at the gazebo in Callahan Park at 5:30 today.
DO NOT ignore this like you’ve been ignoring everything else.
What the hell? “Ahmed!” I call. He’s striding toward the kitchen at a rapid clip but pauses at my urgent tone.
“What?”
I wave the note. “Who left this?”
“I told you. Some guy.”
“But who?”
“He didn’t give his name. Just—a guy. He’s been here before.”
“What’s going on?” Maeve asks. I hand her the note. Her eyes scan the page and she inhales sharply. “Whoa. Who is this from?”
“I don’t know,” I say helplessly. The only person I’ve been ignoring lately is Derek, and I never imagined that actual stalking was his style. But then again, other than the most ill-advised ten minutes of my life in Jules’s laundry room during her Christmas party, it’s not like I’ve spent quality time with the guy.
I wave frantically at A
hmed, who’s trying to escape into the kitchen again. “Ahmed, wait! Could you please come here for a second?”
Maeve reads the note out loud to Luis and Knox as Ahmed approaches. Suddenly we’re all talking at once, tripping over one another. Finally Maeve raises her voice above everyone else’s. “Hang on. The guy who left this, you said he’s been here before?” She tilts her head questioningly at Ahmed, who nods. “What did he look like?”
“I don’t know. Standard white dude.” Ahmed shrugs. “Little older than you guys, maybe. Brown hair. Pale. Kinda tall.”
That’s Derek, Derek, and Derek. Which puts my mind slightly at ease. At least Derek is a known quantity, sort of.
Knox’s eyes get wide. “That sounds like…was the guy intense-looking?” he asks.
Ahmed frowns. “I don’t know what that means.”
“You know—focused. Serious,” Knox says. “Like he’s got a one-track mind.”
One of the babies at the mom table starts flat-out wailing, and Ahmed tugs at his shirt collar. “Look, I have to put in their order, okay? Be back in a minute.”
He hurries away and I turn to Knox, confused. “Why are you asking that?”
“Because that description Ahmed just gave reminds me of someone I’ve seen here before.” Knox turns to Maeve and taps her arm. “You remember that guy who came in a while back? The one who was a dick to Mr. Santos and kept asking about Phoebe? The one Luis and Manny chased off?”
“I’m sorry, what?” I burst out. “When did this happen?”
“I remember,” Luis says. “It was a few weeks ago, wasn’t it?” He leans back in his chair, arms folded, and Maeve sneaks a glance at him with color rising in her cheeks. She looks like she just completely lost track of the conversation. I’m tempted to snap my fingers in her face and remind her that she’s supposed to be worrying about me right now, not staring at Luis’s admittedly nice biceps. Priorities.
One of Us Is Next Page 21
