The Liar Society

by Lisa Roecker

  As they shook hands, Mr. Farrow’s eyes wandered and landed directly on me.

  “Ah, yes, Naomi,” Mr. McAdams said. “I received the email about her being out this week. I’ll meet you in the office with her assignments.”

  Mr. Farrow smiled, exposing two rows of straight, white teeth. “Great. I’ll be down in a few minutes. I just need to grab some books from her locker.”

  As I attempted to sneak out of the classroom, I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. “We’ve missed you at the matches, Kate.”

  Mr. Farrow’s eyes bore down on me, and for one ridiculous second I felt like he was reading my mind. Maybe that was one of the skills they taught at Harvard Business School. “I miss it too.” I flashed him a rueful smile. It was the truth.

  “Do you mind showing me the way to Naomi’s locker?”

  My eyes widened a bit, and I had the sudden urge to shout, Ding, ding, ding! My mind flashed back to Grace’s email: The truth is with the benefactor. Not only did I have the opportunity to ask Mr. Farrow some questions, but I’d also get a glimpse inside Naomi’s locker. This had to be a sign from Grace.

  “No problem, Mr. Farrow. Just follow me.”

  We made our way down the hallway and saw a few students arriving at their lockers to gather books for first period.

  “Is everything okay with Naomi?” I asked, unsure how to begin my interrogation.

  “Oh, yeah, absolutely fine.” He looked around the halls. “Can you keep a secret?”

  I nodded my head. Not bad. Ten seconds of conversation, and Mr. Farrow was already telling me secrets.

  “Naomi’s actually attending Chris Evert’s tennis camp, which starts tomorrow. We were able to get her in at the last minute, but with my being on the board, it wasn’t the best reason to miss three days of school. So we went with tonsillitis instead.”

  I smiled and tried not to look disappointed. Did I really think he was going to tell me that Naomi stayed home from school because she felt guilty about her involvement in Grace’s death?

  “Oh, good. Glad to hear she’s okay.” I searched my mind for a way to get him talking about Grace, anything aside from tennis camp.

  “Has the board made any decisions about further memorials for Grace?” I tried to ask casually, but when Mr. Farrow’s features softened, I knew I’d failed miserably. I needed information, not pity.

  “It’s got to be tough for you, Kate. I forget how close you and Grace were.” He hesitated a minute and again looked around the halls as if he wanted to make sure we weren’t overheard. “The truth is, we’re going to rebuild the chapel as a memorial for Grace, and the Farrow family has decided to donate the funds. This is just between you and me. The official announcement won’t come from the board for another few weeks, but you deserve to hear it first.”

  I wasn’t sure how to react to the news. On one hand it was generous, but on the other it seemed calculated somehow. As if the Farrow family was paying some kind of debt.

  “Wow…that’s just…wow,” I managed to stammer, articulate as ever.

  “I know this is hard for you, Kate. But we all need to move on.”

  I slowed in front of Naomi’s locker and felt grateful for having something to say.

  “Here we are!” I said, doing my best cheerleader impression to mask my suspicion.

  Mr. Farrow consulted a scrap of paper and began turning the combination lock. After a few spins and murmurs he tried to open the locker, but it was still stuck.

  His phone began to ring. “Excuse me, Kate. I’ve got to take this. Do you mind taking over?” He handed me the scrap of paper with Naomi’s combination scrawled across it.

  “Uh, okay. I’ll just gather the stuff you’ll need.” But he’d already made his way toward a quiet corner of the hallway. I looked up to the ceiling, said a quick thank-you to Grace, wherever she was, and got to work.

  Ever so casually, I snaked my hand inside the locker trying to find something, anything that could help me decode Grace’s email. I found a few energy-bar wrappers, an old piece of gum, and even our tennis-team picture, but nothing about Grace. I had just about given up when I heard the tinkle of something metal hitting the ground at my feet. I scanned the ground and saw the glint of something small and silver.

  Good things really do come in small packages. I wound the necklace with the tiny charm of the crest through my fingers and smiled. It was identical to the one Cameron had left me with Grace’s invitation. And all the evidence I needed to confront Naomi.

  When I heard Mr. Farrow’s heavy footsteps, I grabbed Naomi’s Chemistry book out of the locker.

  “Sorry about that, Kate.” He took the book from my hands and bent to pull the rest. “Thanks for all your help.” He winked at me and shut the door of the locker.

  “No problem, Mr. Farrow,” I replied with the same goofy smile stuck on my face. “Tell Naomi to have fun this week.”

  “Will do. You take care of yourself, okay?”

  I nodded and gave the tiny charm in my hand a squeeze.

  I wasn’t sure who the emails were really coming from, if Grace was still somehow alive or even a ghost. I wasn’t even sure if I’d ever hear from her again.

  But I did know one thing for certain—someone was looking out for me.

  I raised my eyes to the ceiling again and smiled.

  Chapter 23

  I grabbed my bag and made my way to the nearest girls bathroom. Once I was safely tucked into one of the stalls, I powered on my phone and called Naomi. She answered on the first ring, sounding worried.

  “Kate? Everything all right?”

  “Oh, yeah, um…sort of. But I really need to talk to you. I just saw your dad, so I know you’re leaving, but do you have time to meet before you go?” I heard the bathroom door open and shut, and some girl who sounded disturbingly like Beefany asking someone else if her shoes made her legs look fat.

  “I don’t know,” Naomi was saying. “I still have to pack, and it’s not like you can just ditch school…”

  “Come on,” I whispered. “It’s really important. Plus I have fifteen minutes till first bell.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll meet you at the tennis courts. I’ll tell my mom I want to get one last round of practice in before my flight this afternoon.”

  “Perfect! I’ll see you there.”

  As promised, Naomi pulled up a few minutes later. I curled my hand into a fist, hiding her charm deep within the folds of my palm.

  “Hey,” she said, walking toward the weathered bench I sat on.

  Naomi wore a pair of low-slung jeans with a pristine white button-down set off by a chunky, beaded gold necklace and a pair of gold ballet flats. Her outfit probably cost more than my entire wardrobe combined. It was hard to imagine someone who looked this good setting fire to the school chapel.

  “Thanks for coming. I’m guessing you didn’t tell your mom you were coming to play tennis?” I squeezed my fingers tighter, suddenly nervous.

  “Yeah, my mom vetoed that idea. I told her I forgot my lucky tennis dress in the locker room.”She plopped down next to me on the bench. “So what’s up?”

  I opened my hand and showed her the charm. “I found this in your locker.” I watched Naomi carefully for her reaction.

  Her eyes got a little bigger, and she looked at me and then looked away. “That’s weird. I’ve never seen it before. What were you doing in my locker anyway?”

  “Helping your dad get your books for the week,” I answered, looking her straight in the eye. “What does it mean, Naomi? I know it has something to do with what happened to Grace.”

  Naomi made a grab for the charm, but I closed my hand around it again. She wasn’t getting off that easily.

  “Tell me the truth, and I’ll give it back.”

  “It’s not my truth to tell.” Naomi reached out her finger and traced the letters “G+C 4 EVA” that were carved into the back of the bench. She finally looked up at me. “If I tell you something about that night, will you give it b
ack to me?”

  “Depends.”

  She looked back down at the ragged-looking heart and the letters trapped inside and sighed. “I saw something the night of the fire. I was supposed to be at the chapel, but I was late, and by the time I got there…it was….” She shook the thought away and looked up at me again. Her striking eyes were desperate, begging me to understand.

  “I had no idea Grace was in there. I…I saw someone running away. A boy in jeans with longish dark hair. All I really saw was the back of a Rolling Stones T-shirt. You know, the one with the tongue hanging out? “

  “That describes about 90 percent of the boys at our school.”

  “I know…just…that’s all I can say, okay? It’s more than I should have said…” She looked around, almost like she expected to get caught.

  “So you got an invitation too?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

  “Wait here.” She ran back to her car, opened the passenger-side door, and sat on the seat with her long legs hanging out. Once she found what she was looking for, she rushed back over to me.

  “Here,” she said, holding out an invitation. It was identical except for the picture. Hers was in the upper right-hand corner. “I hope it helps.”

  I opened my book bag and pulled Grace’s invitation from the pocket. I placed the two side by side, but until I moved them diagonally, the pictures didn’t meet. When the two cards touched at the corners, they formed half of the crest. Looking at it now, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t see that before.

  “Is it Grace’s?” Naomi whispered.

  “Yes.” I shuffled the cards together and put them back in the pocket of my bag.

  Naomi stared into the woods. “If you tell anyone, I’ll lie and say you stole it.” The air between us shifted a little. “And trust me, you don’t want my friends as your enemies.” She pushed back the cuticle of her thumb. “You’re close. Probably too close.”

  “Who else was there that night?”

  Naomi sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “You know I can’t tell you that. But I promise they didn’t have anything to do with Grace’s death.”

  “Please…” I was ready to start begging, but Naomi just shook her head and stood to leave. She hesitated before getting back into the car, but she didn’t say another word.

  Looking down at the cards on my lap, I knew without a doubt my missing invitation would have filled in another corner of the crest. But who had the fourth piece?

  Chapter 24

  That evening, my parents were working late as usual. I used the twenty dollars they left on the counter to order my favorite Pad Thai. I’m not sure if it was the peanut sauce, the solitude, or maybe the small charm of the crest I’d been staring at all day, but I was feeling sorry for myself.

  I dragged my desk chair over to my closet and pulled down another box of Grace memories. As part of my healing process, Dr. P. had prescribed packing away all of the things that most reminded me of Grace. Theoretically, that was supposed to curb my obsession with her death. But in reality I just fixated on the boxes stacked in neat rows at the top of my closet. Thanks for that, Dr. P.

  The second I lifted the lid, I smelled her. The scent was a mixture of Johnson’s Baby Shampoo (she swore by it) and vanilla, essential Grace. Tank tops, sweaters, T-shirts, dresses, even a pair of jeans were folded in the tub, all of them belonging to Grace. Well, at least they used to.

  We’d shared clothes constantly, Grace borrowing the outfits she wished her mom would let her buy, me borrowing the ones Grace cast aside, many still with tags. I pushed my hand to the bottom, gently lifting my favorite piece. It was her orange cashmere sweater. Grace had given it to me to wear to one of our eighth-grade dances.

  “It’ll look better on you,” she had said. Grace was as impulsive with her gifts as she was with everything else in her life. “Make your eyes pop.” I had doubted it at the time, but on the night of the dance, with the orange reflecting onto my face and my skin practically glowing, I had never felt prettier.

  Pulling the sweater on over my T-shirt, I shut my eyes and imagined away all of the heartbreak and sadness of the past year. And as if on cue I heard the ding of the new-email sound from my laptop.

  I knew it would be from her before I even opened my mailbox.

  To: KateLowry@pemberlybrown.edu

  Sent: Tues 9:03 PM

  From: GraceLee@pemberlybrown.edu

  Subject: Re: (no subject)

  The writing is on the wall.

  Look into the heart of Brown.

  Our time is almost up.

  They’re coming for you.

  My stomach twisted as I read and reread that last line.

  They’re coming for you.

  I still didn’t know who “they” were; I wasn’t even sure if it mattered anymore. What mattered was uncovering the truth.

  My eyes drifted back to my box of memories. Guess Dr. P. was right. It was time to put the past behind me. I slid the sweater up and over my head, carefully folding the material and placing it back into the box. As much as I cherished all of my memories of Grace, they weren’t going to bring her back. But figuring out what really happened that night just might.

  Chapter 25

  The heat had finally broken, making it the perfect fall morning, but I was too tired to appreciate the weather. Instead of sleeping, I had spent the entire night rereading Grace’s email and checking the lock on my window.

  Between bites of toaster pastry, Seth chattered about the new neighbors being secret agents. He couldn’t say for sure whether they were working for the CIA or for Russia, but apparently he’d seen both of them sneak out of the house late at night wearing earpieces.

  I was 99 percent sure they were trapped in a loveless marriage and using Bluetooth headsets to make late-night booty calls, but instead of bursting Seth’s secret-agent bubble, I stuck with “ahhing” and “hmming” my way through the conversation.

  My mind was elsewhere, and I could not turn it off. One line from Grace’s email played over and over again.

  Look into the heart of Brown.

  Did some rule force ghosts to speak in riddles? Why couldn’t Grace just tell me what the hell was actually going on?

  I’d already Googled my butt off trying to find out something, anything about the “heart of Brown.” Clearly the reference was to the old boys school and most likely involved one of the three Brown buildings that still dotted the perimeter of the upper school’s campus.

  But I was fairly certain the buildings were used for storage, and I knew for a fact they were locked. Even if I did manage to figure out the right building and get inside, how was I supposed to know what I was looking for?

  I was left with only one choice.

  “Seth.” Apparently he was enjoying the conversation he thought he was having with me, because he didn’t hear me interrupting him. “Seth.” This time I elbowed him. He rubbed his ribs and finally stopped talking and actually looked at me. “What do they use the old Brown buildings for?”

  He needed a second to process my seemingly off-topic question. I could almost hear the gears in his brain working.

  “Storage, mostly. At the end of every school year, teachers weed through the department closets and haul old sets of textbooks, outdated student files, and other random junk down there. Why?”

  “I just have an art project about Brown’s architecture and wanted to check them out.”

  “I can get you in. I’ll walk you over. Just meet me at the office after ninth period.”

  I leaned my head against the cool window. I didn’t have the energy to think about what a field trip to the old buildings would be like with Seth buzzing in my ear. As I stepped off the bus, I wondered why this couldn’t be easier. Why couldn’t I run across campus right now and throw open the door to the heart of Brown and find Grace’s big, fat clue staring me in the face?

  For one, I couldn’t skip anymore classes. I had suffered through two days of morning detention (one o
f the days alone with Mr. McAdams—apparently there wasn’t a law against that if the door was left open, which thankfully it was), and I was already on Headmaster Sinclair’s shit list. Not to mention my parents who were on the brink of giving Dr. P. consent to use shock therapy to zap the Grace obsession right out of me. Worse (and about five thousand times scarier), I seemed to have someone on my trail. Someone comfortable using threats to get what he wanted.

  So instead of booking it over to Brown, I mentally explored the edges of campus, searching for imaginary clues as I navigated the maze of hallways to my locker. After screwing up my combination three times, I stopped and focused on the numbers. When a voice said, “Hey, Kate,” I jumped, yanked my locker open, and slammed the metal door into my head—in that order.

  Liam.

  “Holy…” I threw my hand to my chest, covering my pounding heart.

  “Oh, I…didn’t mean to scare you. Just wanted to say hi.”

  I turned back to my locker without even acknowledging his presence. Did he really think he could humiliate me in front of Beefany and then show up at my locker to flirt a few days later?

  “Oh, so you’re allowed to talk to me now? Bethany won’t get pissed?”

  He blushed, and I felt myself waver just a little bit. God, why was it so cute when boys blushed?

  “I…well…it’s a long story. I just…I don’t know. It’s not like that…anymore.” He looked down, suddenly fascinated with one of his shoes.

  “Could’ve fooled me.” I grabbed my English Lit book and slammed the door to my locker shut.

  “Yeah, right,” Liam said, turning away from me. “But enough about Bethany. Um…” He met my eyes for a second but then glanced back down at his shoes. “Do you think maybe we could, like, hang out sometime? If concerts aren’t your thing, we could grab a coffee again or something.”