Chasing Truth

by Julie Cross

  “I can’t believe you did that,” he says. And he really does look shocked. “You’ll get in three times as much trouble tampering with evidence as you will getting caught with it.”

  I turn around and walk backward in front of him. “Or you don’t get caught, and…” I spread my arms out wide. “Ta-da! No trouble at all.” I tap a finger to my chin. “Yeah, I like that plan best.”

  I stop at the cafeteria doors. Miles takes a step in my direction, close enough that I smell soap or cologne or aftershave on him, something part mint, part clean. I fight off the urge to lean in even closer. The anger falls from his features, and he’s wearing a damn good poker face. “You know what I hate even more than drug dealers who don’t get caught?” he says.

  I scan him head to toe. “Wrinkles?” I suggest.

  “Really good liars,” he says, his face still set in neutral.

  I laugh and glance over my shoulder into the depths of the loud cafeteria. “Well, Miles Beckett, be prepared to have eight hundred enemies before the end of the school day.”

  I push open the door and gesture for him to walk through first, you know, ’cause he is the new kid in school and I’m the welcome wagon. He shoots me a glare but eventually walks past.

  “Save me a seat right beside you, buddy,” I call to his back. Then I lean against the door and release a gallon of tension all in one exhale. I thought Miles would be a pain in my ass, someone who might enjoy hitting one of my nerves every once in a while, but I hadn’t anticipated him being someone who might ruin me. And despite my escape just now, I doubt I’m in the clear.

  CHAPTER 5

  The knife stills in Aidan’s hand. “Miles definitely saw you with the drugs?”

  “Well, he says he did.” I snatch a slice of red pepper from Aidan’s cutting board and examine it. “What is this?”

  “It’s called a vegetable. I read about them in a parenting book.” He slides over a few feet to flip a grilled cheese on the stove. “Apparently if you don’t eat any, your teeth will fall out.”

  “Wait, you read a book?” I hop up onto the countertop, sitting beside the cutting board.

  Aidan rolls his eyes. “Skimmed it in the bookstore on my lunch break.”

  He works in several different government buildings in D.C. right now. I can assume if he’s in charge of a specific person (I’m not privy to that information), he gets stuck milling around the city with a politician or family member. Which I figured out is Aidan’s code for “lunch break.”

  “Miles was pretty set on turning me in, like it was his civic duty or something.” I toss the vegetable and snatch half the sandwich Aidan’s just dropped onto the cutting board. The cheese is gooey and hot when it hits my tongue. I chew quickly before speaking. “He even took the time to inform me that tampering with evidence is a greater crime than possession.”

  Aidan looks over at me, a brow lifted. “He actually said ‘tampering with evidence’?”

  “I know, right?” I point to the perfectly golden sandwich he’s preparing to drop onto the cutting board. “Put that back on and burn it a little.”

  “Burn it?” Aidan says and then he catches on—he’s good like that—and places it back in the pan.

  Harper is due home any minute. The last thing she needs right now is to have Aidan serve her a perfectly cooked meal. I grab the remaining half of the first un-burned sandwich. “Don’t worry, I’ll destroy the evidence.”

  Aidan rolls his eyes. “You could have just left things alone, you know.”

  I shrug. I know I could have. Probably should have. But seeing those guys walk past me, like they owned the world, the same way they had after inviting Simon to an exclusive cool kids party… Cody somehow became a less intelligent, stoned reincarnation of Simon.

  “I’ll go in and talk to Benson tomorrow. Just in case anything drifts his way,” Aidan says when I don’t respond.

  Cheese sticks to the roof of my mouth. “What are you going to tell him?”

  “The truth, most likely.” He sighs, then gives me his signature smile. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  I hop off the counter and glance out the sliding door to the balcony. Miles is outside by the pool. “Give me a few minutes to persuade the narc into silence before you go all righteous and visit the principal.” I hold a hand to my heart, pleading with him. “My social life is over if the other kids find out you’re friends with Benson.”

  He points his spatula at me. “Don’t do anything too crazy, okay?”

  “Too crazy?” I scratch my head. “You mean like hypnotizing him?”

  When I walk away, toward the bedrooms, Aidan calls, “What are you doing, Ellie?”

  “Just putting on that really tiny bikini of Harper’s,” I yell from my room. I check the battery on my cell: 10 percent. That’s enough, I guess. “You know, the one she wears when you guys sneak downstairs for midnight swimming.”

  I’m out of my room fast enough to see Aidan’s mouth close, whatever comment he had been about to utter fading when he sees me still in my school clothes. “Seriously, Ellie, think about letting it go next time. I mean, I get why you wanted to help, but what if they planted drugs on ten different kids? Are you going to flush all the bags?”

  The answer to that question is obviously no. How could I possibly know where and when and who?

  But while I’m walking down the steps, heading toward the pool, it occurs to me that I could destroy Bret and Dominic if I wanted. They wouldn’t even see it coming. All it would take is a little preliminary work—connecting with the source, gaining trust—and then I’d be in. And inside is the best way to know where and when and who. That would be a way better tribute to Simon than planting a tree.

  I shove aside the thought. For now. And focus on Miles, who looks up from his book when he spots me. “Hey, Ellie. Just the person I wanted to see.”

  That’s a surprise. I pull up a lawn chair beside his and sit down. “Can we talk about this morning?”

  His hair is less tidy now, his shirt untucked and pants pulled up above his ankles. “You mean you want to know if I’ve talked to anyone about your little drug habit?”

  “I told you already, I’m back on the wagon. Even went to a meeting this afternoon. A homeless man held me while I sobbed and confessed everything.”

  Mile plants his feet onto the concrete pool deck and angles himself to face me. “I hate your type.”

  I place my feet so they’re pointing at his. “What exactly is my type?”

  “Blurred lines, too much gray area,” he recites. “Someone who thinks she’s better than the law—”

  “You seriously need to lighten up.” I shake my head. What planet is this guy from? “You’re gonna end up stuffed in the Dumpster behind the gym. Imagine how wrinkled your pants will get.”

  “The type who can flip her hair,” he continues, ignoring my jab, “walk across the room in a tight dress, ask really nicely, and get what she wants.”

  I should be insulted. I don’t need a tight dress to get what I want. I can’t even remember the last time I wore a tight dress. I lean in closer, lowering my voice. “Does that mean you are going to tell on me?”

  “Not this time.” He looks me right in the eyes. “But I need a ride somewhere. Think you can help me out?”

  “A ride?” I reach into my pocket, pull out a handful of change, and hold it out to him. “The bus stop is two blocks west. That should cover you, round-trip.”

  Miles rolls his eyes. “I meant in a car.”

  “Aren’t you concerned about getting into a vehicle with someone under the influence?”

  He just looks at me.

  “I don’t have a car,” I tell him honestly.

  “What about Lawrence—Aidan?” he says. “Will he loan you his?”

  So they’re already on a buddy-buddy last-name basis? When did that happen? I know he moved in on Friday while I was at the dentist getting that god-awful root canal—thanks, Mom and Dad, for all the dental care you
didn’t provide me in my youth—then I came home, took my prescribed Vicodin, and went to sleep for several hours. All the male bonding must have happened then.

  “I don’t have a license,” I say, going with the truth again over yet another elaborate story. “Too scary. All those other cars plotting my demise.”

  Okay, so that last part is a lie. I’ve driven plenty in my lifetime. Just not in the legal sense, and Harper and I are trying to keep it legal now. Mostly. Obtaining a driver’s license is a bit difficult for someone without a birth certificate or social security card. But Aidan is working on that. Someday I’ll be legal. Not that I wasn’t born in America, I was. In Salt Lake City, to be exact. And what’s more American than Mormon Country?

  Miles looks disappointed by this. I can’t tell if my bus money is enough for him to keep his end of the deal. “Never mind, then.”

  “What about your caretaker? Too busy ironing your pants?” I say, glancing up at his apartment. I haven’t seen any adults in there, but he’s in high school, so someone must live with him.

  His forehead wrinkles. “Ironing my pa— I live with Clyde, and he doesn’t iron anything.”

  “And Clyde is…?” I prompt.

  “My uncle.” He looks up at the balcony and then back at me. “He travels a lot. For work.”

  “And he doesn’t leave you a car to drive while he’s gone?”

  His jaw tenses. “Apparently he doesn’t trust me enough to drive his car. And have you tried carting groceries on the bus? Not easy.”

  I stare at him for a beat and then turn around and yell up at Aidan through the open balcony door. “Hey, Ace! Miles needs a ride to the store!”

  Aidan pokes his head out and tells us to give him a couple of minutes.

  Then I turn to Miles. “There. Got you a ride.”

  “I could have done that myself,” he says.

  “But you didn’t,” I point out. I watch for signs of annoyance, but I’m impressed again with his poker face. “And did you say you were buying groceries? Is that how you and Uncle Clyde usually operate?”

  Miles shrugs. “Don’t know. I just moved in with him. And luckily it’s only for a semester.”

  “What happens after the semester?” I slip my shoes back on and then take a moment to admire the hotness in front of me. Maybe I can talk him into shirtless grocery shopping? Or taking a quick dip in the pool beforehand. “You get your own house?”

  “I go back home,” he says simply, like I should have known. I thought he was home.

  “To California? With your—”

  “Parents,” he says, his voice tense, his gaze drifting away from mine. “They’re…not in the country right now.”

  So his place in my neighborhood is only temporary. Maybe it’s for the best. Even though he is nice to look at.

  CHAPTER 6

  Aidan finished his shopping fifteen minutes ago and took off to run another errand, so now I’m stuck roaming the aisles with my new school buddy. I’ve never spent lengthy amounts of time in a grocery store, so I really don’t know what it is I’m supposed to do. Miles seems to, though. He lifts the largest package of toilet paper off the shelf and drops it into the cart.

  “Planning a digestive malfunction?” I ask.

  “You know what else I hate?” Miles rolls the cart forward, his attention now on bulk paper-towel packages. “People who comment on other people’s groceries.”

  I flash him a smile. “You really should have kept that to yourself, buddy.”

  He finally chooses his paper towels—twenty rolls—and moves on to the freezer aisles, where he stocks up on frozen peas. It’s hard to tell if he’s really into reading labels or making a big effort to ignore me. Regardless, I break the silence by questioning each item dropped into his cart.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer the store-brand cereal? It’s half price today.”

  He stares at me and moves on, putting three dozen eggs in the cart. Before I can open my mouth, he says, “They don’t really expire in two weeks. You can keep them for months.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that,” I tell him. “I’m impressed that you actually know how to cook eggs.”

  “Eggs and tuna casserole.” He grips a gallon of milk in each hand. “That’s all I know how to make.”

  “Tuna casserole…” I have no idea what that is exactly, but there’s something about it that sounds homey and warm. Stable. Something a stay-at-home mom would cook. Maybe I do get where Harper is coming from with the cooking stuff.

  But I’m too distracted by the voices on the other side of the aisle to bug Miles about tuna casserole. I peer through a space in the tall, long freezers and see Chantel Maloney and Justice Kimura. Two girls who are front and center in Bret and Dominic’s circle. Chantel supposedly dated Bret for most of ninth grade, and another one of their friends, Gwen, dated Bret last year.

  “Dominic said he’s staying on his yacht this weekend while his parents are in China,” Chantel says. “Want to blow off SAT prep class?”

  “You’re the one who’s gonna be murdered if you don’t get a fourteen hundred. You can’t cheat off Fat Matt on the SAT,” Justice says. “Plus I have field hockey tryouts.”

  My back is pressed against the freezer now, and Miles has stopped shopping and is watching me spy on our classmates. One of his eyebrows shoots up. Before he can speak, I grab his arm and yank him close enough to put a hand over his mouth. Then I feel Miles’s lips against my palm, and this impulsive move takes on new meaning. My stomach flips over; my heart quickens.

  “Ooooh, field hockey. I know who the assistant coach is this year,” Chantel teases.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Justice says, and they both laugh. “I need the ECs for college. It has nothing to do with Bret volunteering to coach.”

  “Right. We’ve all had our turn with Bret. Except you.” Chantel laughs again, this birdlike chirp that echoes through the store. I imagine her flipping her blond hair over one shoulder. “So, Dominic’s yacht? Saturday?”

  “I’m in,” Justice tells her. “But maybe we should invite Fat Matt. He was totally drooling over your ass in U.S. history today.”

  “God, gross. Holden really needs higher standards for applicants. The geek population is growing too fast.”

  Now I see how Justice and Chantel single-handedly sent fourteen freshman girls into the bathroom crying last year.

  Miles peels my hand from his mouth and gives me this look like I’d better not do that again. I mean, I wasn’t planning on it. I grab his cart and push it quickly down the aisle. He jogs to catch up with me. “What the hell was that?”

  “Oh, you know…girl stuff,” I say, and then sigh when I see his face. Not buying it. “Fine. If you must know, it’s about Bret and Dominic. I’m into them.”

  His forehead wrinkles. “Both of them?”

  Oh, right. Guess I have to pick one. Otherwise that would be weird. “Bret. I meant Bret.” I nod in the girls’ direction. “Apparently I have competition.”

  Miles shakes his head. “Maybe you should challenge her to a field hockey duel.”

  I stop and spin to face him. “That’s brilliant! Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “It was a joke,” he says, his jaw tense. “And Bret…he’s the douche with the red Mustang who nearly ran a girl over this morning?”

  Forgot we witnessed that together from the school bus window. Bret’s handshake with Senator Gilbert and planting drugs on an unknowing Cody Smith had quickly shifted my focus. “He has a really great car. And drugs. You know how I’m into drugs.”

  “He’s not your type,” Miles states. Then he takes the cart from me. Control freak.

  “He’s not, huh? Because you know me so well.” I place my hands on his shoulders, stopping him. “Think about it, Miles… You’ve been on the school bus. You might be out of here after a semester, but I’ve got nearly two more years of that. I’d be stupid not to put on a tight dress, as you so crudely pointed out, and get myself a rich boyfr
iend with a car. Not to mention his father being CEO of a Fortune 500 company. Hello, letters of recommendation.”

  The poker face returns, and then Miles pushes past me. “Good luck with that.”

  I stand there watching the back of his head, and I feel this tiny twinge of something…something new. I don’t like that he might have believed me. But wasn’t that the point? And now I’m jogging to catch up with him. I don’t like that, either.

  “Tell me what you’re really thinking,” I demand.

  Miles looks away from me. “What I really think?”

  I cross my arms and nod.

  “If you wanted drugs, you wouldn’t have flushed a bag full of them. And if you wanted someone like Bret, you’d already have him. You’re not the new kid anymore. So why him? And why now?”

  “It’s that easy?” I scoff. He’s smarter than I expected. “Even if I can’t afford a boob job like the rest of my competition?”

  For the tiniest fraction of a second, Miles’s gaze drops to my chest. He shifts his focus up quickly. I point a finger at him. “So you are into boobs. I was starting to wonder. Especially after you left the topless lady hanging the other morning.”

  “Why do you care what I’m into?” He can’t look at me now. Thirty seconds later, he mumbles, “Sorry.”

  At the check-out counter, Miles pulls an envelope from his wallet. It’s labeled: food money. Based on the stack of twenties I spot, he’s got at least five hundred bucks in that envelope.

  “Guess your uncle is gonna be out of town for a while, huh?”

  Miles eyes the envelope as if putting this together for the first time. “Guess so. But I’m not surprised.”

  After Miles loads up his many bags in the trunk of the car, we’re stuck leaning against it, waiting for Aidan. It takes me a few seconds to notice Aidan and his boss, Jack, are standing in the parking lot, just two rows away. Jack, short for his last name, Jakowski, is speaking almost loud enough for me to hear.

  I glance at Miles and nod toward Aidan and Jack. “I’m gonna go tell him we’re done.”