“Arlo and Lia went back to the lake house after you all left tonight,” I jump in, seeing Peyton’s guard down and wanting to press the advantage. “Arlo had it in his head to finish the fight he’d started with Fox, but they were too late. Lia says whatever he saw in the house freaked him out so badly that he drove them all the way to Burlington again before he was willing to talk about it.”
Peyton squeezes her eyes shut. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“Arlo saw what happened to Fox.” I spell it out. “And from what he told Lia, it sounds like it gave him the incredibly stupid idea to blackmail Fox’s killer. Long story short, we’re pretty sure that’s why he’s lying on his porch right now with a happy face carved into his neck.”
“Arlo sold drugs,” she points out, like I’m an idiot, but the muscles in her shoulders have gone stiff. “If he’s dead, it’s probably because of that.”
I narrow my eyes, taking in how tense she is. Peyton apparently really doesn’t want to believe that Arlo’s death is connected to what he saw at the lake house, and it seems pretty clear why. “There were six people at that party tonight, and only four of you are still alive; April was with the cops when Arlo got his ticket punched; and now Race wants you and Lia to meet him in the middle of a deserted park, a million miles from anyone who might hear you scream, at five thirty a.m. Any thoughts on that?”
I don’t even make it to the end of this little summary before a shudder crawls ineluctably up my spine. The obscuring closeness of fog lends an impression of intimacy to our little gathering, but we’ve got no idea what lies just past the thick scrim of vapor hanging in the air—or how far our voices are carrying. Where is Race, anyway?
Peyton steals my attention back, shaking her head again, lips clamped into a thin line. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Is that what Lia told you? That Arlo saw Race—?”
She can’t seem to finish the thought, and I save her from having to try. “She’s not sure what Arlo saw. But something tells me you are.”
Her face pales a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You and Race lied to us tonight.” I notice a flicker of something in her eyes. Doubt? Fear? “He said you two went straight from the party to his house, and you backed him up; but it was bullshit. We know you guys were fighting, we know you left South Hero separately, and we know you ran into each other at Silverman’s later—actually, not long before we came over to the Atwoods’ place to ask about April. Nobody knew Fox was dead yet, so why were you two already covering for each other, Peyton?”
“We weren’t,” she insists impossibly, her voice faltering.
“Stop lying!” Sebastian is as fed up as I am, his nerves equally strained.
“I’m not! I mean, I thought … I mean—” She breaks off, clapping both hands over her face, and a muffled sob emerges through her fingers. We wait her out again, resisting the heartstring tug of her emotional display, and eventually she pulls herself together. Thickly, she mumbles, “You just … you don’t understand.”
Sebastian shuffles his feet uncomfortably. “So explain.”
She looks up, peering from one of us to the other. “I wasn’t covering for him. Or, at least, at the time, I didn’t know that’s what I was doing. I thought … I thought he was covering for me. Okay?”
For a moment, it’s so quiet I can hear the water dripping behind me in the sightless depths of the picnic shelter. “What are you trying to tell us, Peyton?”
“You have to … you have to understand what happened between me and Fox, first,” she says beseechingly. “If you know Race and I were fighting, then I guess April probably told you about the video? Well, that whole thing wasn’t just some spur-of-the-moment attack of hormones, okay? Fox and I … it was sort of inevitable.
“Fox always had a thing for me—even back in middle school,” she continues, wrapping her arms around herself. “Our moms are best friends, so he was always around and … I don’t know. Eventually I developed a thing for him, too. Not a crush, but like … a thing. Like we kinda wanted to push each other down the stairs, and we also kinda wanted to make out at the same time.” She shrugs. “But, you know, Fox didn’t want anything unless he couldn’t have it—and there wasn’t anything Fox Whitney couldn’t have. Everything he ever asked for he just got, and he completely took it for granted.
“He was so used to being the best: the best looking, the best athlete, the favorite; and people fell all over themselves to please him, because everybody wanted him to like them—even adults. Even teachers sucked up to Fox.” The corners of her mouth tick upward in a thorny smile. “I was probably the one person he knew who didn’t kiss his ass, and it drove him up a wall.”
“Okay,” I say obligingly, marveling at the fantasy version of Peyton Forsyth that’s being described to me. As if Sebastian and I, and everybody else she’s ever met, haven’t watched her whole clique toady after Fox Whitney every single day since practically kindergarten, as desperate for his approval as the less popular kids.
“Fox’s big problem was girls.” Her tone is authoritative and cold. “I mean, beyond just the fact that he was a lying shit-sack who stuck his dick into anything he could, he had a problem when it came to girls—like a mental problem. Ask yourself something: What’s the one trait all Fox’s girlfriends have had in common?”
I eyeball this question over to Sebastian, because we’re talking about his friends here, and because my apathy regarding Fox Whitney’s love life—prior to finding my sister soaked in his blood, anyway—cannot possibly be overstated. My boyfriend shrugs, and guesses a theme at random. “They’re all hot?”
Peyton rolls her eyes. “They have no self-esteem. They’re just a bunch of thirsty hoes who threw themselves at him. They all knew his reputation for burning through girlfriends; they all knew they’d get tossed out like yesterday’s trash as soon as he got bored; but they begged for it anyway, because being Fox Whitney’s flavor of the month is still better than being nobody.” She looks right at me as she says it, daring me to defend April’s honor. “Fox loved it. All these girls worshiping him? He lived for it. He couldn’t date a girl unless she proved that she would completely debase herself if he told her to—but, of course, once she did, it was over. He’d be done, because he’d have lost all respect for her. I mean, how can you possibly respect someone who doesn’t even respect herself?”
“But you were different?” I predict, hoping to urge the narrative of this Very Special Episode along. Her account drips with the earnest self-importance of a reality show confessional, and it’s taking all my concentration not to roll my eyes.
“I wouldn’t play his game, and it pissed him off. Half of his ‘relationships,’ or whatever you want to call them, were just sad attempts at making me jealous. He seriously believed that, one day, I’d come crawling and begging for him like all his other conquests, because he’d literally never encountered a girl with an actual backbone before.” Peyton gives a complacent shrug. “So, to teach him a lesson, I started dating his best friend. I mean, truth is, Race and I have been together for almost a year now? But my real long-term relationship—maybe my only real relationship—was with Fox.”
“So what changed?” Sebastian interposes quietly, and Peyton’s lips purse.
“Me and Race. When you get down to it, that’s what changed. Maybe I only got with him in the first place in order to make some kind of a point, but…” She shrugs again, uncomfortably. “You know, Race and I actually make sense. We have a lot in common, our families know each other, and we have fun together. Usually.” Peyton shifts, rubbing her forehead. “I think Fox started to realize that I was getting … you know, serious about my boyfriend. That the triangle was finally turning into a real triangle, for once. And he couldn’t deal.
“He started dating April, and he really tried rubbing my nose in it, but I honestly couldn’t be bothered anymore. I ignored him. And when that didn’t work…” She looks down at her feet, he
r shoes wet from the slippery grass. “One day, totally out of the blue, he was just a complete ass to me at school, and we had our first actual fight in years. Next day, Friday, he comes up to me, tail between his legs, and says, like, ‘I’m sorry I’ve been a dick lately, but there’s something kind of important going on and I need to talk to you about it.’ He wanted me to come over after school. I was supposed to hang out with Race, but I’d never seen Fox so … so actually needy before, so I said yes. I made up some stupid excuse to get out of my plans, and then after cheer, I went to the Whitneys’.”
She keeps her eyes down, words rushing out of her mouth like she’s trying not to taste them. “Turned out Fox wanted to talk about us—our ‘thing.’ And he said all the stuff I’d been wanting to hear for years: how he was pretty sure he loved me, but had been too scared to admit it; how he was crazy jealous of Race; how it scared the shit out of him that I might actually be happy with another guy.” Peyton glances up, tears in her eyes. “His parents despise each other; it’s why he’s so fucked up about relationships. All Mr. and Mrs. Whitney do is fight, but they won’t get divorced because they’d rather be miserable than admit failure. Their marriage is just one big power struggle, and Fox grew up thinking that’s how it was supposed to be—that the point of a relationship is control.”
“Is this going somewhere?” Sebastian finally asks, evidently as exasperated by Peyton’s dramatizing as I am.
“Yes, asshole,” she snaps ferociously. “He told me he loved me! He told me he wanted to be with me, and he didn’t care about the consequences. He actually fucking cried. So … so I let him take me up to his bedroom, and—”
“And we’ve already heard about the video, so let’s skip ahead,” I suggest quickly.
“I avoided Race Saturday and Sunday, trying to figure out how the hell I was going to tell him we had to end things because Fox and I wanted to be together.” Peyton sounds more subdued now, but something dark embroiders her tone. “Fox texted all weekend, too, saying how he couldn’t wait to see me again, how everything was going to be different. And then I got to school on Monday, and…” Her voice falters, and she looks up at the sky, swallowing. “And the second he saw me, he jammed his tongue down April’s throat and started groping her ass. Right in front of me. And he leered at me over her shoulder, with this shit-eating grin, like he was so fucking proud of himself. He was gloating.”
Unhappily, Sebastian ventures, “You mean—?”
“I mean that he fucking played me,” Peyton snaps so hotly I’m surprised the fog doesn’t burn off around us. “I mean that it was all bullshit—every last word! He’d finally figured out which buttons to press so I’d roll over for him, and that’s all he’d ever cared about. Everything he’d told me was a lie, and he wanted me to know it; he needed me to know that I’d let him turn me into just another meaningless notch on his fucking belt. I’d thought we had this twisted mutual respect, all Cruel Intentions and shit? But no. Fox never respected me. And he wanted to make damn sure I couldn’t respect myself anymore, either.” Viciously, she scrubs the tears from her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Screw you.” Her hostility is reflexive. “Like you actually give a shit.” She drops her defensive posture, though, shoulders slumping wearily. “Anyway, after a week of this crap, Fox comes up to me in the hall again and says, dead serious, ‘My parents are gonna be out late, so why don’t you come over again?’ I might have blacked out for a second, I was so outraged—like, I was this close to frying his balls with my stun gun when he finally tells me about the video. He said…” She squeezes her eyes shut, and her breath catches. “He said … ‘You’re gonna cancel your plans and come over to my house again, Peyton, or I’m gonna make sure Race knows what a fucking slut you are.’ So I had to. I didn’t have a choice.”
More water drips behind me, and the distant sound of a passing train clacks and whispers in the air. Sebastian looks horrified. “Peyton…”
“Save it. The point is, he had something on me. He could have ruined my whole life whenever he wanted to—gotten my boyfriend to dump me, turned my friends against me, my parents—and you can bet your ass he’d have been happy to do it. He knew he could get away with anything, and that without my friends and my … my status, I had nothing. I was nothing.” Peyton sniffles loudly. “He had me on the hook, and for weeks I was just his on-call whore. He made me say things and do things…”
She seals her lips together, like she can’t bear to go on, and my skin crawls just thinking about what she’s described. “You must have hated him.”
“You’re damn right I hated him.” Her answer is prompt and savage. “I wanted him to fucking die, and I’m not sorry at all that he did. I wanted to kill him myself—tonight—when I found out he’d been showing that disgusting video to his disgusting, perverted friends!”
“I don’t blame you.” I mean it, too. We seem to be closing in on the heart of the matter at last, but the picture before me isn’t wholly clear. Is all this the build-up to a murder confession? Peyton had more reasons to loathe Fox than I ever imagined, but pieces of the puzzle remain missing. I still can’t understand what’s going on with Race. Why did he lie for her, and why did he set up this bizarre meeting in the first place?
“I didn’t even get to hit him.” Peyton’s hands knot into fists. “Fox, I mean. April coldcocked me, all hell broke loose, and then I was running out of the house before I even knew what was happening. When Race finished trying to pound Fox into the floor, I was sure he was coming for me next, but he’d barely even look at me. He just got in his car and took off. I was afraid to follow him, but I was terrified not to, so as soon as Lia said she’d made sure April wasn’t gonna call the cops, I went after him.”
“And what happened?”
“I never caught up.” She shakes her head dismally. “He was going too fast—I’m not even sure I ever saw his taillights. I was crying so hard I could barely breathe, though, and somewhere on the way back to town I just … snapped. I just snapped.”
“Peyton…” I step forward, mist threading around my arms, slipping through the ventilated fabric of the lacrosse jersey. “What did you do?”
Her eyes are glassy and wet, her chin trembling, and it takes several tries to force the words out. In a squeaky whisper, though, she finally manages. “I burned down Fox’s house.”
26
The fog seems to constrict, drawing in closer, and the three of us just stand there like a taxidermy display. I’ve been an idiot. “You … You’re the one who torched the Whitneys’ house?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Peyton sobs helplessly. “I was so upset I couldn’t think straight! All I wanted to do was teach him a lesson. It was … Thanks to him, everybody knew my secret, and I wanted to make sure everybody knew his secrets, too! His parents just ignore all the shit he gets up to, and I wanted to do something they couldn’t pretend not to notice anymore; I wanted to make sure that Fox would finally be held accountable for all the things he’s done!”
“So you burned down his house?” Sebastian stares at her, aghast.
“It was an accident!” she screeches. “I just … I busted a few windows and spray-painted some stuff on his door. That’s all I meant to do. That was the plan. I mean, I didn’t even have a plan, but that’s all I was thinking.”
“‘Liar, cocksucker, drug dealer, rapist,’” I recite.
Peyton gives me a startled look, but then she nods slowly. “Yeah. I wanted it all big as life, so his parents couldn’t avoid it, so they’d have to ask Fox to explain himself.” Swallowing hard, she continues in a tremulous voice, “But then I started thinking, you know, what if he had the door painted over before they got back from New York? He had enough money that he could easily find some guys willing to do a last-minute job, even on a holiday. And then I thought, maybe I could write it on the lawn—like, burn it into the grass? Then there’d be no way he could hide it.
“So that’s what I did.
I spelled stuff in the grass with a gas can I keep in my trunk and I lit it up, and then I just—I don’t know!” She tosses her hands out. “I must’ve, like, the gasoline must’ve dripped or something, because the fire just went everywhere, and I’d left the can in the driveway, and it fucking exploded! The garage went up just like that, and it was, I mean, the whole thing was burning, just like that!
“So I took off. I was so freaked out that all I could think to do was pretend it had never happened. I changed my clothes, I washed every part of me that smelled like gas, and I went straight to the diner, thinking … I don’t even know. That if I could act normal enough, nobody would think I could be behind what happened to Fox’s house.”
“And then Race showed up.”
“I wouldn’t let him get away that time. I chased him to the sidewalk, and I begged him to hear me out; he didn’t want to, but this time I followed him all the way home, and I made him listen to me. I told him the whole story—even what I’d done to the Whitneys’ house. He was so pissed, he’d barely even look at me. He just sat there.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I needed him to know how sorry I was. How much I’d already paid for trusting Fox.” The sound of the train dies away in the distance, the rhythmic clacking dissipating into nothingness. “I was so sure he was going to turn me in, but then you guys showed up, and he told you we’d both gone straight back to his place after the party. I couldn’t believe it.”
“You didn’t arrange that in advance?”
“No! I was shocked when he said it. I thought … When he lied, I thought it meant he’d forgiven me. I thought, at the very least, it meant he still wanted to protect me, and that maybe we still had a chance.” She rakes her fingers through her hair, blond curls writhing like snakes. “But you guys kept asking questions I was really afraid to answer, so I left; and I kept texting Race, trying to thank him—trying to see if he still wanted to be together—but he never wrote me back. Not once. Not until a little while ago.”
White Rabbit Page 25
