by Angel Lawson
There’s a pile of fruit on the counter and a bottle of protein powder. He drops them all into the blender and turns it on, the shrill whirring overtaking the room as I walk past him to the refrigerator.
He shuts it off and says, “Want some?”
I turn away and see him pouring two glasses. I shake my head. “I’m good.”
He frowns. “You look like hell, son.”
I eye the bruise. “Yeah you do, too.”
He takes a gulp of his smoothie and then places it on the counter. “Look, Ez, it’s time for this to stop. We’re family. We live together. It shouldn’t be a war zone.”
“Then stop acting like a fucking general. I’m not a solider here to jump at your every command.”
“Obviously. You’ve never done one thing I asked you to do.”
“I played football. I cleaned up. I’ve focused on improving my grades.” I shake my head. “None of those things were in my plan for my senior year. I was pretty happy with my life before that.”
“Getting high and sleeping around.”
“It works for you,” I snap back.
He runs his hand through his hair, once dark like mine but now scattered with gray. It doesn’t detract from his looks, which is probably why girls like Rose are attracted to him.
“I’m trying here,” he says. From the pained look on his face I think he means it—even if it’s not remotely true. “I want things to get better. I’m just not sure how.”
“Maybe starting with the truth would help.”
He throws his hands up. “Shoot. What do you want to know?”
Were you fucking Rose Waller? Were you her Sugar Daddy? Did you send the flowers and lingerie to Kenley? Did you have anything to do with Rose’s disappearance?
Question after question runs through my mind, but my father is the master of lies. He’s built a career on manipulative talk and double speak. If I reveal that I know any of this, he’ll turn the tables on me and it may put Kenley in more danger.
But I have to ask something.
“How long were you cheating on Mom?”
He blinks. “Your mother and I—”
“Stop. I said I wanted the truth. Can you even answer that? How long did you cheat on Mom? From the beginning? From before I was born?”
“Fidelity isn’t my strong suit, Ezra.”
I shake my head. “I knew you couldn’t do it. You can’t answer one goddamned question.”
Finished with this pointless conversation, I head out of the room. There’s one difference though. I’m determined to find out what my father is hiding and exposing him to the world.
24
Kenley
My hope is that if I give Ezra a little time to reconsider, by Monday morning he’ll be ready to talk about this. That after a little space we can work out what’s really going on, but when he slides into his seat for AP Lit and keeps his eyes focused ahead, I realize that’s not going to happen.
I hear Ozzy say behind me, “Hey man.”
From the corner of my eye I see that Ezra only nods in reply.
Finn walks in just before the bell and assesses the situation quickly. His jaw is clenched tight when he sits down.
I sigh and sink into my seat, trying my hardest to focus on Mrs. Gimple and not how my world is imploding around me. I’m barely paying attention when she announces, “For the remainder of class, I want you all to break into groups and break this section of the book into three central points.”
This happens a lot and we always form a quick foursome—Ozzy is in high demand to be in all groups. Today though, as we shift our desks, Ezra stands and walks up to Mrs. Gimple. I’m not sure what he says, but a moment later, he exits the room.
“What the hell?” Ozzy asks, watching him go.
In a flash, I’ve made a decision and stand. “I’m going after him.”
“Now?” Finn asks.
“Yeah, now.”
I walk to Mrs. Gimple’s desk. “Can I have a hall pass.”
“I just let Ezra go. Can you wait?”
I lean forward. “I think my period just started.”
She nods. “Go ahead.”
I dart from the room. If I’m going to have to live with the annoyance of monthly bleeding, I may as well get some extra mileage out of it.
With a glance back at the guys, I head out of the room and into the hall. I look both ways, but the hallway is empty. To the right is a dead end, so I turn left. As I near the bathrooms I see the men’s door quietly close.
I stand in front of it, take a deep breath and push the door open.
The sound of someone peeing echoes in the hard-tiled room. And I almost bolt, but if it’s Ezra, I don’t want to miss a chance to make him talk to me. I wait until they finish and peer around the corner. Ezra’s standing at the urinal, zipping up his jeans. I’m standing in the entry right as he turns. He laughs darkly.
“I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“What? That I want to talk to you so bad I’d follow you in here?”
“Perseverance will be your downfall, babe.”
He walks over to the sink and hits the soap dispenser, then washes his hands. I move over against the window and lean against the radiator. “Please talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“I don’t believe that—this has something to do with your dad and what we found at that apartment. I know you’re upset. I would be too, but that’s not a reason to—” I swallow, “dump me. There may be a reason. Maybe it’s not so bad. Together we can figure it out.”
His jaw tics and he shuts off the water, reaching for a paper towel. He doesn’t say anything while he dries his hands. My heart hammers in my chest, distressed by his silence. I don’t know what I thought I could talk him into. Taking me back? Saying it was a mistake? Confessing what’s really bothering me?
This is Ezra Baxter we’re talking about. Defiant loner. What did I really expect?
Not what comes out of his mouth.
“I do need you to do something for me.”
Anything. “What?”
“Leave all this with my dad and his friends alone. You solved a murder. It’s a big deal. The police, the media, they all reported on it. But it’s time to let it go.”
My mind spins. “Are you protecting your dad?"
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting. Is that what this is about? You think your dad is going to come after me? That just makes me want to find out more.”
“Kenley, this isn’t a fucking game. These are ruthless men, and they don’t like it when people—particularly females—get in their way. Just do me a favor and let this go.”
I stare at his handsome face for a moment, taking in the sharp curves of his cheekbones and the pouty shape of his lips. There’s a look of desperation in his eyes I’ve never seen before, and it tugs at my heartstrings in a way that’s very hard to ignore. But I do. “You don’t get it both ways, Ezra. You don’t get to tell me you want out of my life while still telling me what to do with my life. It doesn’t work that way.”
He blinks, hot anger under his skin. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He walks past me and I jump in front of him, physically stopping him. “You’re serious about this? You’re really walking away from me? From us?”
He looks down at me and goosebumps rise on across my flesh. With two hands he grips my upper arms and picks me up, moving me out of his way. He doesn’t say another word, but his actions answer my question loud and clear.
Ezra Baxter is done.
“He just left you there? In the men’s room.”
“Right by the urinals.”
Ozzy wrinkles his nose. We’re in my office in the yearbook room. “He wants me to stop poking around into the stuff with his dad and Rose.”
“Has he met you?”
I make a face. “I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“Do you think he’s afraid of s
omething?”
“Maybe his dad. Maybe for his dad. He claims he’s trying to protect me.”
A line of worry crosses his forehead. “Then maybe you should listen to him.”
I sigh. “The truth is, I’m too busy to even deal with all that, right now. Skipping school the other day got me behind in two classes. Mr. Cortez is making me write an essay as punishment. All the deadlines are looming for the yearbook—I have to finalize all of those pages.” I point to the stack of photos from the archives. “I regret agreeing to this centennial issue. It’s so much extra work.”
“You could delegate a little more,” he suggests.
I frown. “You know that’s hard for me.”
“I do. How about we stick around after school, and I’ll help you go through all of this. I’ll order some food and we can get it done fast.”
“I have a meeting at the diner at six about the retreat.”
“I think that’s doable."
I smile, feeling a slight bit of tension rolling off my shoulders. “That would be awesome. Thank you.”
“Let me go finalize the stuff on my computer. I’ll come back when I’m done.” He walks out of the room and I reach for a stack of photos.
“Got a minute?”
I look up and do a double take. It’s Alice—with jet-black hair. “Uh, sure.”
She takes the seat Ozzy just vacated, confidently sitting across from me. I can’t help but stare at the change. Alice has always had ever-changing hair color, but she tends to stick to shades of the rainbow. She tucks a piece behind her ear and I realize the cut is different too.
“Is that a wig?” I ask.
“Nope.” She tugs at it. “Looks good, right?”
“Yeah, it does.” I’m not lying. The style makes her skin look pale but pretty. Her hazel eyes pop. It’s just so different—such a change that I find it unnerving. It looks so much like Rose’s hair. I drag my gaze away. “Did you need something?”
“I’ve decided to drop yearbook.”
“What?” It’s more surprising than the hair. “Why?”
“With all this tension it’s just not worth the stress. It’s senior year. I’ve decided not to put myself in toxic situations anymore.”
“You think yearbook is toxic.”
“No, I think you’re toxic, Kenley.”
“Are you serious? Me? I’m not the one spewing all the hate and negativity—that’s your favorite hobby.”
“That’s the thing. Since we’ve stopped being friends, so much of that tendency toward the negative is gone. It’s like I’m free or something.” She leans back and crosses her legs. I notice she’s wearing a skirt. Alice never wears skirts. “Since we stopped being friends, my life is much better. Now I think I understand Rose’s actions all those years ago a lot better. You really were the problem.”
“I was the problem,” I repeat slowly, trying to keep my anger in check.
“You’re paranoid, obsessive, hyper-focused on the successful people around you. I got caught up in it too. Look how crazy Rose used to make me. How much I hated Finn. Now? I don’t give a shit. I’ve moved on. I have my own life, while you…”
“While I what?”
“Well, you’re still obsessed with Finn Holloway, and the stuff you’re saying about Coach Chandler and all that stuff with his wife. Wow. It’s like you can’t stop yourself, can you?”
“His wife tried to kill me.”
She makes an amused face. “Sure, Kenley. With all the accusations you were making at the time, you probably pushed her into something desperate.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I know you’ve enjoyed some fame as Thistle Cove’s new little Nancy Drew, or whatever, by taking every little thing and turning it into some big mystery, but it needs to stop. It’s embarrassing.” She stands and hands me a slip of paper. It’s a class transfer slip from the registrar’s office. “Today is my last day.”
I stare at the form signed by Mrs. Richmond, slightly rattled and a lot angry. I swallow it back and say, “Good luck, Alice. Despite all of this, I wish you the best.”
“Don’t worry, my luck is already changing, thanks to…well, not you.”
She smiles and walks out the door, leaving me in stunned silence.
Alice Kendrick is crazy. The disturbing thing, though, is that I’m the one that feels like I’m losing my mind.
“I can’t admit I’m going to miss her,” Ozzy says. We’ve moved out of my office and to the small seating area in the back of the classroom. There’s a couch and a few chairs. A big table sits in the center where staff sits around to work on projects. An open pizza box is on one of the chairs—half eaten, and there are two stacks of photos on the table. Keep and toss.
“I know. I guess I just figured we’d work things out, but it seems like she’s not interested.” I add a photo of a group of kids sitting on an old 1950s car in front of the school. It’s perfect. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am the one that’s toxic?”
“What?” He frowns, tossing his pizza crust in the box. “No. You’re definitely not the toxic one. Alice is…I don’t know, intense is the wrong thing to say. You’ve always meant more to her than she meant to you. She’s jealous and possessive. Be thankful she finally opted out.”
I find a stack of photos marked “State Champs.” One look makes my stomach turn, the smug expressions plastered on their faces. Brice Waller, Ezra Baxter, and Jason Chandler—always in the forefront.
“Do we have to include these?” I ask.
“I don’t see a way around it.”
I pick out a couple, trying not to overly think about it, and stumble on one of them with a few girls. I’m drawn to Monica; fresh-faced and looking more like Juliette than I can imagine. Her eyes cast up at Jason with devoted affection. His arm is flung around her shoulder, but he’s looking straight at the camera with a wide grin. Brice is next to him, then Regina, Ezra Sr., and Courtney, his girlfriend at the time. Ezra’s mom. I haven’t seen her in years, but I remember her from when we were kids.
“Let me see that,” Ozzy says, taking the photo from me. He narrows his eyes and studies it for a moment. “Huh.”
“What are you looking at?”
“You know those memes that are like, 'you’ll know it when you see it'? Like the ones that looks like someone has three arms or something?”
“Yeah.”
He hands me the photo. “Tell me when you see it.”
I relook at the photo, trying to ignore the obvious…Jason’s smugness. Ezra’s handsome face. Courtney’s adorable outfit, that ironically matches today’s fashion trends. I can’t see anything amiss, so I start at the top and move down. Brice has his arm around Regina’s waist. His hand visible on her hip, and there’s a gap between Ezra and Regina, but I look closer and say, “Wait, are they holding hands?”
I look again. Sure enough, Brice Waller’s hand is definitely on Regina’s left hip. On the same side her hand is hanging down, fingers interlocked with the boy next to her.
Ezra, Sr.
“Holy shit.”
“That’s like, really fucking bold,” Ozzy says.
“Do you think Brice knew?”
“No idea.” He leans back and stretches his legs. “It could mean a lot of things. Maybe Ezra and Regina were cheating together. Maybe those guys were all cheaters.”
“Or maybe we’re not the first alternative relationship in Thistle Cove.”
No, I tell myself. That’s exactly what Alice said earlier. I take little things and turn them into something big—and to what end? Maybe I am paranoid. Maybe I do just want attention.
“We’re probably wrong,” I say, tossing the photo aside.
“What?”
“It’s probably a shadow. My imagination is rubbing off on you.”
“I don’t know.” He picks up the photo. “It looks pretty obvious.”
“Which is why it can’t be true. Mr. Baxter is smart. This is stupid.”
“He’s also overly confident. We did track him down to that apartment.”
“Did we? All we found is a photo. It could mean anything.”
He frowns. “What’s going on with you?”
I start cleaning up the table—sorting photos in the right groupings.
“Nothing. It’s like I said earlier, I’m overwhelmed. I have a lot of work to do on this and for school. I can’t go down every rabbit hole. Maybe Ezra, Sr. was fucking Regina. Maybe Brice was fucking Courtney. Maybe they had orgies all the time. We already know Jason was into some kinky, dark shit.” I stand. “People probably think the same about us. I mean, I shared a bed with you and Finn the other night.”
“Nothing happened though.”
I smile. “Not yet.”
His eyes widen, and he swallows. “If you want to let this go, I’m fine with it.”
“It’s probably for the best.”
He stands and rests his hand on my hip, pulling me close. “I just want you to be happy, Ken, and at peace. You did a good thing solving Jacqueline’s murder and getting Monica to admit her involvement with Rose’s disappearance. That’s enough.”
He kisses me and holds me tight, bringing a sense of calm.
“I should probably go,” I tell him, not wanting to.
“Go on. I’ll clean this up.”
I kiss him again and grab my bag, heading down the hall. I pass Coach Chandler’s office and hear his voice. He’s alone. On the phone.
“Did you tell her?” he asks. “How did she take it?”
My immediate assumption is they’re talking about me is strong. I keep walking, thinking about Alice and how if I wasn’t paranoid before, I am now.
25
Ozzy
After Kenley leaves for her meeting, I clean up and then text Finn. He’s at the diner and even though I just ate, I walk over from the school and find him sitting in the back booth. The place is decked out for the holidays, an artificial tree in the corner and Christmas music playing on the juke box.
“Hey,” I say, sliding in the seat across from him. “What’s up?”
