by Sara Shepard
She spilled out the whole story about Blake—how she’d had a crush on him first but Claire had started dating him; how, according to Blake, Claire had lied and said Mac wasn’t into him. How they were in a band together, and lately, something had started between them—behind Claire’s back. How she’d never meant to hurt Claire. But when she got to the part about Claire and Blake tricking her in order to sabotage her Juilliard audition, Julie’s mouth dropped open.
“That’s not how best friends treat each other!” she cried.
“Don’t I know it,” Mac said darkly.
Julie crossed her arms over her chest. “Now it makes sense why you mentioned Claire that day at film studies. I’d always wondered.”
Mac winced at the memory of that conversation. As soon as she’d said Claire’s name, she’d felt horrible—especially because Claire had been right across the room and could have heard. She’d just been so angry at Claire that day, though—she’d seen her and Blake canoodling in the hall, and all of her feelings of betrayal and resentment had rushed to the surface.
“I should have never said that . . . I was just having a bad day,” she sighed. “It’s not like I actually want her dead.”
“Of course you don’t,” Julie said firmly.
“And, I mean, just because I said it doesn’t mean it’s going to come true,” Mac said loudly, thinking of the theory Caitlin had brought up the other day at Ava’s.
“Of course not,” Julie said. But then she shifted awkwardly. “Still. I hate that those names are even out there, on that notepad. And, I mean, two out of the five people we named are . . . you know.” She averted her eyes.
“No one can link that to us,” Mac said quickly. She needed to say it out loud, somehow, to undo the jinx. “It’s too crazy of a theory. No one would pick off the people we named. It doesn’t make any sense. No one hates all of us like that . . . or everyone we named like that.”
Mac’s phone rang, and she looked at the screen. Her mom was calling. Suddenly, she remembered that she’d made plans to go out to dinner with her parents—more Juilliard celebrations. She stood up, slipping the phone in her pocket. “I have to go,” she said sadly, looking at Julie. “Are you going to be okay?”
Julie nodded. “Thank you for staying and talking with me. It helped, really . . . having you here.”
Mac nodded and started out of Julie’s room, hating that she was leaving Julie inside such a small space. She navigated around the boxes and the cats, and soon enough she was outside again, breathing fresh air. But her chest was still heaving, and she knew why. It was all the talk about the list, and that terrible conversation.
She wondered, suddenly, what Claire was doing right now. Was she at home? Was she safe? Should Mac worry about her? It was ironic—the girl she hated, the girl who hated her, might be the person who needed her the most right now.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
AFTER DROPPING CAITLIN OFF, AVA gripped the steering wheel hard, her vision steady. Instead of turning off toward her house, she took a left up a steep road that wasn’t regularly traveled. Unless you were going to the Upper Washington Correctional Facility—which Ava was. It was where Alex was being held. Bail was set at twenty-five thousand dollars, and his parents, two teachers, were still trying to raise that kind of money.
There were all kinds of things she should be doing this evening, like studying for a history exam or updating her Lady Macbeth Facebook page—a project for AP English.
But something inside her had cracked today. It was something she couldn’t really explain, a trigger she couldn’t put her finger on, but all of a sudden she’d realized, she had to go see Alex in prison. No matter how many newscasts she watched of kids saying how Alex had violently beaten up that kid at his old school, she needed to hear him tell her that. More important, she needed him to tell her that he wasn’t guilty, that he hadn’t killed Granger.
Her phone buzzed, and she looked down. Hey, I still have your lip gloss, Caitlin texted. Wanna swing back for it?
Ava had let Caitlin borrow the lip gloss in the car, but there was no way she was going back now—or explaining what she was about to do. I’ll get it at school, no biggie, she replied. It was weird: She probably could tell the girls that she was visiting Alex. But she wanted to keep this to herself, until she figured it out a little more.
When she pulled into the police complex fifteen minutes later, she was still trying to figure out what she was going to say. Rolling back her shoulders, she walked through a door marked VISITORS and wrote her name down on a clipboard.
After a terrifying check-in and pat-down process, during which Ava was pretty sure the female officer gave her an extra squeeze or two while no one was looking, she sat in the visitors’ room. The concrete floor was mottled and stained by mysterious substances, and the cold metal tables and chairs were bolted to the floor. The air had a sharp tang to it, as if urine and toxic cleaning fluids had melded together to create a new brand of oxygen. Ava’s nose burned. The thought of Alex alone in this place sent a pang through her.
A heavy metal door creaked open at the back of the room, and Ava reflexively jumped to her feet. A linebacker-sized guard lumbered through first, then stepped to the side, revealing a pale, exhausted, and handcuffed Alex. Ava’s heart leaped into her throat, and she choked back a sob.
Alex raised his head and looked up at her. His gaze was so intense, so desperate, and so sad. He seemed heartbroken. Ava resisted the urge to run over and wrap her arms around him.
“Alex—” she started.
“I’m sorry,” he said at the same time. “Ava, I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. I know you didn’t do this—any of it.” He held his breath, trying to stem the tide of emotion. Ava suspected he was trying hard not to cry. Alex was the emotional one in their relationship: God, he’d cried during Toy Story 3. That memory made her want to cry, suddenly, but she held it together.
“You didn’t do it, right?” she whispered.
Alex shook his head fiercely. “Of course not. I would never—Ava, I could never kill someone. You know me better than that.”
Ava nodded. “I know. I just needed to hear you say it.” She plopped down into the hard seat. “But why did you go over there? Why did you text Granger? And what happened at your old school?”
Alex sat across from her and leaned over the table toward her before continuing. “Well, I’ll start with the easiest one. I texted Granger, Don’t touch my girlfriend again or I’ll kill you because you told me he’d hit on you, and then the police didn’t even believe you.” He lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry. It was stupid. I just . . . felt so, helpless, you know?”
Yeah, Ava thought. I do know.
“I’m sorry I never told you about what happened at my old school,” he went on. “I couldn’t, really. But I beat up that guy because he raped my ex-girlfriend.”
Ava gasped.
“She came to me right after it happened,” he went on, “and she begged me not to tell anyone. Her parents were crazy, and they would have flipped out if they found out she wasn’t . . . anyway. I didn’t tell anyone. But I couldn’t just let it go, either. I wasn’t going to tell anyone her secret, but that asshole deserved to pay for what he’d done. I mean, I saw the bruises on her.” He shook his head and closed his eyes at the memory.
Ava exhaled slowly. She wanted so badly to believe him, and she could definitely identify with how he wanted to take matters into his own hands with the guy who’d hurt his ex—she and the others had done that with Nolan, after all. But she realized she was still really angry, too. “Okay. But why did you tell the cops you saw me that night?”
“Because I did see you.” Alex looked away. “And you weren’t exactly . . . clothed. I was pissed.”
Ava glared at him. “So you assumed the worst, without asking me?”
He held up his palms. “No, I didn’t call them until later. I’ll explain. But Ava . . . what were you d
oing there?”
Ava exhaled and steeled herself. “It wasn’t how it looked,” she began, her voice quavering.
“So explain to me what it was.”
Her heart was pounding hard. She needed to come clean, she realized. It was the only way they could ever rebuild the trust they’d once had. But could she do that? She looked at him. “Alright,” she said quietly. “I’m going to tell you. But you’re not going to like it.”
Alex nodded, but a nervous look washed across his face. “Okay.”
“You remember what Nolan did to me sophomore year? The rumors he started about me sleeping with teachers to get higher grades?” she said, and Alex nodded again. “Well, I wasn’t the only victim of his bullying, not by a long shot. Some of the other girls and I got to talking in film studies, that day we watched And Then There Were None.”
Ava gained confidence as she spoke, emboldened by the sense of sheer relief she felt just saying the words out loud. She told Alex about the prank they’d played on Nolan, and how someone had used that opportunity to kill him. About how they suddenly looked guilty—really, really guilty—in Nolan’s death. She told Alex how Granger had hit on her when she went to his house for help with her paper. Alex grimaced and shut his eyes for that part.
Then she told him about the pictures and texts she’d found on Granger’s phone—and how Nolan had been blackmailing him. “Wow,” Alex said, a little shocked. “Those two deserved each other.”
“Totally,” Ava said. She explained how they’d gone to Granger’s house to dig around for evidence they could use against him, but he’d come home before they could get out. Finally, her cheeks burning, Ava described how, in an effort to save her friends, she sacrificed her last shred of dignity and fooled Granger into thinking she wanted to sleep with him. When she sent him to take a shower, they had all slipped out—though Ava had raced into the backyard and dug up the flash drive with proof of Nolan’s blackmailing, which Granger had buried. Then she had run to join the others in the car. Which was exactly when Alex saw her sprinting across the lawn, her dress still half-unbuttoned.
“I feel sick just telling you all this,” Ava said, her voice catching. “I hate myself for putting this whole thing in motion in the first place.”
Alex shook his head. “I wish you’d told me about the prank, but I get why you did it. Nolan was really shitty to you. And Ava.” He looked her in the eye. “None of the rest of this is your fault.”
Ava’s lips parted. “Thanks,” she whispered. It was amazing how calmly Alex was taking all this. She’d expected much worse.
“So, all of you were in there,” Alex said. “And all of you left?”
“Yes,” Ava nodded. “Why?”
“Well,” Alex said slowly. “I saw you leave. But then I saw someone run back across the lawn to Granger’s afterward.” He looked apologetic. “I thought it was you again.”
Ava frowned. “I went right home. And took a long, hot shower.”
Alex ran a hand through his curly hair and shot her a sheepish look. “That’s why my prints were on Granger’s door. I ran over there when I thought you went back in.” He shifted on the metal bench. Ava noticed for the first time how his orange prison shirt hung loosely off him. “I wanted to catch you, but the door was locked. Then I heard a scream—I thought it was you screaming, and I was so scared. I thought maybe he’d”—Alex choked up, then regained control of his voice—“I was afraid he’d done something. To you. That’s when I called the police. I told them I’d seen you go inside and that there were screams. But when the cops showed up, Granger was dead, and whoever was really in there was gone.”
Ava stared at him, her heart pounding hard. “And you didn’t see who it was?”
“Nope.” Alex looked frustrated. “She slipped out without me seeing.”
“You’re sure it was a girl, though?”
“Definitely. She had on a hood, or maybe a hat. But she was built like a girl, I’m sure of it. I—I thought maybe you had gotten a sweatshirt and gone back in.”
Ava ran her hand across her forehead, trying to process what he’d told her. “Didn’t you tell the police this?”
He stared at the table. “Of course I did. But they don’t believe me. They think I made up the other girl to cover myself for the murder.”
“But what about the prints on the kitchen knife? Yours aren’t there, right?”
He shrugged. “Apparently there are no prints on the knife. Whoever did it was wearing gloves.”
“Oh my god,” Ava whispered. She leaned back, feeling sick. Things were even more messed up than before. She had no idea how to feel.
Alex leaned forward and took both of Ava’s hands in his. The guard cleared his throat pointedly, and Alex sat back again. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I should have trusted you. I shouldn’t have kept any of this from you.”
“I shouldn’t have kept any secrets from you, either.” Ava studied his deep brown eyes, smooth skin, and perfect features for a moment. She had missed him so much, it was physically painful. “And I forgive you,” she whispered.
Alex gave her a bittersweet smile. “I forgive you,” he whispered back. “And for now, that’s all that matters.”
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment. There were so many things Ava wished she could undo, but for right now, she was just happy to have Alex back. But she didn’t really have him back: He was still in prison. And until she figured out who had really killed Granger, there he’d stay.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JULIE SAT ATOP THE LIFEGUARD stand, twirling her whistle. She was at the Beacon Rec Center, where she worked, watching a pool full of kids below. Suddenly, a little girl in a pink tankini looked up at her and pointed. “Cat lady!” she cried.
Julie flinched. How did that little girl know about her?
“Cat lady!” a boy joined in, climbing out of the pool and standing at the bottom of the lifeguard chair. “Dirty, dirty cat lady!”
All at once, the whole pool was in an uproar. Everyone was laughing, from all of the kids to the people swimming laps to the other lifeguards patrolling the space. When Julie looked down at herself, she wasn’t wearing her Juicy tee and Adidas shorts but a nightgown seemingly made of cat hair. And what was she doing here, anyway? Hadn’t she vowed not to leave the house ever again, even begging off sick from work? And when she looked across the pool, a girl stood there, her mouth open in a loud, mean laugh. It was Ashley. She was rounding up the kids, pointing at Julie. “There’s the cat lady!” Ashley taunted. “Go get her!”
“No!” Julie screamed. She looked around for Parker, whom she understood, inherently, must be close by. “Parker, help!”
Just as the kids ran for Julie, she woke up, shooting up straight in her car. She looked around. It was Tuesday, late afternoon.
Her phone, which was somehow clutched in her hand, was ringing. She stared at it, still disoriented. The dream felt way too real. She hated when that happened.
The phone bleated again. It was a local number, one that Julie had seen before but couldn’t place. “Hello?” she mumbled into the phone, her head still fuzzy.
“Ms. Redding?” a stern voice intoned.
She blinked hard. The voice was familiar, but her brain was too muddled to know why. “Yes?”
“This is Detective Peters. I understand you were not in school today.”
“That’s right,” Julie replied cautiously, growing more awake and wary. Since when did homicide detectives care about truancy?
“Ms. Redding, I’m going to need you to come down to the station. Your friends are on their way as well. I can send a patrol car over for you if you need me to. I’m assuming you’re at home?”
“Uh, thanks. I mean, no, that won’t be necessary.” She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “What’s this about?” she repeated.
“I’ll explain everything when you get here. Which I suggest you do quickly.” He paused. “And Julie . . .” His voice had suddenly shifted from profes
sional and firm to dark and threatening.
“Yes?” she asked nervously.
“Don’t even think about not coming.” He hung up before she could reply.
Thirty-five minutes later, Julie stumbled into the police station in sweatpants, a bulky hoodie, and running shoes. Her hair was twisted into a loose bun piled on top of her head. She had no makeup on, and she couldn’t have cared less. What did it matter anyway? All anyone saw when they looked at her was cat hair, like in that dream.
Detective Peters stood in the lobby, scratching his pointy chin, a serious look on his face. He had deep bags under his eyes and fast-food crumbs on his shirt. He looked haggard, like he’d been pulling all-nighters ever since Nolan died.
The other girls huddled together nearby, looking as confused and worried as Julie felt. Julie was relieved to see Parker there, her hoodie pulled down over her face. She seemed less upset than she had been in the school parking lot the day before, after Ashley had pranked Julie, but Julie could tell from the way she shifted from one foot to the other and clenched her jaw that she was tense. Julie met her friend’s eye, and Parker looked back. Julie wondered where Parker had spent last night—she hadn’t ever shown up at Julie’s. In fact, Julie hadn’t spoken to her since the kitty-litter prank outside school. Parker had turned her phone off again. It was beginning to get pretty frustrating.
Then Julie cast her eyes around at the others. What’s going on? she mouthed, raising her eyebrows. Caitlin shrugged. Mac frowned.
“Now that you’re all here,” Peters said gruffly, “let’s go on back.”
He led them through the same maze of desks and cubicles they’d passed through the other day, into the same interrogation room with the same one-way mirror. “Have a seat, ladies.”
Parker sat closest to the door, and Julie sat down next to her. Peters dropped into a chair at the opposite end of the table. His scalp was visible through his thinning hair as he flipped through a stuffed manila folder on the table. Then he looked up and slowly moved his gaze around their half circle, studying them one by one.
