Saturday Evening
I paced from one side of Paisley’s bedroom to the other. It was ten steps from the edge of her turquoise-and-yellow explosion of a bedspread to the window looking out to the street. She sat on a beanbag chair, her eyes pinging back and forth like a cartoon cat as she watched me.
“You can sit down,” she said.
“I can’t. If I sit down, I’ll explode.”
“Besides, Harper is like an object that’s never sat at rest,” a voice said from the doorway. I spun around. Benji.
“Easy killer,” Benji said. We all flinched at the word, and he looked apologetic as he walked sideways across the room until he reached Paisley. He sat down next to her and she immediately leaned into him. He put his arm around her shoulder.
I started pacing again. “How do we deal with this?” My voice pulsated with anger.
“We can always tell the truth,” Paisley said in a soft voice. Like she was afraid I’d explode on her instead of wear holes through her bright yellow area rug.
“We’ll get in trouble,” I said.
“Maybe we deserve to.”
I slowed as the impact of Paisley’s words sunk in, but then I resumed my pacing. “Alex deserves to pay for breaking into my room. But more importantly, we need to figure out how he was involved in Sarah’s death. Maybe the overdose was an accident. But what if it wasn’t?”
“I’m only worried about Sarah,” Paisley’s voice had grown stronger, like she’d gained an espresso shot of confidence.
“If it was an accident, there has be a way to bring Alex to justice without blowing up all of our lives.” My words sounded wrong to my ears, but I couldn’t figure out how to say what I meant. I couldn’t risk Gin’s future on my hunch. Paisley and Benji also didn’t deserve to suffer the consequences if I was wrong. Tearing my hair out would be easier than thinking.
The doorbell rang. “That’s probably Gin. I’ll let him in.” Paisley looked relieved to escape her bedroom.
My hand went to my hip pocket. Alex’s “present” was inside. What was I supposed to do with it, and what could he possibly want with my locket? What game was he playing?
As I whirled around, I caught Benji’s eyes. He held his hands out like you do to calm down a crazy person. “Can you please try to chill?”
“What’s your cousin thinking?” I asked. I stared at him, tracing the similarity between Alex and Benji. They were about the same height, although Alex’s body was muscular from basketball and weight-training while Benji just looks gangly. Same brown hair. Same eye shape. But Benji didn’t have that hard-to-pinpoint but ever present air of cockiness that permeates the room whenever Alex enters. It’s easy to forget about Benji, to let him fade into the background, even when you know he’s there. If Alex is a roar in a canyon, Benji is the echo that comes back a moment later.
“Why are you staring at me?” Benji asked. “And how would I know what Alex is thinking? Sarah’s death hit him hard. He’s all over the map, from grief to not wanting to admit how much he cared.”
I shook my head and paced across the room again. I opened my mouth but the sound of three different people outside the door made my lips go mute.
“Hi, everyone!” A blond woman came in with Gin and Paisley.
“Everyone, this is my Aunt Jane. She’s here for a few days.”
“I just wanted to ask if y’all need anything,” Aunt Jane said. Her twangy voice reminded me of Paisley’s mom. “I know it’s been a rough day for y’all.”
“We’re fine,” I said.
“Harper.” Gin gave me the be-polite look he’s been practicing for the past decade. “Thank you, Ms. Clay. If we need anything, we’ll ask.”
“Call if you need me,” she said, and slowly left, like she didn’t want to leave all of us alone. Like we’d get into a big orgy or something if we were left in a bedroom without adult supervision.
“Her last name isn’t Clay. She’s my mom’s sister—”
“It doesn’t matter, Paisley,” I interrupted.
“Harper, be nice,” Gin said. “It’s been a rough day for all of us, not just you. You don’t need to take Paisley’s head off.”
“Sorry, Pais,” I said, and she gave me a small smile in return.
“So your parents are out of town or something?”
“Yeah, my parents are at a trade show for their company. Long story. They didn’t want to leave me alone after what happened with Sarah so Aunt Jane came down to stay.”
“What they think happened to Sarah,” I said.
“You don’t have any proof that Alex hurt Sarah,” Gin said. “I overheard my parents talking and her death was ruled an accident.”
“Fine, let’s rehash the argument. Sarah Dietz. Did you really think she’d commit suicide? Was she stupid enough to OD?”
Gin reached out to grab my hand as I paced by him, but he let it go when I pulled it away. “No,” he said.
“You guys?” I looked at Benji and Paisley. They both shook their heads in response.
“You can’t prove Alex broke into your house,” Benji said.
I stopped and stared at him. “Why, did you break in? Did you tell me to ‘look for your present’ and then leave one of Sarah’s necklaces in my room after trashing it?”
Paisley and Benji both flinched. Paisley looked at her hands.
“Chill for a moment, Harp.” Gin stepped over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. I glared into his eyes and he gave back as good as he got, except he had his be-reasonable expression versus the look of pure fury look I had to be directing at him. I deflated slightly and he patted my shoulder. Taking my anger out on Gin wouldn’t help anything.
“Should we turn ourselves in?” Paisley asked, the tone of her voice getting higher at the end of the sentence.
“If we do, I won’t get into MIT, and you can forget about any good design school, Pais,” Benji said.
Gin quit looking me in the eye and turned to Benji. “Are you seriously weighing getting into a good university to Sarah’s death?”
“Exactly!” Finally Gin was agreeing with me.
“Please don’t help,” Gin muttered at me. I flung my arm out to punch him on the shoulder but he grabbed my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. I went limp at the unexpected gentleness.
“You’re right.” Benji held his hands up in surrender. “Justice for Sarah should trump petty things like the rest of our lives.”
“It’s not petty,” I snapped back. “How can you defend him? Sarah is dead. It’s not like he just dumped her, or something.”
I paced across the floor. Not turning Alex in would keep all of us from getting into trouble. But what was the cost of Alex going free? The thought picked at the back of my mind, rubbing against a sore spot, like an ill-fitting pair of sandals in summer. But a Band-Aid and dab of Neosporin won’t bring Sarah back to life.
“When we started this whole thing,” I said slowly, “we made rules. We followed them. But death was never part of the bargain. We can’t just let it go.”
Paisley met my gaze. Her eyes were full of tears again, and her hands shook. She looked like she felt trapped, and not just ’cause she had Benji on one side of her, and me bearing down on her on the other.
“None of us like this decision,” I whispered to her. Maggie. If I got into trouble, who’d look after her? But how could I look her in the eyes if I didn’t confess?
Benji groaned and put his hands over his ears. He dropped his hands and looked around the room. “Let me try again. Is there any way to turn him in that doesn’t risk ruining our futures? Let’s say I believe you, and Alex was somehow responsible for Sarah’s death, accident or not. You know if we turn Alex in, he’ll rat all of us out.”
Paisley nodded along as Benji spoke. “Alex would torpedo all of us,” she added.
My mind was whirling. “So you’re saying that we need proof that Alex did it. Something that means no one will worry about the burglaries, even if he tries twist this back around on us.”
“If he did it,” Paisley said.
My eyes snapped back to Paisley. She looked down so she missed my grim half-smile. “So you’re saying we need to get him to confess.”
“How do we trick him into that?” Benji asked me.
“He’s your cousin. Don’t you have the inside scoop?” I asked.
Benji shrugged. “You’re forgetting one key thing: why would Alex have done it? If he was tired of Sarah, he would have just dumped her. He’d done it to other girls.”
“That’s a good point,” Gin said, and I turned to glare at him. He stared back. “It’s the truth, Harper.”
“It’s not like Sarah always made smart decisions,” Benji said.
Paisley sent a watery smile my direction. “Like picking a fight with you at soccer practice,” she said.
My half-smile in response was grim. “That whole incident was stupid.”
“Yeah, you left crazy bruises,” Benji said, and pointed to his abdomen, sort of center and a few inches to the left, and to his ribs. “You can punch.”
“There’s something else, you know,” Paisley said. Her voice had grown steadier as she looked at me. “Just because we didn’t think Sarah would do drugs on her own didn’t mean she was clean. You know how easily people can hide it. Maybe we all missed the signs, and it was an accident. Alex could just be going off the rails.”
Benji sighed. “It’s not the best answer, but I think we should wait a few days. One of us should talk to Alex in the meantime. If we still think he killed Sarah after the shock has worn off, or when we find proof, we call the detective. But for now, sit tight. Especially you, Harper—try to keep your head. You won’t help anyone, including yourself, if you go off on Alex.”
Gin put his arm around my shoulders as I stepped forward. “I’ll make plans with Alex and get him to talk about Sarah. I’ll see if I can get him to confess. You know he’s cocky and I can use that,” he said. He pulled me against him like he was afraid I was going to attack Benji.
I tried to shrug his arm off my shoulder but he squeezed tighter. “Chill for a moment,” he mumbled into my ear. He turned his head away. “What do you think, Paisley?”
“I don’t know what to do. Taking a few days and seeing if we can get Alex to confess makes sense. Everything feels like I’m looking at it through one of those vintage kaleidoscope things. Nothing is where it should be,” she said. She looked down at the throw pillow in her lap, twisting the ends of its tassel around her fingers. She’d lost her weepy look in favor of a combination of troubled and thoughtful.
“Fine,” I said. “Fine. I’ll wait for two days. I’m looking forward to saying I told you so.” I wheeled around, knocking Gin’s arm off of me as I turned. I left.
“Harper!” Paisley called after me. “Be sure to check School-Friends!”
***
I paced in the hotel room. Eight steps across, and eight back. My father had loaded all of us up when I got back from Paisley’s, saying we couldn’t stay at home. Too messy.
Maggie looked at me from the bed next to the window. We were in a two-bedroom suite, complete with in-room minibars. She was eating a bag of potato chips and had a chocolate bar in front of her. Dinner of champions.
You okay?
Fine.
I paused by my backpack, which had escaped the burglary ’cause I’d left it in the trunk of mom’s car on Friday afternoon. I pulled my tablet out and flopped on the other bed.
A few clicks and I’d accepted the twenty-dollar charge for twenty-four hours of WiFi. A few more and I was entering my login info for SchoolFriends.
More posts about Sarah. About how people were going to miss her. My fingers stilled and I quit scrolling.
Someone had posted Sarah’s obituary from the newspaper:
Sarah Dietz passed away at age sixteen. She was loved by many, including her parents, Joe and Emily, and her brother, James. Sarah was a junior at Stonefeld Academy, and a member of its varsity soccer team. She also played club soccer, maintained a 3.6 GPA, and was active in the Communications Club. She wanted to be a journalist.
My eyes blurred but a few blinks cleared them up. What else could they really say? My grandfather’s obituary had mentioned his career as an attorney and listed his children, grandchildren, and a wide variety of achievements. What had Sarah achieved? What had I?
I scrolled down and my whole body tensed. Someone had uploaded photos from Sarah’s funeral, including one of me. I looked like I was holding back tears, but I hadn’t been that upset during the funeral. Or had I? Maggie was out of focus behind me, her hair catching the sunlight in a red blurry glow.
Then I read the caption.
“Someone is faking friendship. Bee Otch.”
My eyes snapped to the name that had posted. Taylor Durnhap? Who was she? The blond-haired girl in the photo looked like a toothpaste ad. Big white teeth. Pink scoop-neck t-shirt.
I typed in a response, but then deleted it. Telling her where to go wouldn’t help me with Mr. Jeffries, and I was too angry to think of a alternative way to spell the words so it wouldn’t trigger the school’s filter.
I pulled my phone out of my pajama pocket and texted Paisley. Who’s Taylor Durnhap and how to do I find her?
Paisley response came seconds later.
That’s just it. I don’t think that’s the real Taylor.
It’s her account.
I paced across the floor again. Maggie rolled to face away from me.
But not her photo. Taylor’s black. And a boy.
I almost typed back, so who wrote this? But I knew the answer.
Alex.