Take the Fall(32)

“Hey guys, did any of you happen to leave a picture of Gretchen and me in my locker? I found one the other day and wanted to say thanks.”

I watch every face to see how, or if, they react. I don’t expect a confession, or even overt guilt, but I’m hoping for some clue one of them knows about it.

Aisha looks thoughtful. “I didn’t, but I have one of you guys on the class trip if you want it.”

No one else even blinks.

“Thanks,” I mumble. “That’d be great.”

I excuse myself to the restroom, but head for the staircase instead. I’ve attended more of Mrs. Meyer’s fancy parties than I can count. Enough to be sure no one will notice if I slip away for a few minutes to clear my head. If this was another fund-raiser or political dinner, Gretchen and I would have already retreated to her room, where she’d recount salacious facts about each of the VIPs while I laughed. I hold my breath on the polished steps, feeling a little like I’m trespassing without her, but as I reach the landing my feet regain purpose. There might be something useful in Gretchen’s room. Some clue the sheriff’s office missed that I could connect to the intruder—maybe even the person threatening me. All I need is a few minutes to look.

The second-floor walls are lined with family portraits; the kind where everyone sits on the beach wearing khakis and a plain white shirt. Mr. Meyer always insisted they take a picture on Cape Cod at the end of summer. I’m even in the last one—the Honorary Meyer.

Downstairs, the conversation carries on in a dour murmur, but up here the air is still. I could almost breathe normally if my heart weren’t pounding so hard. When I reach Gretchen’s bedroom door, it’s closed. I hesitate with my hand over the knob, trying to convince myself she’s in there, lounging on her bed reading fashion blogs. I’ll walk in and sprawl next to her, complaining about what a downer the whole day has been and that it’s all her fault.

The door swings open.

Kirsten stands in the doorway looking like a girl from a Hitchcock film. She’s changed into a stylish gray skirt suit I recognize as Gretchen’s and she’s swept her blond hair up away from her face. Both of us step back, but she’s the first to recover.

“Sonia—” She blocks the door. “The reception’s downstairs.”

I look past her into Gretchen’s bedroom, wondering what exactly she was up to. She used to be forbidden from even going in. The pink rug and white canopy bed look just as they always have. There are a couple of socks on the floor by the desk. The door to the balcony is open, as if Gretchen might step back in any minute. I think of what Mrs. Meyer said and I get a chill.

“I . . . I’m sorry . . .” I say, realizing I have no legitimate excuse to be here anymore.

A line forms between her eyebrows and I brace myself for another bitter tirade, but she leans against the doorframe. “I’m the one who should apologize. The other day was . . . rough. That was the first time my mom really lost it, and the first time I guess I realized Gretchen wasn’t coming back.” She pauses. “It was no excuse, though. I shouldn’t have said . . . what I said.”

I open my mouth, unsure how to respond.

She steps into the hall, pulling Gretchen’s door firmly closed behind her. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

The air is thick. For a split second, I imagine her scratching out my face, slipping the photo into my locker. But that’s ridiculous. She hasn’t even been in school. I step back, guessing we both just want out of here, but then she reaches out and touches the fabric of my dress.

“I don’t think I’ve seen this before.”

My cheeks flush. I wonder if I should have worn something of Gretchen’s after all, but when I tried a few things earlier, they still seemed wrong. “I borrowed it from Dina.”

I study her more closely, the gray suit a little too loose in the hips, a tiny bit too flat in the chest. The way she swept her hair back is really pretty, but a bunch of pins are showing. She looks like a sad little girl playing dress-up in her dead sister’s clothes.

“Are you doing okay, Kirsten?”

She gives me a small smile, then surprises me by slipping her arm through mine, guiding me down the hall, away from Gretchen’s room. “We should probably get back downstairs.”

I turn to face her on the landing. “I mean it. I’m sorry we left you at the party. I was the DD, I never should’ve let that happen.”

“You were just doing what you were told.” She shrugs. “Like always.”

I wince at the accusation, wishing it wasn’t true. “It was wrong—anything could’ve happened to you.”

Her blue eyes darken. “Maybe it should have.”

“No.” My face goes hot. I grab her hand, clutching it as if she was Gretchen. “I just keep thinking that if things had been different, the whole night might’ve gone another way.”

Kirsten parts her lips, her voice barely a whisper. “But then it might’ve been you instead.”





FOURTEEN


I’M IN THE TREES, SURROUNDED by a darkness so thick it blankets the air like wool. The only sound is my breath being carried in, then out of my lungs.

And the rush of water.

I pick up my pace, walking faster, though I don’t seem to actually be moving. Everything just gets blacker. Footsteps come up behind me, crunching into the earth. I break into a run, but I’m no longer touching the ground. The trees close in like predators, first brushing me with their leaves, then tearing into my flesh and clothes with branches of blades.