Take the Fall(34)

There are few places I can think of as claustrophobic as the backseat of a patrol car. Once you’re inside, someone else has to physically let you out, and they actually call the divider between the front and back seats a “cage.” I’ve ridden in the back of Sheriff Wood’s unmarked Explorer a few times, but when Shelly sets me free in front of the school, my palms are dotted with marks where what’s left of my fingernails dug into my skin.

“Hey, Shelly,” I ask before she can climb back in behind the wheel. “Tell me what’s really going on?”

“It’s nothing you should worry about,” she says.

I roll my eyes. “Does the sheriff make you guys practice saying that?”

She cracks a small smile, but it quickly fades.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?” I ask, nervous that she won’t meet my eyes. This could be my only chance to get a real hint at what’s going on. “Come on, I feel helpless when you guys won’t just say what’s happening.”

She exhales, glancing nervously to where Amir waits in the car. “You’ll probably hear about it at school anyway. Someone trashed the memorial last night in the woods.”

My throat closes till I can barely breathe. “Gretchen’s memorial?”

“It was probably just some * kids. They threw all the flowers and stuff into the falls.” She looks away like there’s something she doesn’t want to say.

“What else, Shelly? I promise I won’t breathe a word . . . I just need to know.”

She turns back to me, her face grim. “Look, I don’t agree with the sheriff keeping you in the dark, that’s the only reason I’m telling you. There was some graffiti left behind on the rocks.”

My voice barely comes out a whisper. “What did it say?”

“It said . . . One bitch down.”





SIXTEEN


VKIP USUALLY SPENDS HIS LUNCH in the library. I ran into him there once when I was doing a project for extra credit. I think he prefers reading comics alone in a study carrel over the pizza-scented crowd. I’m anxious to feel him out about the photo in my locker, but I tiptoe into the blue-carpeted space holding my breath. Shelly assured me there was nothing to be afraid of in the school, but the tremors I thought I’d left at the funeral are back. Ms. Jensen, the school librarian, isn’t at her post behind the desk. I wander around the edge of the stacks by the windows, but even the couch and chairs in the corner are vacant. Guess no one wanted to miss the post-funeral lunch gossip. I shift my backpack on my shoulder and take a shortcut through nonfiction, hoping I can join my friends before I’ve missed any information about the memorial . . . or who might’ve been sick enough to destroy it.

I’m halfway down the row when a guy clears his throat on the other side of the shelf. I startle, peering around a copy of The Poisoner’s Handbook.

“So, did I miss anything at the reception?” Marcus asks.

After his stunt at the funeral he’s lucky there are a few hundred books and a metal shelf between us. If he was reachable, I might seriously do some damage.

“Just everyone in town deciding you look guiltier than ever,” I say.

His jaw tightens. “It seemed like a nice service, too bad I had to leave.”

“And I have to get to lunch.”

I head for the end of the row, but he beats me there, blocking my way in paint-splattered jeans and a dark T-shirt. I can’t help wincing at the fading bruise under his eye, casting a purple shadow across his otherwise-handsome face.

“Why did you come to the church?” I hiss.

“I was paying my respects.” He looks at the floor. “Put yourself in my shoes—could you have stayed away?”

Something inside me weakens. I think of his expression at the service, how intense, how solemn he looked the moment before I gave him away. But then I remember Gretchen’s mother collapsing, her powerful father at a total loss, and my anger resurges.

“Gretchen’s family deserved to say good-bye in peace.”

“And I deserve not to go to jail.” He speaks through his teeth, voice so low I can barely hear. “Now, are you going to fill me in on what I missed?”

He leans closer, resting one hand on a nearby shelf. His gaze burns so hot I have to step back to clear my head. The door to the hall is open and it’s tempting to just scream—bring every administrator in the building running. But I can’t make myself do it.

“Why on earth would I want to help you again?”

He hesitates. “I thought we agreed to put the past behind us.”

“Because why all of a sudden?” My body quivers, upset by how natural hating him feels in this moment. “What exactly has changed that would make me set all of your bullshit aside?”

He studies me carefully. “Because you cared about Gretchen.”

“You seem to care more about getting blamed for her murder than the fact that she’s dead.”

“Come on, Sonia—”

“I guess sharing air with me is more tolerable than a prison cell, there’s that.”

He straightens. And if I didn’t know better, I’d swear I saw hurt flash over his face. “Look, none of that— It wasn’t about you,” he says.

“Oh, really?”