Tease(49)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emma says with a heavy sigh. Her hair is pulled back into a messy bun and she’s wearing a chunky fisherman sweater and just a little mascara. She looks amazing. I look my best—since the breakup I’ve come to school every day in my nicest skinny jeans, my newest sweaters, my most careful makeup—but I definitely do not look effortless. Is that what I did wrong with Dylan? Tried too hard?

Brielle ignores her and focuses on Dylan. “You better watch out,” she says. “Isn’t your birthday coming up? Wouldn’t want to get arrested.”

Dylan’s face wrinkles in confusion. “Seriously, what are you talking about? Can’t you just go eat like everyone else? Sara, can’t you put a leash on her?”

“What did you just say?” I blurt, and at the same time Brielle goes, “Oh, you best be joking!”

Dylan holds up his hands as if he’s calling for a truce, or maybe just protecting his face from whatever he thinks we’re about to do. But at the same time I see Emma grab her soda, trying to hide a smile behind her straw.

“You better put a leash on that,” I snap, jutting my chin at Emma.

“If you can even stoop that low,” Brielle adds. “Come on, Sara. If we stand here any longer we’re gonna get an STD.”

“You guys are really pathetic, you know that—” Dylan is still talking as Brielle grabs my arm and we stomp away from their table.

We still don’t have any food, of course, and as we make our dramatic exit Brielle says loudly, “Drive-thru, babe. It’s the only way we know our food won’t be contaminated.”

I feel a surge of energy from yelling at Dylan, and amazingly, I’m really hungry. I’m even smiling as we climb back into Brielle’s car—this is, like, the first time ever that I’ve been around Dylan and my stomach hasn’t been in knots. I mean, they used to be good knots. Excited knots. But since Valentine’s Day it’s just been an awful tangle in there. Every time I see him or Emma or, the worst, both of them, I want to puke.

But now I’m hungry. I’m starving. I’m smiling and ordering supersized everything.





September


“Is MR. WHARTON not joining us?”

“Do you see him here? No, he’s not coming.”

“I’m sorry, Julia. I didn’t mean—I just thought Sara said he was going to be in town.” Natalie shifts some papers on the table, clearly uncomfortable. She’s been saying all along—and, for the past week, nonstop—that having both my parents here would be helpful, and that they definitely need to come to the trial. Obviously my dad is totally excited about that.

“I said he might be,” I clarify quickly, trying to see my mom out of the corner of my eye. “But he couldn’t make it.”

Natalie gives us both a level look and takes a deep breath. “Well, I have news,” she says, and my stomach goes cold. “The charges against Dylan Howe are being dropped.”

“What!” my mom shouts. “How did—”

Natalie holds up her hand, interrupting her. “The evidence wasn’t sufficient. But he’s still agreed to testify against the rest of you.”

“Jesus Christ,” my mom says. “What does this mean?”

“It’s not good,” Natalie says. “And I think we need to seriously reconsider making a plea deal with the prosecution.”

I can’t believe this is happening. I have to clear my throat to say, “But I’m not guilty. I thought we said I wouldn’t—”

“I know what we said last time,” Natalie interrupts, but her voice is soft. “Honestly, though, this is a really tough case. There’s so much at stake—your whole future, Sara. I know it’s hard to see now . . . but this has always been my recommendation, as you both know, and now more than ever I think you need to take this option. We can plead to the lesser charges and you can go back to your life. After your eighteenth birthday your record could even be cleared, if they’ll agree to that.”

My mom runs her hands through her hair and sits back, so I can’t see her face without turning. She used to think this whole thing was bullshit, I know—she used to think the Putnams were crazy for blaming me for Emma’s death. But I think going over all the testimony has been changing her mind. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t think I’m innocent anymore, even if she hasn’t said so to my face.

“I think if we agree to allocute on the stalking and intimidation charges, and maybe one count of assault, we could see just twelve months’ probation,” Natalie says.

“Probation?” my mom asks. I can’t tell if she wants to know what that means, or if she’s saying that’s too much punishment. Or not enough.

“Sara would have monthly check-ins with a court official, and if she commits any crimes—whether or not they match the ones she’s being charged with here—she’ll be sentenced to time in a juvenile facility.”

“But I’ll be eighteen in a couple months,” I blurt out. We were all charged as minors, of course—except for Tyler—but everyone’s getting older. Dylan’s birthday was in June, so he’s technically an adult now. I know his parents got a fancy lawyer, but on his birthday, when I was busy not calling him, I kept wondering what would happen if he had to go to prison for real. Like how Tyler might have to. It’s crazy. It’s not fair. I don’t like Tyler, but come on, prison? And if I’m going to be on probation until after I’m an adult—