In My Dreams I Hold a Knife(48)

“Yes,” Heather said fiercely. “I’m going to tell them everything. His parents love me, and they’re so religious they’ll never forgive him. He’s always cared what they think, no matter how much he denies it. We’ll see how he likes having his life ruined.” She looked around the room. “I need a drink. I have several hours of my life to forget.” Heather turned, gripping her. “Before I get drunk… Don’t let me talk to Frankie, okay? I can’t tell you why, but promise me.”

Courtney was opening her mouth to ask Heather why anyway—or, frankly, to tell her that no matter what Jack had done, nothing justified getting his parents involved—when she realized Heather had given her the perfect opening.

“Here,” she said instead, thrusting her cup at her. “I got you this. Bottom’s up.”

“Thank god,” Heather said, taking the beer and chugging it. She wiped her mouth. “You’re a lifesaver.”





Chapter 21


Now

I’d always thought the sight of Courtney Minter cowering on the ground, confessing her sins to an angry mob, would make me feel better than it did. Now that it was happening, she looked so small and pathetic, her twig-legs drawn up under her, perfect face in her bony hands, that it was hard to see the traces of my legendary nemesis.

Instead, watching her, one thing was crystal-clear: Courtney Minter was not a happy person—or, a healthy one. Yes, she’d done something terrible. But for all the days of her life, Courtney was going to have to live with herself, locked in the cage of her body with nothing to keep her company but her own brain. And that was a severe punishment if I’d ever heard one.

Caro did not share my sympathy.

“You drugged your best friend to get her out of the way so you could be queen of a fraternity party?” Caro’s face was so red you could see it, even in the dim light from the lamps.

Looking at Courtney, I felt an uneasy stirring in the pit of my stomach. If I hadn’t been so consumed with winning a prize greater than Sweetheart, it could’ve been me that night, stewing in the shadows, gutted by Heather’s first-place win, Courtney’s runner-up status. The insidious voice whispering, Jessica Miller, the Phi Delt president’s girlfriend—and not even second in line for the crown.

I recognized myself in her.

“I know you’re mad, Caro, but keep your voice down.” Mint looked around. “We don’t want to attract unwelcome attention.”

“Oh, no. Like from the cops?” Caro threw her arms out. For a second—it could have been the lighting—she looked like a gold cross, burning bright against the night. “Jail’s exactly where we should send her. Courtney, you’re the reason Heather couldn’t defend herself that night. You might not have stabbed her, but you basically tied her hands behind her back. And you were willing to let Coop take the fall. How do you live with yourself?”

“It was supposed to make her go to sleep, that’s all. How could I have known?”

Courtney’s hands trembled in a way that was deeply familiar. “After she died, I was broken. I didn’t eat for a week. And the only way I could get out of bed was to think…well, she would have been killed anyway. Someone wanted to stab her. It was only a coincidence both things happened the same night. I told myself it didn’t matter and made myself forget.” Her voice dropped to a painful, throaty whisper. “I should have won Sweetheart in the first place. It was meant to be mine.”

“‘Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,’” Eric said, his voice ice.

I made myself forget. The black hole at my center stirred. A flash of memory: Two hands, covered in dried blood.

No. I shoved the image away.

On the ground, Courtney’s hands started shaking so bad she could barely hold them in place. She reached for her purse, but before she could get there, Eric snatched the bag, and she gave a cry of protest.

No one moved to stop him.

He yanked open her purse, rummaged, and pulled out a sleek orange cylinder with Chinese letters.

“You’re still taking the pills?” Coop shook his head. “Goddamn, Courtney.” He looked dazed, as if he couldn’t believe the turn the night had taken.

“Lucky for us,” Eric said, turning the bottle to look at it. “Now we have evidence.”

Mint sat down at his wife’s side and gave Eric an evil look. “She doesn’t say another word. We’re getting a lawyer.”

Courtney burst into tears. “I don’t care about a lawyer,” she cried. “Please, just give them back. Please.”

A memory of my father, begging: Please, Jessica. Please, sweetheart, just to take the edge off. You don’t understand how much it hurts.

I grabbed the pills from Eric’s hand, taking him by surprise, and twisted the lid off.

“What are you doing?” Caro asked.

“She’s addicted.” I dumped the pills in my hand, leaving one in the bottom of the bottle. “You can still have your evidence. You don’t need all of them.”

I handed the bottle back to Eric, who took it with a raised brow. Then I crouched by Courtney. She looked at me with cautious hope, and I realized, with a sinking feeling, that we’d been bad to her, too. Not the same kind of bad she’d been to us, but we’d known about her problem, in the back of our minds, and done nothing. Brushed it off all four years of college. Worse—in some ways, we’d even celebrated it. Courtney, the most perfect girl in school, had a humiliating vice. A fatal flaw. We’d all sighed in relief.