One of Us is Lying(23)

I hunch my shoulders and tug at my hair. I don’t know what to do. Jake would know—but Jake’s not here. I look at Ms. Shaloub tucking her short hair behind her ears, and suddenly Ashton’s voice pops into my head. You don’t have to answer any questions.

Right. Detective Wheeler said that at the beginning, and the words push everything else out of my brain with startling relief and clarity.

“I’m going to leave now.”

I say it with confidence, but I’m still not one hundred percent sure I can do that. I stand and wait for her to stop me, but she doesn’t. She just narrows her eyes and says, “Of course. As I told you, this isn’t a custodial interrogation. But please understand, the help I can give you now won’t be the same once you leave this room.”

“I don’t need your help,” I tell her, and walk out the door, then out of the police station. Nobody stops me. Once I’m outside, though, I don’t know where to go or what to do.

I sit on a bench and pull out my phone, my hands shaking. I can’t call Jake, not for this. But who does that leave? My mind’s as blank as if Detective Wheeler took an eraser and wiped it clean. I’ve built my entire world around Jake and now that it’s shattered I realize, way too late, that I should have cultivated some other people who’d care that a police officer with mom hair and a sensible suit just accused me of murder. And when I say “care,” I don’t mean in an oh-my-God-did-you-hear-what-happened-to-Addy kind of way.

My mother would care, but I can’t face that much scorn and judgment right now.

I scroll to the As in my contact list and press a name. It’s my only option, and I say a silent prayer of thanks when she picks up.

“Ash?” Somehow I manage not to cry at my sister’s voice. “I need help.”





Cooper


Sunday, September 30, 2:30 p.m.


When Detective Chang shows me Simon’s unpublished About That page, I read everyone else’s entry first. Bronwyn’s shocks me, Nate’s doesn’t, I have no idea who the hell this “TF” Addy supposedly hooked up with is—and I’m almost positive I know what’s coming for me. My heart pounds as I spy my initials: Because CC’s performance was most definitely enhanced during showcase season.

Huh. My pulse slows as I lean back in my chair. That’s not what I expected.

Although I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I improved too much, too quickly—even the Padres scout said something.

Detective Chang dances around the subject for a while, dropping hints until I understand he thinks the four of us who were in the room planned the whole thing to keep Simon from posting his update. I try to picture it—me, Nate, and the two girls plotting murder by peanut oil in Mr. Avery’s detention. It’s so stupid it wouldn’t even make a good movie.

I know I’m quiet for too long. “Nate and I never even spoke before last week,” I finally say. “And I sure as heck never talked to the girls about this.”

Detective Chang leans almost halfway across the table. “You’re a good kid, Cooper. Your record’s spotless till now, and you’ve got a bright future. You made one mistake and you got caught. That’s scary. I get that. But it’s not too late to do the right thing.”

I’m not sure which mistake he’s referring to: my alleged juicing, my alleged murdering, or something we haven’t talked about yet. But as far as I know, I haven’t been caught at anything. Just accused. Bronwyn and Addy are probably getting the exact same speech somewhere. I guess Nate would get a different one.

“I didn’t cheat,” I tell Detective Chang. “And I didn’t hurt Simon.” Ah didn’t. I can hear my accent coming back.

He tries a different tack. “Whose idea was it to use the planted cell phones to get all of you into detention together?”

I lean forward, palms pressed on the black wool of my good pants. I hardly ever wear them, and they’re making me hot and itchy. My heart’s banging against my chest again. “Listen. I don’t know who did that, but … isn’t it something you should look into? Like, were there fingerprints on the phones? Because it feels to me like maybe we were framed.” The other guy in the room, some representative from the Bayview School District who hasn’t said a word, nods like I’ve said something profound. But Detective Chang’s expression doesn’t change.

“Cooper, we examined those phones as soon as we started to suspect foul play. There’s no forensic evidence to suggest anyone else was involved. Our focus is on the four of you, and that’s where I expect it to remain.”

Which finally gets me to say, “I want to call my parents.”

The “want” part isn’t true, but I’m in over my head. Detective Chang heaves a sigh like I’ve disappointed him but says, “All right. You have your cell phone with you?” When I nod, he says, “You can make the call here.” He stays in the room while I call Pop, who catches on a lot faster than I did.

“Give me that detective you’re talking to,” he spits. “Right now. And Cooperstown—wait, Cooper! Hold up. Don’t you say another goddamn word to anyone.”

I hand Detective Chang my phone and he puts it to his ear. I can’t hear everything Pop’s saying, but he’s loud enough that I get the basic idea. Detective Chang tries to insert a few words—along the lines of how it’s perfectly legal to question minors in California without their parents present—but mostly he lets Pop rant. At one point he says, “No. He’s free to go,” and my ears prick up. It hadn’t occurred to me that I could leave.