One of Us is Lying(37)
He’s called me every night since Monday, always around the same time. He’s told me things I couldn’t have imagined about his mother’s illness and his father’s drinking. I’ve told him about Maeve’s cancer and the nameless pressure I’ve always felt to be twice as good at everything. Sometimes we don’t talk at all. Last night he suggested we watch a movie, and we both logged in to Netflix and watched a god-awful horror movie he picked until two in the morning. I fell asleep with my earbuds still in, and might have snored in his ear at some point.
“Your turn to pick a movie,” he says by way of greeting. I’ve noticed that about Nate; he doesn’t do pleasantries. Just starts with whatever’s on his mind.
My mind’s elsewhere, though. “I’m looking,” I say, and we’re silent for a minute as I scroll through Netflix titles without really seeing them. It’s no good; I can’t go straight into movie mode. “Nate, are you in trouble because of how everything came out at school today?” After I left Principal Gupta’s office, the rest of the afternoon was a blur of stares, whispers, and uncomfortable conversations with Kate and Yumiko once I finally explained what had been going on for the past few days.
He snorts a short laugh. “I was in trouble before. Nothing’s changed.”
“My friends are mad at me for not telling them.”
“About cheating? Or being investigated by the police?”
“Both. I hadn’t said anything about either. I thought maybe it would all go away and they’d never have to know.” Robin had said not to answer any questions about the case, but I didn’t see how I could apply that to my two best friends. When the whole school’s starting to turn against you, you need somebody on your side. “I wish I could remember more about that day. What class were you in when Mr. Avery found the phone in your backpack?”
“Physical science,” Nate says. “Science for dummies, in other words. You?”
“Independent study,” I say, chewing the sides of my cheeks. Ironically enough, my stellar grades in chemistry let me construct my own science course senior year. “I suppose Simon would’ve been in AP physics. I don’t know what classes Addy and Cooper have with Mr. Avery, but in detention they acted surprised to see each other.”
“So?” Nate asks.
“Well, they’re friends, right? You’d think they’d have talked about it. Or even been in the same class when it happened.”
“Who knows. Could’ve been homeroom or study period for one of them. Avery’s a jack-of-all-trades,” Nate says. When I don’t reply, he adds, “What, you think those two masterminded the whole thing?”
“Just following a train of thought,” I say. “I feel like the police are barely paying attention to how weird that phone situation is, because they’re so sure we’re all in it together. I mean, when you think about it, Mr. Avery knows better than anyone what classes we have with him. Maybe he did it. Planted phones in all our backpacks and coated the cups with peanut oil before we got there. He’s a science teacher; he’d know how to do that.”
Even as I say it, though, the mental image of our frail, mousy teacher manically doctoring cups before detention doesn’t ring true. Neither does Cooper making off with the school’s EpiPens, or Addy hatching a murder scheme while watching the Food Network.
But I don’t really know any of them. Including Nate. Even though it feels like I do.
“Anything’s possible,” Nate says. “You pick a movie yet?”
I’m tempted to choose something cool and art house-y to impress him, except he’d probably see right through it. Plus he picked a crap horror movie, so there’s not a lot to live up to. “Have you seen Divergent?”
“No.” His tone is wary. “And I don’t want to.”
“Tough. I didn’t want to watch a bunch of people get killed by a mist created from an alien tear in the space-time continuum, but I did.”
“Damn it.” Nate sounds resigned. He pauses, then asks, “You have it buffered?”
“Yes. Hit Play.” And we do.
Chapter Thirteen
Cooper
Friday, October 5, 3:30 p.m.
I pick Lucas up after school and stop by Nonny’s hospital room before our parents get there. She’d been asleep most of the time we visited all week, but today she’s sitting up in bed with the TV remote in hand. “This television only gets three channels,” she complains as Lucas and I hover in the doorway. “We might as well be in 1985. And the food is terrible. Lucas, do you have any candy?”
“No, ma’am,” Lucas says, flipping his too-long hair out of his eyes. Nonny turns a hopeful face to me, and I’m struck by how old she looks. I mean, sure, she’s well into her eighties, but she’s always had so much energy that I never really noticed. It hits me now that even though her doctor says she’s recovering well, we’ll be lucky to go a few years before something like this happens again.
And then at some point, she’s not gonna be around at all.
“I got nothin’. Sorry,” I say, dropping my head to hide my stinging eyes.
Nonny lets out a theatrical sigh. “Well, goddamn. You boys are pretty, but not helpful from a practical standpoint.” She rummages on the side table next to her bed and finds a rumpled twenty-dollar bill. “Lucas, go downstairs to the gift shop and buy three Snickers bars. One for each of us. Keep the change and take your time.”