One of Us is Lying(63)
My mother doesn’t take the hint. She keeps bringing up Oregon and her doctors and Mikhail Powers Investigates until I feel as if I’m about to choke. I pull at the neck of my T-shirt like that’ll help me breathe, but it doesn’t. I can’t sit here listening to her promises and hoping it’ll all work out. That she’ll stay sober, stay employed, stay sane. Just stay.
“I have to go,” I say abruptly, dropping my half-eaten sandwich onto my plate. I get up, banging my knee against the edge of the table so hard I wince, and walk out without looking at her. I know she won’t come after me. That’s not how she operates.
When I get outside I’m confused at first because I can’t see my bike. It’s wedged between a couple of huge Range Rovers that weren’t there before. I make my way toward it, then suddenly a guy who’s way overdressed for Glenn’s Diner steps in front of me with a blinding smile. I recognize him right away but look through him as if I don’t.
“Nate Macauley? Mikhail Powers. You’re a hard man to find, you know that? Thrilled to make your acquaintance. We’re working on our follow-up broadcast to the Simon Kelleher investigation and I’d love your take. How about I buy you a coffee inside and we talk for a few minutes?”
I climb onto my bike and strap on my helmet like I didn’t hear him. I get ready to back up, but a couple of producer types block my way. “How about you tell your people to move?”
His smile’s as wide as ever. “I’m not your enemy, Nate. The court of public opinion matters in a case like this. What do you say we get them on your side?”
My mother appears in the parking lot, her mouth falling open when she sees who’s next to me. I slowly reverse my bike until the people in my way move and I’ve got a clear path. If she wants to help me, she can talk to him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bronwyn
Wednesday, October 17, 12:25 p.m.
At lunch on Wednesday, Addy and I are talking about nail polish. She’s a font of information on the subject. “With short nails like yours, you want something pale, almost nude,” she says, examining my hands with a professional air. “But, like, super glossy.”
“I don’t really wear nail polish,” I tell her.
“Well, you’re getting fancier, aren’t you? For whatever reason.” She arches a brow at my careful blow-dry, and my cheeks heat as Maeve laughs. “You might want to give it a try.”
It’s a mundane, innocuous conversation compared to yesterday’s lunch, when we caught up on my police visit, Nate’s mother, and the fact that Addy got called to the station separately to answer questions about the missing EpiPens again. Yesterday we were murder suspects with complicated personal lives, but today we’re just being girls.
Until a shrill voice from a few tables over pierces the conversation. “It’s like I told them,” Vanessa Merriman says. “Which person’s rumor is definitely true? And which person’s totally fallen apart since Simon died? That’s your murderer.”
“What’s she on about now?” Addy mutters, nibbling like a squirrel at an oversized crouton.
Janae, who doesn’t talk much when she sits with us, darts a look at Addy and says, “You haven’t heard? Mikhail Powers’s crew is out front. A bunch of kids are giving interviews.”
My stomach drops, and Addy shoves her tray away. “Oh, great. That’s all I need, Vanessa on TV yakking about how guilty I am.”
“Nobody really thinks it was you,” Janae says. She nods toward me. “Or you. Or …” She watches as Cooper heads for Vanessa’s table with a tray balanced in one hand, then spots us and changes course, seating himself at the edge of ours. He does that sometimes; sits with Addy for a few minutes at the beginning of lunch. Long enough to signal he’s not abandoning her like the rest of her friends, but not so long that Jake gets pissed. I can’t decide whether it’s sweet or cowardly.
“What’s up, guys?” he asks, starting to peel an orange. He’s dressed in a sage button-down that brightens his hazel eyes, and he’s got a baseball-cap tan from the sun hitting his cheeks more than anything else. Somehow, instead of making him look uneven, it only adds to the Cooper Clay glow.
I used to think Cooper was the handsomest guy at school. He still might be, but lately there’s something almost Ken doll-like about him—a little plastic and conventional. Or maybe my tastes have changed. “Have you given your Mikhail Powers interview yet?” I joke.
Before he can answer, a voice speaks over my shoulder. “You should. Go ahead and be the murder club everybody thinks you guys are. Ridding Bayview High of its asshats.” Leah Jackson perches on the table next to Cooper. She doesn’t notice Janae, who turns brick red and stiffens in her chair.
“Hello, Leah,” Cooper says patiently. As though he’s heard it before. Which I guess he did, at Simon’s memorial service.
Leah scans the table, her eyes landing on me. “You ever gonna admit you cheated?” Her tone’s conversational and her expression is almost friendly, but I still freeze.
“Hypocritical, Leah.” Maeve’s voice rings out, surprising me. When I turn, her eyes are blazing. “You can’t complain about Simon in one breath and repeat his rumor in the next.”