One of Us is Lying(73)
“I really did,” she whispers back. “I didn’t know they’d use them, though. Nobody ever got back to me.”
By the time the broadcast finishes, the Bayview Police are the real villains, followed closely by Simon. Addy, Nate, and I are innocent bystanders caught in a cross fire we don’t deserve, and Cooper’s a saint. The whole thing’s a stunning reversal.
I’m not sure you could call it journalism, but Mikhail Powers Investigates definitely has an impact over the next few days. Somebody starts a Change.org petition to drop the investigation that collects almost twenty thousand signatures. The MLB and local colleges get heat about whether they discriminate against gay players. The tone of the media coverage shifts, with more questions being raised about the police’s handling of the case than about us. And when I return to school on Monday, people actually talk to me again. Even Evan Neiman, who’s been acting like we’ve never met, sidles up to me at the last bell and asks if I’m going to Mathlete practice.
Maybe my life won’t ever be fully normal again, but by the end of the week I start to hope it’ll be less criminal.
Friday night I’m on the phone with Nate as usual, reading him the latest Tumblr post. Even that seems like it’s about to give up:
Being accused of murder is turning into a monumental drag. I mean, sure, the TV coverage is interesting. And it makes me feel good that the smoke screen I put in place is working—people still have no clue who’s responsible for killing Simon.
Nate cuts me off after the first paragraph. “Sorry, but we have more important things to discuss. Answer this honestly: If I’m no longer a murder suspect, will you still find me attractive?”
“You’ll still be on probation for drug dealing,” I point out. “That’s pretty hot.”
“Ah, but that’s up in December,” Nate replies. “By the new year I could be a model citizen. Your parents might even let me take you out on an actual date. If you wanted to go.”
If I wanted to go. “Nate, I’ve been waiting to go on a date with you since fifth grade,” I tell him. I like that he wonders what we’ll be like outside this weird bubble. Maybe if we’re both thinking about it, there’s a possibility we’ll figure it out.
He tells me about his latest visit with his mother, who really seems to be trying. We watch a movie together—his choice, unfortunately—and I fall asleep to his voice criticizing the shoddy camerawork. When I wake up Saturday morning, I notice my phone has only a few minutes left. I’ll have to ask him for another one. Which will be phone number four, I think.
Maybe we can use our actual phones one of these days.
I stay in bed a little later than usual, right up till the time I need to get moving if Maeve and I are going to do our usual running-slash-library routine. I’ve just finished lacing up my sneakers and am rooting around in my dresser for my Nano when a tentative knock sounds on my bedroom door.
“Come in,” I say, unearthing a small blue device from a pile of headbands. “Is that you, Maeve? Are you the reason this is only ten percent charged?” I turn around to see my sister so white-faced and trembling that I almost drop my Nano. Anytime Maeve looks sick, I’m seized with the horrible fear she’s had a relapse. “Do you feel all right?” I ask anxiously.
“I’m fine.” The words come out as a gasp. “But you need to see something. Come downstairs, okay?”
“What’s going on?”
“Just … come.” Maeve’s voice is so brittle that my heart thumps painfully. She clutches the banister all the way downstairs. I’m about to ask if something’s wrong with Mom or Dad when she leads me into the living room and points mutely at the television.
Where I see Nate in handcuffs, being led away from his house, with the words Arrest in the Simon Kelleher Murder Case scrolling on the bottom of the screen.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bronwyn
Saturday, November 3, 10:17 a.m.
This time I do drop my Nano.
It slips from my hand and thuds softly onto our rug as I watch one of the police officers flanking Nate open the cruiser door and push him, not very gently, into the backseat. The scene cuts to a reporter standing outdoors, brushing windswept dark hair out of her face. “Bayview Police refused to comment, other than to say that new evidence provides probable cause to charge Nate Macauley, the only one of the Bayview Four with a criminal record, with Simon Kelleher’s murder. We’ll continue to provide updates as the story unfolds. I’m Liz Rosen, reporting for Channel Seven News.”
Maeve stands next to me, the remote in her hand. I pluck at her sleeve. “Can you rewind to the beginning, please?”
She does, and I study Nate’s face in the looping video. His expression is blank, almost bored, as though he’s been talked into going to a party that doesn’t interest him.
I know that look. It’s the same one he got when I mentioned Until Proven at the mall. He’s shutting down and putting up defenses. There’s no trace of the boy I know from the phone, or our motorcycle rides, or my media room. Or the one I remember from grade school, his St. Pius tie askew and his shirt untucked, leading his sobbing mother down the hallway with a fierce look that dared any of us to laugh.
I still believe that Nate’s the real one. Whatever the police think, or found, doesn’t change that.