One of Us is Lying(81)
I tilt my head at him, curious. “Like what?”
Cooper shrugs. “I don’t know. Take you and Leah. It’s a small thing, but what if something like that started a domino effect? Or me and …” He scans the wall and settles on a Post-it. “Aiden Wu, maybe. He got outed for cross-dressing, and I was hiding the fact I’m gay.”
“But that entry was changed,” I remind him.
“I know. And that’s weird too, isn’t it? Why get rid of a perfectly good piece of gossip that’s true, and replace it with one that’s not? I can’t shake the feeling that this is personal, y’know? The way that Tumblr kept everything going, egging people on about us. I wish I understood why.”
Addy tugs on one of her earrings. Her hand trembles, and when she speaks, her voice does too. “Things were pretty personal between me and Jake, I guess. And maybe he was jealous of you, Cooper. But Bronwyn and Nate … why would he involve them?”
Collateral damage. We’ve all been affected, but Nate’s gotten the worst of it by far. If Jake’s to blame, that doesn’t make sense. But then again, none of this does.
“I should go,” Cooper says. “I’m meeting Luis.”
I manage a smile. “Not Kris?”
Cooper’s return smile is a little strained. “We’re still figuring things out. Anyway, let me know if the car stuff is helpful.”
He leaves and Maeve gets up, crossing over to the spot near my bed that Cooper just vacated. She shuffles Post-its on the wall, putting four of them into a square:
Jake wrote at least one Tumblr post
Leah hates Simon
Aiden Wu hates Simon
Janae seems depressed
“These are the most connected people. They’ve either got reason to hate Simon, or we already know they’re involved in some way. Some are pretty unlikely”—she taps on Aiden’s name—“and some have big red flags against them.” She points to Jake and Janae. “But nothing’s clear-cut. What are we missing?”
We all stare at the Post-its in silence.
You can learn a lot about a person when you have his license plate and phone number. His address, for example. And his name, and where he goes to school. So if you wanted to, you could hang out in the parking lot of his school before it started and wait for his red Camaro to arrive. Theoretically.
Or actually.
I meant to turn the numbers Cooper gave me over to Mrs. Macauley so she could pass them along to Eli. But I kept thinking about her terse text: I’ve informed Eli, but he asks that you don’t involve yourself further. Would Eli even take me seriously? He’s the one who first mentioned the car accident as suspicious, but he’s spending all his time trying to keep Nate in the juvenile detention center. He might consider this nothing but a pesky distraction.
Anyway, I’m just scoping things out. That’s what I tell myself as I enter Eastland High’s parking lot. They start classes forty minutes before we do, so I can still get back to Bayview in plenty of time for the first bell. It’s stuffy in the car, and I lower both front-seat windows as I pull into an empty spot and turn the car off.
Thing is, I need to be doing stuff. If I don’t, I think about Nate too much. About where he is, what he’s going through, and the fact that he won’t talk to me. I mean, I understand he has limited communication options. Obviously. But they’re not nonexistent. I asked Mrs. Macauley if I could visit, and she told me Nate didn’t want me there.
Which stings. She thinks he wants to protect me, but I’m not so sure. He’s pretty used to people giving up on him, and maybe he’s decided to do it to me first.
A flash of red catches my eye, and an ancient Camaro with a shiny fender parks a few spaces away from me. A short dark-haired boy gets out and hauls a backpack from the passenger seat, looping one strap over his shoulder.
I don’t intend to say anything. But he glances my way as he walks by my window and before I can stop myself I blurt out, “Hey.”
He pauses, curious brown eyes meeting mine. “Hey. I know you. You’re the girl from the Bayview investigation. Bronte, right?”
“Bronwyn.” Since I’ve already blown my cover, might as well go all in.
“What are you doing here?” He’s dressed like he’s waiting for a ’90s grunge comeback, in a flannel shirt over a Pearl Jam T-shirt.
“Um …” My eyes skitter to his car. I should just ask, right? That’s what I came for. But now that I’m actually talking to this boy the whole thing seems ridiculous. What am I supposed to say? Hey, what’s the deal with your oddly timed car accident at a school you don’t go to? “Waiting for somebody.”
He wrinkles his brow at me. “You know people here?”
“Yeah.” Sort of. I know about your recent car repair, anyway.
“Everybody’s been talking about you guys. Weird case, huh? The kid who died—he was kind of weird, right? I mean, who even has an app like that? And all that stuff they said on Mikhail Powers. Random.”
He seems … nervous. My brain chants ask ask ask but my mouth won’t obey.
“Well. See ya.” He starts to move past my car.
“Wait!” My voice unsticks and he pauses. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
“We just were talking.”