The Lies They Tell(48)
“He tried Akil first. Then they brought me.” Bridges pulled out a chair and sat, tugging absently at a lock of hair over his ear. “It’s not always like that. Sometimes it’s fun. We go all over the place. The islands, wherever. Explore some of the waterfront estates in Bar Harbor.”
“You mean trespass.” Oh, the irony.
“I guess. One time, we borrowed this boat.” He looked at her quickly. “The keys were in it. We didn’t hurt it or anything, just took it out on the bay to see what it could do and brought it back. Tristan . . . he’s not scared of anything. He doesn’t worry. None of my friends back home would have the balls to try that stuff. They wouldn’t even believe me if I told them about it. But it’s like if Tristan decides nothing can touch him, nothing can.”
She thought of Tristan’s rapt expression as they’d danced, as he’d told her about midnight defining him, about forcing himself out onto the dark sidewalks and beaches to run. That didn’t sound like somebody who was untouchable. Was it possible that the boys didn’t know about any of it? “But sometimes it’s more like last night, right? Like he’s pushing to see how far you’ll go for him.” No backing down now; she was into the fray. “Quinn told me about a video that was posted online last summer. She said it happened at a party you guys had.” She paused. “There was a girl.”
He gave his hair a final tug and then pressed his hand flat against the table, as if willing himself to stop fidgeting. “There are always girls.”
“I think this one was pretty memorable.”
His gaze went to the far wall, to a calendar they’d gotten from the heating oil company, covered bridges of New England. “It’s over now. Done. The video’s down, nobody else can watch it.”
“Decent of you.”
His eyes cut to her. “I didn’t say I did it. Seriously, you just assume it was me?” Pearl stared levelly back at him. “Did Quinn tell you that? Because she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She wasn’t even there that night.” He sat forward. “Look, nobody made anybody do anything. And everybody was wasted. Tristan’s parents were out of town with Joe, so we pretty much cleaned out the bar.” Still she didn’t speak. “I was with Hadley then, so I didn’t—I’m not into that stuff, what happened upstairs.”
“But you were there?” She watched him rub his mouth with his hand, pulling his thumb slowly beneath his lower lip. “In the room?”
“No, no. At the party. Some of the guys were sharing the video around at the end of the night. I don’t know who posted it online.”
Pearl’s stomach did a slow slide, and she examined the pattern of the linoleum for a while until she felt like she could look at him again. “This girl knew somebody was filming her? And that people might see it?” Bridges hesitated. It was answer enough. “So now he’s got blackmail on anyone who was in that video. Or anyone whose girlfriend might not be too happy that he watched what happened upstairs.”
“Look, if we do something, it’s all in. If Tristan told on us for this kind of stuff, he’d get busted, too. And anyway, he never would. It’s more like . . . everything takes you deeper. You know? Even if one of us wanted to break away sometimes, or maybe say stop”—his gaze on her, almost pleading—“it’s already too late, because of everything else we’ve done. Does that make any sense?”
“It makes sense why Tristan would want you to feel that way. Then he owns you.” She didn’t wait for Bridges to make another excuse. “Does this mean that the next time Tristan thinks it’ll be fun to trick or trap me somewhere, you’ll go along?”
“No. No way.”
“Kind of hard to believe that after everything you just said.”
“I swear to God. He’s going through some dark stuff right now, and I get that, but I can’t keep messing with people. That’s his thing, not mine. College starts soon, and—I don’t want to be that guy anymore.” Bridges took a deep breath. “Are we okay? I don’t want to screw things up with you, Pearl. I like you.” He gave a half smile. “You don’t let me off the hook for anything.”
She waited, considering him. Then she put her hand out. “If we shake on it.”
Bridges shook. “Cool. Thanks.”
He left after that, he and Dad exchanging nods as Bridges got into the Jaguar, apparently one of his grandfather’s lesser rides. Pearl stepped back from the screen door before Dad turned toward the house, feeling like a coward, knowing she should go out there now and face up to whatever he had to say. She couldn’t; she felt drained, nothing left.
She curled up on the couch with her tablet until Dad came inside. She kept tabs on him from the corner of her eye, listening to him wash his hands at the kitchen sink. Had Bridges smelled alcohol coming from his pores after last night’s six-pack, like she could? Or was Reese right, it was an acquired skill? Dad turned, leaning against the counter. “What’s going on, Pearl?”
She sat up slowly, looking at him over the arm of the couch. “He’s a friend.”
“Since when do you have friends from the Row?” Dad didn’t sound angry, exactly; his speech was slow, measured.
“I met him in the dining room. He comes in a lot.” She waited to see if Dad knew who Bridges ran with, if he’d mention Tristan’s name.