People Like Us(22)

“No unless. He’s going to get fired, and I think they might want you to leave.”

“Who’s they?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s convenient. Is that what you told Tai?”

“I didn’t force Tai to leave.” But it’s not true. I did.

“So why should I leave?”

“You shouldn’t.” I don’t know what else to say.

“Neither should he. I’m eighteen. I can do what I want.”

“That’s not how it works. He’s a teacher. He controls our futures. One failing grade—”

Her eyes begin to gloss over, but she grits her teeth. “You think you’re so much better than me.”

“I really don’t. I’m just warning you. If there’s any possible way to cover your tracks in the next twenty-four hours—”

“Now you’re just threatening me. Look, I like him. I admit it. We’ve spent time together. But we’ve never actually had sex and I don’t appreciate your judgment.”

A sharp edge of doubt creeps into my mind. There are consequences to not believing your friends. That’s how things fell apart back home. The moment when the chain reaction began that ruined everyone’s life. When Megan told me what happened, what Todd did, and I hesitated, and said, “I’m sure it was an accident.” That was the moment she spun away from me, and after that she was out of my reach; no one else was able to grab on to her again. And then hell descended.

I look at Tricia now, and all of the guilt I felt about Megan floods through me. It’s too late to do anything about Megan. It’s too late to help Tai. But maybe it isn’t too late to help Tricia. And one thing is certain. If no one talks to me, I’m never going to figure out just what it is that Jessica wanted to get back at everyone for. “Did you know Jessica Lane?”

She shakes her head and then smiles as if we’d been talking about classes or sports or our futures, not our potential downfalls. “Nope.” She turns back toward the chapel. “I’m really sorry games are on hold, Kay. Hopefully you’ll manage to pull through with your grades.” She pauses and then gazes toward the steeple with a saintly expression. “Miracles happen.”

My mouth drops open.

And it’s just at that moment that Spencer exits the chapel, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, looking—as always—like he just rolled in from an all-night party. His straight sandy hair blows wildly in the breeze, and he stops to shield his cigarette with one hand as he flicks a lighter to try to ignite it, squinting his pale blue eyes.

I freeze for a moment, stunned to see him, and then turn abruptly and head back toward my dorm. But not before he sees me.

“Katie D.”

He knows I hate when he calls me Katie. I keep walking but he jogs to catch up with me and slings an arm around my shoulder in a one-sided hug. The feel of it makes me want to sink into him and push him away at the same time. I want to see him, but not now. And the fact that he would just show up for Jessica’s memorial and act as if nothing had happened after everything that’s gone down between us feels like a punch in the stomach.

“Long time no see,” he says.

“Or call.”

“You told me not to.”

“With good reason.”

We share a glance, and then he shrugs and takes a long drag. “What have you been up to?”

“The usual. Murder and mayhem. You?”

“Same.” He hasn’t shaved this morning and the faintest ginger stubble covers his jaw. It’s a special Spencer quirk. His facial hair doesn’t quite match the hair on his head. It matches mine.

We’re almost at my dorm. The parking lot has been blocked off with barriers to make room for extra cars, but most of them are gone now. I feel torn. I want this conversation to end as soon as humanly possible. I also want it to go on endlessly.

It wouldn’t be fair to say that we had a love-hate relationship. Love-hurt would be more accurate. We met the night Brie and Justine met, at the same party. Brie and I had gone together, back when we were still in a maybe phase. I had screwed up several times already, and this was the clear last chance. It was a cast party for some show Justine was in at Easterly, and it had seemed like Brie and I were getting really close to actually happening. I had finally persuaded her to go out with me. At least I thought so. I thought it was a date. Tricia spent two hours stripping my body of hair, covering me with fragrant goo, straightening my frizzy locks, and applying makeup with a horror movie special-effects level of skill. Tai loaned me a killer pair of Louis Vuitton boots and a cotton-silk Coach mixed-print dress. Not too much—just enough. That is, as long as it actually was a date.

Then at the play, everything fell apart.

The show was depressing to the point that I started crying and had to leave the theater. By the time I pulled my shit together, the cast party had already started. But when I got there, I found Brie off in a corner flirting with the star of the play.

So. Maybe not a date after all.

I found myself sitting on the couch alone, pounding vodka lemonades and pretending to text so I didn’t look like a total friendless wonder.

And then this guy flopped down next to me like we were best friends, leaned in, and whispered, “Texting makes it look worse.”