People Like Us(75)
“Let’s play lawyer,” she suggests.
“I’m not in the mood for games.” The train seems to be speeding along more carelessly than usual, its frame rattling like it’s about to collapse.
“I’ll prosecute. You defend.”
“Fine.”
Brie looks to me for permission, and I nod and gesture for her to make her case. “Nola Kent is a brilliant girl. She has the capacity to memorize massive amounts of information, hack into school databases, and frame innocent classmates for murder. She also has the ability to kill, and to befriend the person she frames for that murder. When Nola first came to Bates Academy, she had a hard time making friends. One group of girls in particular were pretty nasty to her. She vowed revenge. And she was patient. Two years later, she killed Jessica Lane in cold blood and framed the ringleader of those girls, Kay Donovan, for the death. She used her computer skills to set up a website that would turn Kay against her friends and vice versa, before delivering the final blow: sending her to prison for murder. Nola Kent killed Jessica and she did it to frame Kay.”
I look out the window through the sheen of frost, my eyes focusing and unfocusing on the gray blur of fog-obscured mobile homes we’re passing, neat little rectangles firmly planted in the dirt, sideways graves. Nola forgave me the night after the confrontation with Cori, the night we kissed. Hearing Brie bring it up makes me feel like a terrible person again.
“Defense?” Brie prompts.
I look at her wearily. “You haven’t suggested a single reason why she would have killed Jessica. Why Jessica? In court your theory would fall flat. Because you need to prove that Nola killed Jessica, not that she has a grudge against me. And Nola’s theory against Spencer wins. And you know what else you have to admit? The case against me beats them all. That’s the best case right now.”
Brie closes her eyes and leans her head back against the seat. “I know she did it. I know it.”
“Knowledge isn’t evidence,” I say.
“Then let’s talk to Spencer.” She looks up at me. “Both of us. Just to be on the safe side.”
I look out the window again. I’m not sure he’ll agree to it after everything that’s gone down. But at this point, it might be the only way left to get any kind of resolution.
“I have to go alone. Just keep your phone on.”
26
Nola texts me throughout the day and I write back, but just terse, fluff answers. She didn’t return any of my texts on Thanksgiving, and I wonder what happened with her family, but don’t want to pry. I hate that Brie planted this seed of doubt in my mind. Yes, Nola had a reason to hate me. I’m sure she did for a while. And when we first started spending time together, she wasn’t exactly the warmest, fuzziest personality. But she’s proven her loyalty. Or maybe I just don’t want to believe anything bad about her. Maybe it’s Todd syndrome. I call Spencer as soon as I get to the train station, and I’m actually surprised when he picks up.
“Still hate me?”
“Since you asked me if I killed Maddy to hurt you?”
“And you called me a killer and said everything I touch gets ruined?”
“I’m pretty sure Charlie Brown said that. In the Christmas special. Surely I was more original.” I hear him take a sip of something.
“Are you drinking?”
“Just chocolate milk. Be sure to drink your Ovaltine.”
“Wow, you’re really getting into the Christmas spirit.”
“The Christmas special spirit,” he corrects.
A gust of wind whips a newspaper into my face and I crouch behind a garbage can—all the benches are full. “I’m at the train station.”
“And you need a ride.”
“And I wanted to see you, or I would have shared a cab back to campus.” I wait.
I hear him gulp the rest of his chocolate milk down. “Five minutes.”
We stop at a Dunkin’ Donuts—there are no cutesy cafés or Starbucks near Spencer’s house, and the truth is, I prefer their vanilla coffee with a glazed doughnut. It reminds me of home, of the few good parts of home, of when Todd would bring home leftovers from practice, or the way Dad’s truck always smelled. Dad is a house painter and he usually left for work before I woke every morning and returned with a dozen empty Dunkin’ Donuts cups in the passenger side of the cab. When I was a kid, I got a quarter every week to clean Dad’s truck inside and out. So Dunkin’ is one of my happy associations with home.
After we order, I try to find an isolated table, but it’s pretty crowded. We settle for one at the side of the building with a view of a busy side street. It’s the opposite of Cat Café. Packed, overheated, a little sweaty. Nineties Christmas songs blare from a speaker positioned right over our heads. Around us, everyone is engrossed in their own lives. There are couples laughing (and one fighting), mothers struggling with toddlers flinging food, and groups of younger teens chatting over coffee.
“So, Katie D. Are we actually going to talk this time?” He grins, and I notice how much better he looks than the last time we met. Like he’s slept for a long time and left his nightmares behind him for good. I wonder if he’s moved on from me, and even though I was kissing Nola just days ago, it pisses me off. It automatically makes me want to touch him. I’m messed up beyond repair.