They Wish They Were Us(55)

“So, you actually think you’re getting out?” I say.

Graham’s eyes dart to Rachel’s and she nods, giving him the go-ahead. It’s a ritual I’m not part of. A signal between them. Graham’s mouth gets small. He hunches lower in his seat and curls his limbs into his body.

“I didn’t do it, Jill.” His voice is low and measured, deep and full, like he’s practiced this line over and over. He’s trying to be convincing. He runs a hand through his hair again.

Rachel leans in and rests her arms on the table. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?” she says. Her eyes are wide and nurturing, motherly but urgent.

Graham nods and takes a big breath. He squeezes his mouth shut. Then the words tumble out.

“I don’t remember much about everything that happened after,” he says. “But I remember everything leading up to . . . that. Don’t you?” His dark eyes make direct contact with mine. It’s almost too intimate to bear.

A lump forms in my throat.

“You do, right?” he asks again. I nod once.

I do. The light spring breeze coming in from Ocean Cliff. Air so salty it stung my pores. No bugs yet. It was too early for mosquitos. Relief when I realized what I had to do. How every sip felt like poison sliding down my throat. Then, complete darkness swallowing me, filling me with paralyzing fear. It was all so much worse than I thought it would be.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to make out Shaila in all of this. I picture her gnawing at her ragged nails when she realized what she had to do. The moment her face went from determined to terrified.

“Yes,” I whisper.

Graham’s face goes cold. “Do you remember my initiation pop?”

How could I forget? Jake came up with all of them, we were told. “You were scared of spiders, right?”

“Tarantulas,” Graham says. He shivers. “They brought out a dozen of ’em and I had to stand with them crawling all over me in that glass shower for hours.”

“Four,” I say. “Four hours.” That’s how long mine was, too.

“Huh,” he says. “Two. Mine was only two.”

Rachel mutters something under her breath.

“What?” I ask.

“The boys’ were shorter. They were always shorter,” she says softly, her head down.

Of course they were.

Graham keeps talking, though. “I begged for something to drink. Anything to take my mind off it. Obviously, they complied.”

An image of Graham standing in the shower creeps into my brain. I hadn’t seen it, of course. I was too busy trying to survive my own initiation. But I imagine they had sequestered him in another section of the pool house, dropping furry, creepy creatures on his head while feeding him cups of cheap tequila over the glass doorframe.

I glance at Rachel, but her face is in her hands.

“After that, I barely remember what came next,” Graham says. “One minute I was crying like a baby, the next I was somewhere down the beach covered in blood. Can you imagine what that felt like?”

A little ball of anger begins to build inside me. “Can you imagine how Shaila felt?”

Graham’s mouth forms a hard straight line. “No,” he says, firm. “You know I loved her, right? With everything I had. We were only fifteen. But I would have done anything for her. She was my entire world.”

His face is puffy and red.

“She was mine, too,” I say, fighting back the tears.

“I know.” Graham’s voice is soft now. “Can I keep going?”

I relent and nod.

Graham inhales deeply. “I just remember commotion, everyone saying something happened to Shaila. Jake and Adam were running down the beach, calling for help. Derek Garry, too. I saw them coming toward me and I waved them down. Then there were cops. Those stupid Gold Coast traffic cops pulling up on their little sand buggies, whipping out handcuffs. They didn’t even know how to use them.”

I was back at the house at this point, recovering, feeling sorry for myself, worried I had been ruined by something I had no control over. I had no idea what was coming.

“They slapped them on me and drove me right to the station. And then that same night, they brought me here. I haven’t left in three years.”

“What exactly is this place?” I whisper.

Graham sighs and leans back in his chair. “A facility,” he says. “Like juvie, but fancy. We can get our GEDs and do activities like pottery and stuff.”

I must look confused because he keeps trying to explain.

“The criminal justice system is totally unfair. If you’re rich, it’s just easier.”

Rachel snorts into her palms.

“It’s the truth and it sucks,” Graham continues. “Most of us are loaded. The ones who aren’t are sponsored by some benefactor or nonprofit or something.”

“What . . .”

“I know,” he says. “But they’re going to transfer me to fed when I turn eighteen in June.”

“That’s why . . .” I start. “This is your last shot.”

Graham nods and his face flushes, like he’s embarrassed, almost.

Rachel lifts her head out of her hands. “That’s why we went looking for more evidence,” she says. “The blood. The shirt. It was our last chance to test everything before they put him away for good.” Her teeth look fluorescent as she bites her bright red lip.