They Wish They Were Us(57)
“Who?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I didn’t recognize the number. It wasn’t even a Gold Coast area code. Probably a burner phone.”
“Did you ever confront her?”
Graham shakes his head. “I was waiting for the right time. But then . . .”
Rachel cuts him off. “No one can know.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“A motive,” Rachel says.
Graham nods. “It’s even more ammo against me. Jealous boyfriend kills girlfriend after he finds out she’s going around behind his back? A tale as old as time.”
I snort because he’s right. Was Shaila really cheating, though? The idea turns my stomach and suddenly I’m hot and sweaty and a little nauseous.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I say quickly.
Rachel points to the corner of the room. When I close the stall door behind me, I sit down on the cold ceramic bowl and turn over Graham’s words in my mind, trying to make sense of everything he said. His admission must feel like a relief to him. But Graham didn’t look lighter or comforted. He was like a shell of someone I used to know, a fossil discovered from a life I once lived. I wonder if somewhere below the surface, a sociopath sits numb to the pain he has caused, looking for a way out of this cushioned-wall bubble, hungry for manipulation, sick of boredom.
Sometimes it’s hard to know which qualities really define you, and which ones have been affixed to you by others so many times that you actually begin to believe them and claim them as your own. Mom always told me I was so trusting, a trait she adored but feared would get me into trouble. Because of that, I came to think of myself as gullible, one who could be taken advantage of. Being so close to Graham, I wonder if that’s what’s happening now, if I’m ready to trust him simply because he’s here, right in front me, when Shaila is not. In this tiny steel stall, it occurs to me that Graham could be lying.
I wash my hands slowly and return to sit across from him and Rachel.
“Why should I believe you?” I ask, looking him straight in the eyes.
Graham shakes his head and looks down at the floor. “You think I’m full of shit.”
I keep my face still, holding my cards tightly to my chest. I want to believe him but his truth means someone else I know is guilty. I’m not sure I can stand that.
Rachel slams her hands on the table hard enough that TJ turns toward us. “Jill,” she hisses. “Trust him.” It’s a command, not a suggestion.
“You can believe me or not,” Graham says quietly, measured. “But the fact is, I’m going to clear my name with or without you. Which side of the story do you want to be on?” He crosses his arms, now defiant, so sure of himself, more like the Graham I once knew. “You cared about Shaila as much as I did.”
TJ arrives at our table and gently places a hand on Graham’s shoulder. “Time’s up, Calloways.” He offers a smile. “You can always come back next week.”
Rachel rises and exchanges more secret looks with her brother. They seem connected, tethered to one another. I can practically feel Rachel fighting the urge to hug him. The secret language of siblings is so intimate, I feel the need to look away. Graham glances once more in my direction before turning to retreat, shuffling down a white corridor. His long arms hang by his side, fingers fidgeting at he gets farther and farther away. Soon we can’t see him at all.
Next to me, Rachel lets out a long gush of air. “Let’s go.”
SIXTEEN
I’M STILL IN a daze a week later, thinking about everything that happened in Connecticut, when I first see the flyers. They’re tacked to the corkboard at Diane’s, covering up an ad for babysitting and another one for piano lessons. Printed on thick cardstock, likely stolen from Gold Coast Prep’s art department, the letters scream out at me.
WONDER TRUCK
ONE NIGHT ONLY
THE GARAGE
TONIGHT, JANUARY 25
8 P.M.
$5
“Jared’s gonna be a stah.” Diane comes up behind me and nudges my shoulder with hers. She throws me a wink. Since it’s 7 a.m. on a Saturday, I’m the only one in the diner, save for a few elderly folks eating bowls of oatmeal in silence. I thought I’d be safe coming here so early to start studying for the scholarship exam over pow-do and bacon, but I should have known better. The Players, Jared now included, are everywhere.
“I saw him here the other day with the Millah boy chit-chatting ’bout the show,” Diane says. “Should be a treat, right?” She smiles widely at me, her red mess of hair bouncing on top of her head.
I swallow a thick lump in my throat and force myself to agree. “Oh yeah,” I say. My mouth feels like it’s full of sand. “Can I get a couple pow-do to go?”
“Coming right up.” Diane disappears behind the counter and I lean back against the wall and close my eyes. Jared booked a show. How did I not know about this?
I desperately want to text Nikki or Quentin to hear what the plan is for tonight. Or ask Henry to pick me up so we can go together. There’s obviously going to be a Player pregame, Ubers to the Garage, an after-party to celebrate. I want to ask Jared why he didn’t tell me, to scream at Mom that I’ve been left out of everything, including our family. I want to bitch about it to Rachel, though I know she’ll only want to talk about last week’s visit to see Graham, something I’m definitely not ready to process.