They Wish They Were Us(71)

Yes.

Shit!! Is this for real?

I don’t know, I type. What if . . .?

FUCK!!!!!!!!! Quentin responds. School’s gonna be BATSHIT tmrw. Weingarten’s gonna investigate. Did you see that???

Wonder what he’ll find.

Wonder what the police will do. If anything.

I bite my lip and type, knowing my next words could smash what’s left of our friendship into bits. But I want to know where he’s at. I hit send.

Wonder if Graham is innocent.

He waits a beat.

And then another.

Finally he begins typing. The words appear.

He might be.

My brain starts to crackle, like it can’t connect the dots fast enough. I shove my phone under the couch cushion, just to get away, but it buzzes again. When I fish it out and look at the screen I see Adam’s name. My heart steadies and already I feel calmer, knowing he’s on the other end.

Did you see this clip about Beaumont? This is wild . . .

I’m so confused . . . I type back.

Same, he responds.

Then another text pops up. I wonder if Rachel is behind this. Did you ever end up talking to her?

My whole body tenses. The one thing I can’t tell him. The one act of betrayal. I said I’d drop it so many months ago, that I wouldn’t believe a thing she said. But here she is just a few text messages away. Something tugs inside me and I know I have to lie to him. No one can know I was involved.

Nope.





NINETEEN





THE SUN SLOWLY creeps into view through my window, but I’ve already been up for an hour trying to memorize equations from my Brown scholarship exam study guide, the one I actually made myself. Numbers and facts swim on the page, but I can’t concentrate. Not today.

I set down my folder and flashcards and close my laptop for the morning. There’s no use in pretending to study. Not when something is nagging me about this Beaumont thing. How was I so oblivious back then? There must have been clues—some sort of sign that Shaila left behind.

I tap over to the photos on my phone and scroll frantically, looking for Shaila’s face. Tell me, Shay. Tell me what I missed. When I hit my most recent pictures, there we are. Me, Marla, Nikki, and Shaila getting ready for Spring Fling. The photo I saw in her room. The formal was notorious at Gold Coast Prep. We had been looking forward to it since middle school. Adam had told me that the school spirit council would go all out, renting a fog machine and a fancy DJ. That year’s theme was masquerade.

Shaila and I spent the entire week talking about what we would wear, what kind of music would be played, and who would hook up behind the risers. She and Graham were still in such a good place at that time. At least I thought they were. The whole night would live up to the hype, we were sure of it.

Shaila dismissed Graham’s suggestion for us all to pregame together, and instead invited Nikki, Marla, and me over to her house to get ready.

“Don’t you want to show up with your boyfriend?” Marla asked.

“I’ve got plenty of time to hang out with him,” Shaila said. “We only get one Spring Fling as freshmen and I want us to enjoy it together.”

My face flushed from excitement and the four of us sat in a little circle on Shaila’s carpeted floor, rubbing gold glitter onto our cheeks. Shaila gave us all matching cherry pouts with a Chanel lip gloss she swiped from her mom.

When I asked for an updo, she piled my hair high on my head in an elaborate curly mess. “Audrey Hepburn with some edge,” she said wickedly. “So you.”

“Do me!” Nikki squealed.

Shaila twisted Nikki’s long mane into a low bun and pulled out some tendrils in the front. “Very nineties-chic.” Then she coiled Marla’s white-blonde hair into a braid crown, making it look like a halo.

When we arrived, Nikki and Marla sprinted into the hazy gym ahead of us, but Shaila looped her arm in mine so we could strut in side by side. When we passed by the trophy case and saw our reflection, she held my gaze in the glass. “Confirmed,” she said. “We’re fabulous.” The gym was dark, and covered in neon balloons so the wooden rafters were just barely visible. Every so often, confetti floated to the floor, making the shiny basketball courts slick. Everyone tied lace masks around their faces, shielding themselves from reality. Shaila marched us to the corner where the rest of the Players gathered in a small section of the bleachers. “Wow,” Henry said when we arrived. He had on a charcoal gray suit, his shirttails hanging over the front. He looked adorable.

“Where’s Graham?” Shaila asked.

“Over there.” Henry pointed to a buffet of punch bowls and cups. “But I’d let him breathe for a bit.”

Shaila’s pink lips turned to a frown. “Why?”

“Well, for one, he’s kind of pissed that you guys didn’t come over before this.”

Shaila rolled her eyes. “He’ll get over it.”

“But, two, Jake just gave him a brutal pop.” Graham was huddled close to Jake, who seemed to be handing over an oversized unmarked water bottle full of clear liquid.

“What’s he doing?” I asked Henry.

“Jake tasked him with spiking the iced tea.”

My gaze shifted to the snacks table. The physics teacher, Dr. Jarvis; the librarian, Mrs. Deckler; and a handful of other faculty crowded around it like bodyguards.