They Wish They Were Us(88)

“He makes some good points.”

“You’ve talked to him?” Adam asks. His voice is getting louder.

“Yes,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “Rachel, too.”

Adam’s eyes look like they’re about to bulge out of his head. “I told you she was crazy.” His fury starts to build. He’s almost where I need him to be.

“I believe them,” I say, egging him on.

“What’s she saying now? That I killed Shaila? That we were sleeping together and on initiation I killed her and blamed it on Graham?” Adam blows out air and shakes his head. “Fucking crazy.”

“Is it?” I ask, my voice steady and loud. “Is it crazy?”

“What are you saying?” he says.

An eerie sense of calm passes over me. “It makes sense,” I say slowly. “You gave her those earrings, spilled your guts to her, and she rejected you. Maybe . . .” I let my voice trail off.

Adam’s shoulders tense when I mention the diamonds. His fists clench.

“The earrings,” he says, like he’s just remembering them for the first time in three years.

“I saw them,” I say, trying to hold my voice firm. “In your nightstand.”

Adam’s eyes go cold. “After all I’ve done for you? This is how you repay me? By suggesting that I killed Shaila? You’re out of your mind. Dumb bitch.”

“What did you call me?” My rage leaps into my throat, threatening to strangle me.

“A bitch. You and all the other little girls. You’re all the same. Pretending you’re cool but ready to fucking snap if something doesn’t go your way.” Little flecks of spit pool around the corners of his mouth. I need him to keep going. I can take it.

“Is that what happened with Shaila?” I ask. “Is that really why she’s dead?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then tell me.” I’m yelling now and my voice wavers, but I know each of these words by heart. The truth is so obvious now. I just need him to admit it. “Tell me what happened. Tell me the truth.”

Adam shakes his head back and forth and pulls his black denim jacket around his stomach. “No,” he says, his voice shaking. “I didn’t mean . . .”

Something inside me cracks and my rage boils over. Suddenly, I’m running toward him so fast the air around me turns to ice. When I make impact with his middle, Adam tumbles to the sand. I dig my knees into the ground, straddling him.

“Admit it,” I scream. “You killed her.” The tears are flowing hot and fast, and I think I’m going to throw up.

“Don’t do this, Jill.” His voice is tangled in his throat.

“You killed her!” I scream again, so close to his face I can see his stubble growing in.

“Stop it!” he wails, throwing his head back into the ground. I’m knocked off balance. The sky above me shifts. Adam catches my wrists in his hands. His grip tightens and in one swift move he flips me over and pins me to the sand. I’m trapped. “I trusted you,” he says. “You were the only thing I had left in this fucked-up town and you betrayed me by going to Rachel, by not believing me.” His voice is wet and garbled as if the words are caught in his throat. “I saved you that night,” he wails.

“But you did it,” I whimper. “You did it.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Adam says. A lump forms in my throat even as my wrists go numb. Keep talking, I plead. Keep going. Say it. Say it.

“You didn’t mean to do what?” I scream, sending tiny drops of spittle onto the very tip of his nose. My heart aches inside my chest. I want to vomit.

“It wasn’t my fault.” He shoves my wrists down farther into the sand and tucks his knees up under my armpits. I’m paralyzed. For the first time all night, I realize that if Adam killed once, he can do it again. I, too, could be just another dead girl in Gold Coast. But in this moment, I need to know more. I need to know everything. The tears are rushing down my cheeks and I find Adam’s eyes. They mirror the ocean behind me, wild and unrelenting.

“Tell me what happened,” I say through my teeth. “I deserve to know.”

Adam lets out a rush of air and for a split second, I think I see my Adam in there somewhere. The guy who forced me to listen to Fugazi and bought me platters of hash browns and runny eggs at Diane’s. The boy who sheepishly sent me play after play, just hoping they were good enough. The boy with the dimple and the plastic glasses. The boy whose future I had paired with mine. The boy who did, in fact, save me.

But it was all a lie, calculated to get me to trust him. My Adam has been replaced by a monster I’ll never unsee.

“We hung out all summer,” Adam says softly, though his fingers are still clenched around my wrists. “When Graham and Rachel weren’t around. We ran lines together, drank spiked lemonade by her pool. We had . . . a bond.”

My heart breaks. I thought that bond was mine. I thought I was the special one.

“We kept it cool, though,” he says. “Until the spring musical. Remember that? Rent.” Adam’s face twists into a weird smile and I wonder if he’s picturing Shaila shimmying and singing on stage with thick coats of makeup patted onto her face. “Keith asked me to doctor up the script so I was there a lot. Shaila was . . . amazing,” he whispers. “It was easy after that, to sneak around behind the theater after rehearsals, to pull my car into the staff lot, and be together. We just . . . fit.”