White Rabbit(17)
My fingers bother the seat belt again as I wonder how much time we’ve got. Every minute that passes is another opportunity for someone to find the body, someone to call the police. I’m pretty confident no one has alerted them yet; if any of the neighbors had heard the murder being committed, the place would have been swarming with cops way before Sebastian and I made the thirty-minute drive out here. And, to that point, the prospect of the hour here and back will probably discourage the party’s guests from returning to the lake house so late at night, on the off chance anyone forgot something.
I repeat these facts to myself like a mantra, trying to stifle my anxiety, but it doesn’t help much. Whoever punched all those holes into Fox is someone whose behavior I’m not sure I can predict; they left April’s phone where she could reach it, presumably hoping she’d do the obvious—call her parents, or the police, and put Fox’s murder on the map—but there’s no way to be absolutely sure they don’t intend to drop a dime on her and tip off the authorities themselves. What I’ve agreed to do is a huge gamble.
How far, I ask myself, am I really willing to take this quixotic performance before I hold April to her promise of going to the police, anyway? And how much do I really expect to learn from the cast of stuck-up, hostile characters who attended Fox’s party? Next to nothing, if I were to be honest; but for two thousand dollars, I’d be willing to bang my head on a literal brick wall, so I figure I might as well give it a shot.
As the Jeep glides down that darkened tunnel of trees leading back to Route 2, I sneak a glance at Sebastian out of the corner of my eye and feel a perverse wave of pleasure when I see the tense and brooding look in his eyes. A malicious part of me—a part I’m not so proud of—gleefully anticipates what’s about to come.
It was difficult, not being able to tell people about dating Sebastian—and lying to Lucy, in particular, was excruciating—but I knew how sensitive the subject was. I understood the fear of damaged friendships and sobbing parents, the dread of the world turning against you because a twist of biological fate makes you Different. Keeping our relationship hidden wasn’t always easy, but I did it because I cared about Sebastian. I did it because he needed me to, and because I’d have done almost anything for him.
*
By the time the Front Line reconvened for its first meeting after winter break, I’d come to a horrible realization: I had fallen—hard—for a straight boy.
The more articles Bash and I worked on together, the more I learned about him, and the more I began to let my guard down. He started laughing at my jokes, sharing secret thoughts, and even teasing me in a way that made this squirmy ribbon of warmth begin twisting in the pit of my stomach. I’d begun looking forward to those after-school meetings—to seeing Bash Williams smile as I walked through the door, to feeling the buzz of goofy self-consciousness if I caught him looking my way when somebody else was speaking. I’d really begun looking forward to watching his cute, perfect butt move whenever he happened to be walking in front of me.
It was awful. Bash Williams was not only friends with my sworn enemies, he also had a girlfriend—and everybody knew he and Lia were epic. The problem was that I couldn’t avoid him without quitting the paper, which I really didn’t want to do, and I couldn’t be close to him, either, because my stupid feelings kept getting worse.
I had been silently agonizing over my frustrating crush for weeks before a fateful day in February when the two of us found ourselves alone in the office of the Front Line. Unprompted, and after a long, curious silence, Bash rather awkwardly announced, “I broke up with Lia again.”
“Oh?” I looked up at him from the screen of my laptop, where I’d been toggling between two photos I was considering for the next issue, and tried to sound nonchalant. “Um … I’m sorry.”
He shrugged, the motion stilted and off. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s … like, we’ve split up before? But this time I think it’s for good. You know? I mean, I think I want it to be for good. I’ve started thinking … I don’t know.” He took a breath, and for a long, speechless moment, he seemed inexplicably terrified. He licked his lips, took another breath. “I think … I think maybe I’m kind of into somebody else?”
The whole time he’d been speaking, he’d been fumbling with his phone, twisting it around and around in an agitated motion, like he couldn’t figure out which way he wanted it. And then he glanced over at me, and I saw something in his eyes that made my stomach wonky and my neck hot. We just looked at each other for what felt like a hundred and fifty years, my heart thumping so hard my eardrums almost blew out; and then he moved closer, until I could smell his citrus and vetiver cologne … and then he kissed me.
It was a revelation. I was one of, like, three openly gay kids at our dumb school, and I had literally never had a real kiss before. It was almost aggressive, like he was afraid I would bolt and he wanted to make sure it happened before I could escape; and then he drew back and we just stared at each other some more in startled silence.
And then he kissed me again, and it was even more aggressive, and my pulse went so fast I could hear it hum, my lungs empty and full all at once, and in my head I just kept thinking, This is real, this is happening, I can’t believe this is really happening.
A second later, we heard footsteps outside the door, and Bash jerked away from me just as Mr. Cohen entered the room. I was dumbstruck, the afterglow of our kiss burning on my lips, while Bash snatched his backpack up from the floor like a thief startled by flashing blue lights.