White Rabbit(26)
On the other end of the sofa, Peyton gives a corroborating nod. “We should’ve just stayed here all night. You didn’t miss anything, trust me. Fox’s party sucked.”
Her expression is a little too earnest to be entirely genuine, and the silence that follows her remark is choking. Something’s not right, but I can’t put my finger on it, and I can’t challenge their story without tipping my hand. If I bring up the drugs, they’ll go as cold as Lia did—colder, probably—and our conversation will be over; and there’s nothing I can say about the real reason we want them to account for their evening, because to do so would mean revealing everything we’re trying to cover up with this awkward Q&A in the first place. Sebastian saves me from a clumsy attempt at grilling them further by noting casually, “Lia said you guys were the first to leave.”
“More or less.” Race shrugs. “Lia was still trying to calm April down when I took off. But she and Arlo passed me on the road before I made it to the causeway.”
“I waited until she gave up, and then I followed after him,” Peyton chimes in cooperatively. “Arlo and Lia couldn’t have stayed behind long, though, because I wasn’t even back on Route 2 when they passed me.” She stabs her cigarette out with a vengeance. “Fucking Arlo was going, like, ninety—almost took off my side mirror. He’s gonna die on that bike.”
There’s more silence, then, that oppressive sense of awkward discomfort building over the patio like a weather front. I’m all out of benign questions, out of ways to make my curiosity sound appropriate and nonthreatening, and they’ve barely told us anything of value. Desperately, I try, “How did Fox seem when you guys left? Was he still pissed about the thing with Arlo? Was he mad at April?”
“Fox is mad at anybody who doesn’t kiss his ass,” Race retorts harshly, spitting out the name of his best friend as if it were poisonous, “but April knows how to handle him by now. She’s probably the only person he’s actually afraid of—her and Hayden.” Agitated, Race leans forward and snatches his cigarettes from the table, then slumps back against the cushions to light up. “Fox had his lips so far up Hayden’s ass tonight, he could’ve kissed the roof of the guy’s mouth.”
Sebastian and I straighten up at the same time, but it’s my ex-boyfriend who follows through with the obvious question. “Hayden was at the party, too?”
“Only for a minute.” Race’s expression turns abruptly serious, as though he’s afraid he’s just put his foot in his mouth. “Just to … pick something up.”
He’s clearly talking about drugs—making Hayden one of Fox and Arlo’s customers. It’s a turn of events I should have seen coming … and yet I’m rigid in my seat, anyway, my eyes locked on the surly boy sitting across from me.
When Race reached for his cigarettes, I caught a split-second glimpse of a dark stain on his right index finger—a dark red stain. His movement was too quick, the light too dim, for me to be certain … but it sure as hell looked a lot like blood.
8
Before I can come up with some subtle way of demanding to get a better look at Race’s fingers, Peyton jumps to her feet, instantly breaking the moment apart. “Well, I’m tired, and I’m sick of talking to you guys, so I’m going home.”
She lingers for a moment, her eyes sweeping from one of us to the other, waiting for someone to challenge her; but I can’t think of any way to make her stay, and her boyfriend barely even spares her a glance. Silently, then, she turns and marches off into the shadows that loom near the gate. Race stands up the second we hear the latch release. “Look. The next time you want to ask stupid questions about Fox’s girlfriend? Just text me. And don’t bring him to my house again.”
“Listen, man—” Sebastian starts, rising from his seat, but Race cuts him off.
“I don’t know why you’re hanging out with this freak in the first place, Bash, but you should quit before people get the wrong idea.” He turns to me, then, drawing himself up to his full five foot nine—giving him the one extra inch he needs to glare down at me along the length of his pointy nose. “Next time you’ve got questions, just remember I don’t give a shit, butt-boy.”
The pejorative is so ridiculous that I wouldn’t be able to take it seriously if he didn’t look like he was ready to punch my face off at the same time. At any rate, I’m more than ready to leave, and Sebastian and I reenact Peyton’s exit forthwith.
The blond is nowhere to be seen when we return to the front of the house, but I don’t waste any time trying to figure out which way she’s gone. I’m tired of this snipe hunt for facts no one wants to give me. It requires more nerve than I’ve got left to keep acting like I don’t know that Fox is dead and lying in a pool of his own blood right now, and I can feel my karma spoiling the longer I try. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve lived up to my end of the bargain I struck with April, and I’m very much looking forward to washing my hands of the entire ordeal—and then drying them on a giant pile of money. Not to mention the fact that I am also starting to get entirely sick of being jerked around by people I despise.
When I climb back into the Jeep, I slam the door so hard that the vehicle rocks. The motion stirs April who, lying across the backseat, appears to have rather improbably fallen asleep while we were in the Atwoods’ backyard. Snapping awake in an instant, she sits up and fixes me with an anxious look. “What did he say?”