Ace of Spades Sneak Peek(81)
She answers, giving me a huge smile and looking slightly confused by my unannounced presence. I don’t bother returning her smile because I’m not here to smile or laugh at her jokes or watch a romantic comedy and pretend.
I’m here for answers.
“Hey, I didn’t know you were coming … Would have cleaned up a little,” Belle says, still sounding stuffy. I notice she’s wearing pink silk pajamas, and she looks really awful. At least she wasn’t lying about her illness. We walk through her foyer and into her kitchen. Hers is bigger than mine, with white marble everywhere and high-tech everything. I remember how Dad complains about kitchens these days, and how technological they are. One can’t even open a fridge normally anymore, he always says. Which is an exaggeration—I mean, if he wants to open the fridge, he could always buy whatever model Richards probably has.
“I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I want the truth,” I tell her. She pulls out a seat for me, but I remain standing.
Belle looks at me, then the seat, then me again.
“What questions?”
She says it like she hasn’t got a clue. And I’d believe her too if I could just believe anything anyone ever says to me again.
How do I begin to explain the incoherent questions that have been circulating in my brain since last night? Things I have been trying to link up. Questions that slap me into consciousness, hold my eyes open, beat my chest so that it feels bruised and aching; questions that plague me like the familiar face of a dead girl.
“Do you think…” I stop. “Do you think that death is permanent?” I ask.
Belle’s eyes widen. “Chiamaka, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, sniffing. “Answer the question.”
“What sort of question is that?”
“It’s one I keep thinking about, and I know it doesn’t make sense—not to an innocent person—but I think you can provide an answer for me.”
We stare at each other, her face blank on purpose, her eyes dull but deliberate. I can’t believe I didn’t see through it before.
I’m not as good as I used to be …
“I’ll tell you a story I’m sure you already know. Almost a year ago, Jamie and I were in a car, driving back from his parents’ beach house, when we hit someone.” The images, clear as day, flash before me like they always do, as my head hits the dashboard and the worst night of my life begins once again. “Belle, on Sunday night, I went to school, waited in Morgan Library by computer 17, and knocked a dead girl to the ground. A girl I thought I’d hit and left to bleed out like an animal. So, I ask again”—my voice is shaky, face moist from tears that stain my skin—“do you think death is permanent? Or can corpses undie, roll out of graves, and find their way into Niveus?”
Belle sits there calmly, her legs crossed, like what I just told her is equivalent to announcing there will be rainy skies or that the time right now is a quarter to five. My whole body rattles.
The floorboards creak above us and I look up.
“Chiamaka, I can explain,” she says, voice flat.
I’m not as good as I used to be, otherwise I would see through a bitch and a liar so easily, like I could before.
“Explain what? That your fucking sister is—”
“Chiamaka, please…” There are tears in her eyes.
The problem with compulsive liars is that unless you’re up to their speed, it’s so hard to tell if anything is true or not. The resemblance to her sister is striking. I can’t believe I didn’t see this before. Now when I look at her, I just see Martha.
“Since I saw Martha, I’ve come up with a hundred wild theories—blaming Jamie, thinking I was losing my mind. What’s fascinating is that not once did I think you had anything to do with it.”
Not once.
“Then I started to piece things together, and really it’s my fault for not being more suspicious when you came and spoke to me that first day after school. So when I speak to Richards and he’s telling me about Niveus being this evil institution, I start remembering things, like how it’s weird that there’s this camp so many of you guys go to every summer. I never even really questioned why you’d go to a camp just to be with the same people from school, but then … then I stumble across ‘Camp Aces’ in some old yearbook, and my theories start making sense. You’d need a camp for your sick games. You’d need a way—a place—to plan how you were going to ruin my life. Devon’s life.” My voice rises, which surprises me. I hate how vulnerable I feel right now.
“Me kissing you was real, Chiamaka,” Belle says, with a catch of what I’m now sure is trained breath between real and Chiamaka.
I shake my head. How could I be so irrational? Let myself like someone I don’t even know. Then again, I thought I knew Jamie, but he showed his true colors too. They are as bad as each other.
“Why did you do it?” I ask. It’s a question with a double meaning. Why did you kiss me back? Why not just walk out of the classroom and never speak to me again—spare me the hurt. And also, Why are you a part of this? What is THIS?
Belle looks away from me. “It’s not that simple. I need to explain everything—”
“Why did you do it, Belle? What is the point of all of this? I have theories, but I don’t want to believe them. Believe that people could be that sick. But all the evidence doesn’t leave me with much choice. I want you to tell me now, why?”