Lies I Told(36)

I rolled my eyes, trying to make light of Parker’s attitude. “More like pissy. He’s not exactly a morning person.”

She nodded, digging in her bag for her notebook and pen. “I heard about you and Logan.” She turned and flashed me a smile. It almost looked genuine. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” I said. “He’s a good guy.”

Her nod was thoughtful. “He is.”

Mr. Stein stepped to the front of the class. “Good morning,” he said, picking up a stack of papers from his desk. “Today I’ll be announcing teams for the first semester project.”

I looked at Rachel in surprise. “Project? What project?”

“It’s in the syllabus,” she said. “It’s a third of our grade.”

I dug the syllabus out of my binder. AP Euro wasn’t supposed to have projects. It was a lecture class, its sole purpose to prepare us for the AP test. That meant notes, not projects.

But there it was, right on the syllabus. One project each semester, worth a third of our grade, just like Rachel said.

Mr. Stein walked across the front of the classroom, handing out pieces of paper to the kids in the first row with instructions for them to pass it back. He explained that we would be grouped into teams before choosing one of three possible projects from the sheet. Then he started naming pairs. By the time he got to me, I knew Rachel and I would be assigned to work together; everyone was teamed up with the person sitting next to them. Way to be original, Mr. Stein.

“Grace Fontaine and Rachel Mercer.”

I looked over at Rachel and gave her a wry smile. Now that I was in with Logan, I didn’t need her. But she still made me nervous. She was nosy and way too curious. I’d planned to just avoid her, focus on Logan and the others during the times when Rachel and I were forced to be in each other’s company. That was going to be a lot more difficult paired up on the AP Euro project.

“Want to exchange numbers?” I asked her on the way out of the classroom. “So we can talk about the project?”

“Sure,” she said.

She didn’t seem happy about it. I wanted to tell her the feeling was mutual. Instead I recited my number and entered hers into my phone.

“Any idea what you want to do?” she asked as people shoved past us on their way to their next classes.

I glanced down at the sheet. “I don’t know. Maybe the historical board game?”

She nodded. “Fine.”

“Great,” I said. “I’ll text you so we can get together.”

I left her standing there as I headed down the hall. Letting someone—anyone—walk away first made you the submissive party. And not being submissive to Rachel was a matter of principle.

I met up with Selena at lunch, watching with a smile as she took her position at the table next to David. It was nice to see her happy, to see the light in her eyes when David looked at her. I considered it a victory. Maybe after we left Playa Hermosa, Selena would stay friends with the group. Maybe she would be a little less alone than the girl I’d met reading White Oleander that first day.

I sat next to Logan, my pulse jumping a little when he took my hand under the table and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek. I knew what I needed to do. Knew I should listen to the conversation going on around me for information we might use later. Who was going out of town, who’d been woken up by the security team outside their window, whose parents had had a fight about money. It could all come in handy, and it could all be casually revealed at any moment.

But I was too distracted by Logan’s proximity, the smell of his cologne, the sound of his voice as he told me about a giant wave he’d caught before school. I reached into the pocket of my dress with my free hand, feeling for the ID, needing the reminder. The pocket was big, meant to be slouchy. At first, I thought the ID was hiding in a corner, that it had slipped into one of the folds of my dress. I fought a surge of panic as I fumbled around the pocket, trying to grasp the plastic edge of the card. Finally, I had to acknowledge the truth.

It was gone.





Twenty-Eight


Wednesday night Parker and I headed to Logan’s house. His parents were out again—another charity event—and he had invited everyone over to hang out.

Parker and I rode in silence, the tension that had been building since we got to Playa Hermosa heavy between us. He hadn’t said any more about my relationship with Logan, but he didn’t have to. I knew why he was sullen, why I would sometimes catch him looking at Logan when he wasn’t paying attention. I wondered if anyone else noticed his jittery energy, the way he tapped his foot and bounced his leg when we were hanging out, like he couldn’t wait to get away. Did Rachel notice how distracted he was when she talked to him, the way he seemed unable—or unwilling—to look her in the eye? Like she was so far off his radar she didn’t even warrant eye contact? Then again, maybe that was a turn-on for someone like Rachel, who never had to work for anything.

The group seemed to read Parker’s attitude as moodiness, and while they hadn’t shut him out yet, I was starting to wonder how long they’d put up with him.

We turned onto Logan’s road, and Parker pulled up to the security gate, waiting for Logan to buzz us in. A few seconds later the gates swung open, and Parker eased down the driveway. This time I scanned the trees for cameras, noting the blinking red lights spaced at forty-foot intervals along the drive.