Lies I Told(51)

“What are you doing out here, ladies?” he asked.

“Just waiting for our friend,” Olivia said. “She had to take someone home.”

The big guy raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have a ride?” The look in his eyes said he’d been expecting a routine party bust, and a fresh note of panic thrummed through my body.

“We do,” Olivia said. “She’ll be right back.”

“Why don’t you girls come on up with us,” he said. But it wasn’t really a suggestion. We had no choice but to follow.

We trudged up the stairs, my heart pounding in time to our footsteps on the concrete. I tried to talk myself down. This was no big deal. I had a valid California driver’s license in the name of Grace Fontaine. I hadn’t even been drinking. And if the police wanted registration and insurance information on the Saab, I could give it to them when Rachel came back. Worst case, she didn’t come back in time, and I’d call my parents. They wouldn’t be happy I’d called attention to myself, but I’d been working, worming my way into Logan’s crowd like I’d been assigned. It happens.

We reached the police car, and the smaller officer—I saw now that his name tag said Gutierrez—held out his hand. “Let me take a look at your IDs.”

We handed them over. Olivia and I had driver’s licenses, Selena had a learner’s permit, and Harper had only her school ID.

The cop named Gutierrez glanced at them. “Stay here.”

He headed for the police car, slid into the driver’s seat, and shut the door while we stood awkwardly next to the bigger cop. I couldn’t quite make out his badge, but he seemed bored, which was a good sign.

A few minutes later Gutierrez reappeared. He handed us back our IDs, then looked at his watch. “I’ll give your friend ten minutes. After that, we have to take you in and call your parents. I’m trying to give you a break, but you’re minors. We can’t just leave you standing out here by the road.”

I glanced at Selena, feeling responsible for the terror in her eyes. The rest of us would get off easy if our parents found out we’d been at a random beach party in Malibu. Selena would be grounded for life.

Time seemed to stretch long and dark; the lights from the police car cast a kaleidoscope of blue and red across the pavement. It seemed like ten minutes had passed ten times over by the time I heard the sound of a car approaching on PCH. We all turned toward it, relief flooding my body as it slowed to a stop at the side of the road.

Rachel got out of the driver’s seat. There was no sign of Waldo.

“Hey!” She flashed a smile that would have been more at home at a fund-raiser, like nothing at all was wrong. Like we weren’t standing by the side of the road, minutes from being taken to the police station because she’d insisted on taking my car. “Sorry about that!”


Gutierrez held out his hand. “License and registration.”

Rachel dug around in her bag. “I can help you with the license part, but it’s my friend’s car.”

“I’ll get the registration,” I said, heading for the Saab.

I held my breath as Gutierrez looked over everything. “You girls go on home now,” he said. “It’s not as safe as you might think to be out on an empty beach at all hours.”

Rachel smiled. “Yes, sir.”

I snatched the keys from her hand and headed for the car. No one said anything as they piled in, the police car still parked in front of us. I had just started the car when Rachel opened the back door.

“Hold on,” she said. “I forgot my sweater on the beach.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Selena muttered.

The door slammed shut, and we watched as Rachel headed for the stairs to the beach, waving breezily at Gutierrez, who had once again stepped out of the police car.

“Is she serious?” Harper said.

“She’s Rachel,” Olivia said. “You know how she is.”

“I’m tired of making excuses for her,” Harper said. “Let’s just be honest—sometimes she’s a f*cking bitch.”

The atmosphere was thick with shocked silence in the moment before we all started laughing.





Thirty-Eight


I was waiting for Logan in the school parking lot the following week when I finally googled the name I’d used in Arizona. I’d been putting it off, afraid of what I would find. Afraid of what Rachel might have found when she’d done her snooping. But I was suddenly feeing brave. Or resigned, at least. Whatever Rachel might know, it was better to find out so I could deal with it.

I sat on the curb in the parking lot and pulled up the browser on my phone. I typed in the name Grace Rollins, trying to remember if I’d done anything of note at Chandler High School. Anything that might put me in the local paper or on the school website.

I scrolled through three pages of results before I modified my search to Grace Rollins Chandler High School.

And there it was. One hit on the district website’s online newspaper. I clicked through and started reading.



Several Chandler High School students spent Saturday afternoon packing food boxes for needy area families. The food was gathered by Linda Tucci, Chandler High School’s food bank coordinator, and donated by Sav-Mor and Peterson’s Food Mart. “It feels good to help people who need it,” said Grace Rollins, Chandler High School student and food bank volunteer.