One Small Thing(56)

As I notice other students stream across the street, I see we’re not the only ones with the bright idea to sneak in a caffeine fix.

“Not to worry.” Jeff brandishes his phone. “I already ordered using the app.”

“Oh, you’re so prepared!” Scarlett gushes.

Almost too prepared...

Suspicion builds inside me, but I try to ignore it as we head over to the Starbucks. I ignore it when we’re standing at the counter to get our drinks, and I ignore it as we leave the coffeehouse.

I’m just being paranoid. So what if Jeff was already outside and all prepped with a coffee order for us, as if he’d known we’d be running out of the school at that exact moment? So what if—

“Did you pull the fire alarm?” I blurt out, unable to stop myself.

Scarlett gasps midsip of her Frappuccino.

Unfazed, Jeff licks the whipped frothing off the top of his drink. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

I gape at him. “Why would you ever—” The demand dies in my throat when we near the school.

There are two cop cars and a fire truck parked out front.

“Oh no,” Scarlett says, clutching the sleeve of Jeff’s navy-and-white-striped shirt. “You’re going to get in trouble.”

“No, I won’t.” His handsome face sports a smug grin. “I’m not the criminal in school.”

And sure enough, the crowd parts and two men in blue uniforms lead a familiar figure to the back of the last cop car.

I thrust my cup in Scarlett’s direction and start running.





22

“Beth! Are you nuts? Come back here!”

I’ve made it only ten or so yards before Scarlett catches up to me and yanks me backward. She’s on the school track team, so she’s fast when she wants to be. And right now she’s determined to keep me from racing to Chase’s rescue.

“What are you doing?” she demands. “The cops are dealing with him. You’ll just get in their way.”

Wait, she doesn’t think I want to help him. She thinks I want to help the cops.

All around us, the kids waiting out the fire alarm whisper and gossip among themselves. Pointing at Chase, snickering behind their hands, spreading a wave of poison through the crowd.

“Of course it was him.”

“He was the first one I thought of when I heard it was a fake alarm.”

“I hope he’s gone after this. He’s ruining this school.”

“I knew he pulled the alarm the moment I heard it. I have a sixth sense about these things.” This is from Macy, who rushes up to me and Scarlett with Yvonne in tow.

Her stupid comment has me whirling on her. “Seriously, Mace? You believed that a blind person could drive as long as a seeing-eye dog was in the car at the time.”

She gasps. “Yvonne swore it was true. Why wouldn’t I believe my best friend?” She crosses her arms over her chest in indignation.

“Macy’s gullible, but it doesn’t mean she’s a bad judge of character,” Yvonne chimes in.

“Yeah, what she said.”

The two of them stand in solidarity against me. Actually, make that the four of them, because Jeff marches up to join the group. He thrusts Scarlett’s Frappuccino in her hand, while white-knuckling his own drink.

“Why were you running over there?” Jeff asks in a low voice.

“Because he didn’t do it and somebody needs to tell the cops that,” I announce frostily.

A stunned silence falls.

Then they all attack.

“You’re standing up for him?” Scarlett, incredulous.

“Are you fucking stupid?” Jeff, repulsed.

“Why are you standing up for him?” Macy, horrified.

“He killed your sister.” Yvonne, disappointed.

None of them are being quiet about it, which means everyone around us can hear what’s being said. And my other classmates have no problems voicing their unwanted opinions, too, until all I hear are whispers and accusations again.

“You’re sick,” says another student.

“I heard she never even cried at her sister’s funeral.”

“Cried? I swear, she was laughing.”

The insults start flying. My friends don’t defend me.

“So it’s going to be like this,” I say to them, shaking my head.

I don’t wait for an answer. Chase needs my help, and I’ll be damned if I let him get punished for something he didn’t do.

I push through the crowd, ignoring the jeers.

“Stop. Stop.” I wave my hands toward the cops. “I’m a witness,” I call out. “He didn’t do it.”

“Beth, don’t,” Chase murmurs. His hands are shackled behind his back. There’s a dull flush highlighting the tops of his cheekbones.

One of the cops has a hand around Chase’s upper arm. The other is opening the back of the police cruiser. I catch a glimpse of a dirty interior and the cage separating the front seats from the back.

Ignoring Chase, I turn to the officer nearest me, a stocky guy with a thick middle and a round face.

“Sir. Please. Chase—Charlie didn’t do it. He was with me when the alarm went off.” He was kissing me. Oh God, what if I have to say that out loud, in front of everyone? I ignore the queasy knot in my gut and insist, “He couldn’t have pulled it.”