One Small Thing(58)

Before she can ask, I blurt out, “I signed a contract with my parents.”

I hope this small morsel will distract her from Chase. I don’t know how to answer her questions anyway. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s a guy I hooked up with. He’s a guy who occupies my thoughts at an alarming rate. He’s a guy who makes my heart beat faster. He’s a guy who killed my sister.

Would anyone have answers to that?

“A contract? Like a behavioral contract?” Ms. T sounds excited.

“I found it on the internet,” I tell her. “Actually, I copied one word for word. I’ll probably be kicked out for plagiarizing.”

She smiles. “I think we can let it pass in this instance.”

“I hope so. It’s working so far. I’m back at the shelter and my parents agreed to let me apply to Iowa State.”

“Well, that’s encouraging.”

“Yup.” I fall silent. I’ve exhausted my topics of conversation.

Ms. Tannenhauf starts up. “Beth, if there’s ever anything you need to talk about, my door is open. I’m just here to listen.”

The police station comes into view, and I think comically that I’ve never been so glad to see one.

“Thanks, Ms. T,” I say and tumble out of the car almost before she can come to a complete stop.

Inside, the Darling station is surprisingly quiet. I guess we don’t have much crime here. Over in the corner, I spot Chase’s mom. She stands when she sees me, recognizing me from that one time I came to the house.

“Katie!” she says in alarm. “What are you doing here?”

I feel sick. I know I need to tell her the truth about who I am, but I can’t get the words out. I’m rooted in place for several seconds, guilt churning in my stomach as I wonder how to respond.

In the end, I just say, “Where’s Chase?”

“He’s being held until my husband’s lawyer gets here.” Her fingers look red like mine, as if she’s been rubbing them nervously together, too.

Her answer isn’t good enough for me. There’s no reason for Chase to be “held.” No reason for him to be here at all.

Without another word, I hurry to the front desk. “I’m Elizabeth Jones—”

A loud gasp sounds from behind me.

Cringing, I do my best to ignore Mrs. Stanton and keep talking. “I need to make a statement about the incident at Darling High today.”

The male officer blinks at me. He’s so young I wonder if he’s a high school student. “Ah, okay.” He bends down and rummages in a drawer. He pulls out a piece of paper and slaps it on the counter. “Fill this out.”

“I need a pen.” I came here without my purse or bag or anything.

“Here’s one.” A quick hand slaps a pen on the counter.

I find the courage to glance over. Chase’s mom is at my side, but the hurt and betrayal I expect to see in her eyes isn’t there. She seems more confused than angry about my deception.

I grab the black pen and start filling out the form, scrawling my name and address, along with my age. The statement section is a box with about twenty lines. I gnaw on my bottom lip. What can I say to convince them that Chase is innocent? The officer didn’t seem to believe me. I guess I need specifics. Should I tell them about the kiss? God, I don’t want to, especially with Chase’s mom here. Will they check Jeff’s phone? I’d bet my college fund that he was the one who called pretending to be the probation officer. And he’s definitely the one who pulled the fire alarm.

I know these things are true, but how do I prove them? Luckily, I don’t have to.

A buzz sounds and I look up to see Chase coming through the heavy metal door.

“I didn’t give my statement yet,” I blurt out.

He shrugs. “You didn’t have to. My probation officer agreed that he never called me. The officer said someone played a prank.”

I’m hit with a flood of relief. “So you’re free to go?”

He nods, a brief, tight movement. I’ve never seen him this tense. Even when Troy’s been at his worst, leaning over and calling him Manson, Chase has been able to keep an aura of controlled calm.

I want to wrap my arms around him and hug him. But of course, I don’t. Instead, it’s his mom who steps past me to grab Chase. She doesn’t exactly hug him, but she squeezes his shoulders so tight that her knuckles turn white.

“Charlie,” she says in a choked voice.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his head hanging so low I can almost see the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”

My heart cracks. I reach forward, but Ms. Tannenhauf pulls me back. I didn’t even realize she was in the station with us. That’s how focused I was on Chase.

“Let’s go,” Ms. T whispers.

Reluctantly, I let her lead me away, but the scene of Chase’s mother standing at arm’s length while Chase is bent over in apology is all I can see for the rest of the day.





23

There’s a strange beep when I step inside the house. I check my phone, but the screen is off, so I dismiss it. My head’s too full of the day’s activities to actively care about strange sounds coming from my phone. I probably imagined it anyway.

I’m starting to get paranoid. Every whisper and glance in my direction, I read as an indictment of my actions. Once I got back to school, my classmates alternated between whispering about how Chase got off because his dad was the mayor and how they couldn’t believe I stood up for him. Even Scarlett kept casting me dark looks.