One Small Thing(72)

I furrow my brow. “That’s his nickname. He doesn’t go by Charlie anymore—”

A booming sound makes me jump. Dad’s just slammed his fist on the table a second time. “You do not say his name at our table. You never say it at our table.” He flings his arm toward the stairs. “Go to your room, right now, before I do something I regret.”

I don’t have to be told twice. I don’t want to be here with them.

I race upstairs and grab my phone. I dial Jeff’s number and the minute he says hello, I unload on him. “Why’d you tell my dad Chas—Charlie works at the shelter? Why do you care so much?”

“Because it’s gross how he’s just walking around free!” Jeff snaps back. “He needs to be behind bars.”

“He was behind them for three years.” I seethe.

“He killed your sister, Beth. He killed our Rachel.”

I hate that Jeff is throwing this in my face. Like I don’t know my sister is dead. Like I don’t know that Chase drove the car that struck her. Like I never mourned for her at all.

“Endlessly punishing him doesn’t bring her back,” I finally say, trying to keep my tone calm when all I want to do is scream at him for being a meddling ass.

“It sounds like you’re happy she’s dead,” he retorts.

“Fuck you, Jeff. Fuck you.”

I’m so glad that we’re not face-to-face so he can’t see the rage tears fall. I hang up and bring up Chase’s number, but it rings and rings. I shoot off a text.

I’m so sorry.

I stare at the screen, willing for him to text me or call me. A call comes through a moment later, but it’s not Chase. It’s Scarlett.

“What?” I snap.

“What’s wrong with you?” she yells.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“You’re working with Charlie? He killed your sister!”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? I know this, okay? I know this!” My cheeks are soaked with tears, the anger boiling inside me causing my hand to shake over the phone.

“You don’t act like it. Jeff said he thinks you two are seeing each other. That’s awful, Beth.”

“Why? Why is it awful?” I don’t give her a chance to argue. “You know what’s awful? Jeff is! He left me at the party in Lincoln. Just took off in his car without so much as looking behind. He stranded me there.”

“That’s not what I heard,” she says, and her smug tone makes me want to reach through the phone and smack her. “I heard he went looking for you for hours but couldn’t find you because you were slutting it up at some drug dealer’s house.”

“First of all, he wasn’t a drug dealer. And second of all, I wouldn’t have been in any person’s house if Jeff hadn’t left me on the street.” I swipe at my stupid tears. “Plus, he’s always telling you what to do. How to do your hair. What clothes you should wear. He makes you sit in a different seat in Calc.”

“So you’re jealous, is what you’re saying. Having the murderer as your boyfriend isn’t enough. You want Jeff, too.” Her harsh breathing is loud in my ear. “He told me you’d probably start talking shit about him because he turned you down. You’re creepy, Beth! First you want to bag your dead sister’s boyfriend, and then when he doesn’t want you, you turn to the guy who killed her? If anyone is sick and wrong and awful, it’s not Jeff. It’s you!”

She hangs up.

I’m left there staring at my phone. Stunned. I cannot believe she said all that horrible stuff to me. Scar and I both have a temper, but we’ve never, ever crossed the line with each other.

Calling me creepy and sick and awful? That’s unforgivable.

I drag my sleeve over my wet eyes and stumble off the bed. Screw this. Screw Scarlett. Screw Jeff. Screw my parents. I don’t deserve to constantly be attacked from all directions.

Since I can’t go to the mudroom without getting caught, I dig in the back of my closet for a spare pair of sneakers, my mind running a mile a minute.

What have I really done wrong these last three years? I’ve followed the rules. I’ve gotten good grades. I’ve been a good friend to Scar. I’ve had a part-time job and a volunteer position. Yes, I sneaked out to a few parties this summer, but how is that a crime? I’m seventeen years old. I’m allowed to do dumb things every now and then.

And I’m going to do one now.

Chase hasn’t texted back. This time, I call him instead of texting. I half expect it to bump over to voice mail, so I’m startled when his deep voice fills my ear.

“Hey,” he says roughly. “Now’s not a good time.”

“Why? Where are you?”

“Lexington Heights. I’m picking up my paycheck for the work I did last month with Jack.”

“Did...” I swallow. “Did Sandy or someone from the shelter call you?”

“Yeah.” His tone is clipped.

“Can we talk about it?”

“No. Like I said, not a good time. I haven’t seen Jack in a few weeks and he wants me to stay and chill for a bit.”

“Good. Stay there. I’m on my way.”

He’s quick to object. “Beth—”