The Cheerleaders(44)

I hook right and head toward the edge of the woods. After a couple hundred feet, the trees thin out and my old backyard comes into view.

My toes curl in my shoes at the clear view of our house. On the windowsill of the second-story corner room, someone has arranged a row of stuffed animals in a neat line and painted over the purple walls with dark blue. My old room.

I keep walking, staying close to the edge of the woods. Head all the way down to where I can get a look at the Berrys’ old backyard. The renovators tore out the pool and installed a stone patio with a fire pit. Inside the house, at the sliding glass door leading onto the back deck, sits a white cat, its tail flicking back and forth like a metronome. Eyes locked on a squirrel balanced on the deck railing, grooming itself.

I picture Ethan standing where I am now. Prowling through the woods, doing whatever he did back here at all hours of the night. Did he watch Susan and Juliana in the house through the glass door that night? Was he waiting here on purpose…waiting here, keeping an eye on the house of the girl who got him expelled?

Daphne’s words return to me: There weren’t any signs of forced entry at the Berrys’ house that night.

Juliana wouldn’t have let Ethan McCready in the front door, and it wasn’t like the Berrys to leave the back door unlocked. If they’d been leaving Susan alone, they would have taken every precaution to make sure the house was secure.

I let myself imagine an alternate scenario. One where Ethan never went inside the house that night—one where he was standing right where I am, the whole time, watching a scene on the deck unfold.

Someone coming to the back door to meet Juliana. Someone she or Susan had been expecting. Ethan would have seen Juliana with the person in the house.

A person who was definitely not Jack Canning.

I know it wasn’t him. It had been Ethan all along. Not threatening Tom, but warning him. Ethan thought he saw the real killer that night.

I walk my bike out to the street and hop on. Pedal home as fast as my legs will allow me. I let myself through the garage, propping my bike against the wall next to Mom’s car. I’ll deal with putting it away properly later; right now I have to text Ethan McCready the message I composed in my head on the ride home.





His response comes right away, as if he were waiting for this moment, for me to put enough of the pieces together.





There’s no school Thursday and Friday because of staff development. The holiday starts at sundown on Wednesday, so Coach has to cancel practice.

It’s ten minutes to three. Ginny and I are in her mom’s car, parked in the lot behind the Millerton Public Library. We sit in silence, watching a girl toss a trash bag into a dumpster with PROPERTY OF COOL BEANS COFFEE & TEA painted on the side.

“I don’t think this is safe,” Ginny says.

I know exactly what she thinks about meeting up with Ethan McCready, because she’s mentioned it about a thousand times since I called her on Sunday to tell her everything I learned in my old neighborhood.

When I told her that he wanted to meet up this afternoon at Cool Beans Coffee & Tea, she was silent for a solid minute.

“I mean, he’s obviously not…well,” she’d said. “Saving that note from your sister all these years and keeping track of where you live?”

“He can’t do anything to me in a public coffee shop,” I said, determined. “And besides, I have to hear what he has to say.”

Ginny insisted on coming. I didn’t mention this to Ethan when I agreed to meet him. I want him to think I’m coming alone.

We climb out of the car. Ginny locks it and we head down the alleyway. Outside Cool Beans, two guys are standing inches apart, one with his back against the brick wall. Facing each other, hands intertwined.

I can’t tear my eyes away from them, warmed by the intimacy of the scene. Two guys engaged in PDA is the type of thing that would raise eyebrows in Sunnybrook, where people still substitute the term good old days for before those liberals took over. I’ve heard that at the high school in Millerton, they were allowed to put on a production of Rent. At my school, a ninth-grade English teacher got fired for playing a DVD of Romeo and Juliet that showed an actor’s naked butt.

“Oh, I knew this place sounded familiar,” Ginny says as we approach the entrance to Cool Beans. A chalkboard sign out front advertises bubble tea and free Wi-Fi. “My mom works at the hospital up the road. She comes here for breakfast after her shift sometimes.”

I pause outside the café, eyes locked on the front window. It’s crowded, everyone at the table closest to the window on their laptops. “Can you go first?” I whisper to Ginny, suddenly nervous.

She opens the door and slips inside. I stay at her back, my heart straining in my chest. I can’t stop seeing that phone number—Ethan’s phone number—on my sister’s call log from the morning she died.

I have to know why he was the last person she talked to.

Cool Beans is packed. There isn’t a single free table in the whole place. I scan each of them, looking for Ethan. It’s been five years, and I’ve only seen his yearbook photo; he could have changed his appearance.

“The barista,” Ginny whispers. I look at the front counter; a guy with floppy blond hair is wiping down an espresso machine with a rag. My stomach squirms. When he turns and starts untying the apron around his waist, I see his face. It’s slimmed down, making his jaw and nose more striking. His skin, spotted with blemishes in his school photo, is clear save for some sandy stubble. It’s him.