The Cheerleaders(45)

I’m ready to turn and run out, but Ethan is staring straight at me. He blinks, unmoving, almost as if he doesn’t see Ginny at all. He sets his rag down and emerges from behind the counter, a mug of coffee in hand. He stops several feet away from me. When he speaks, I can barely hear him over the chatter in the coffee shop and the sound of the blender behind the counter.

“You came,” he says. Ethan’s gaze falls on Ginny. “Who are you?”

“My friend,” I say, my voice froggy. I swallow, uncomfortable with Ethan hearing the fear in it. “Ginny.”

“There’s a free table in the back where we can talk,” Ethan says.

Ginny and I glance at each other. Ethan rolls his eyes. They’re as dark as they are in his yearbook portrait. “I’m not who you probably think I am, and even if I were, there are other people sitting back there to protect you.”

The note of mocking in his voice ignites something in me. “Well, at least there’s plenty of hot coffee around to throw in your face.”

Ginny looks horrified. Ethan’s mouth curves into a smile. “Follow me.”

We head into the back room of the café, where all but one two-person table is occupied. He drags a chair over so all three of us can sit. It’s loud in here; too loud for me to think, or even to be nervous anymore. I just want answers.

No one says anything while we settle into our seats. Ginny’s looking at her lap, kneading the knuckle on her thumb.

“You guys want anything?” Ethan finally asks. “Tea? Cappuccino? Hot cocoa?” He glances at me. “To drink. Not to throw in my face.”

“I’m good.” I look at Ginny. She shakes her head.

Ethan shrugs. “Suit yourselves.”

We sit in silence for a few more moments before Ethan says, “You look like you were expecting someone else.”

He’s right. I was expecting the sullen kid from his yearbook photo. The hunched-over creep who sat behind my sister in English.

Instead, Ethan McCready looks perfectly normal. Striking eyes, soft-looking surfer hair. If I didn’t know who he was and I passed him on the street, I would think he was cute.

The thought triggers something violent in me; I suddenly want to reach across the table and choke him.

“Do you realize how creepy it is that you were in that house across the street from me?” I demand. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Ethan taps his fingers, the nails bitten to stubs, on the handle of his mug. “Where do I start?”

“This isn’t funny.” I don’t realize I’m raising my voice until the people sitting at the window look over at us. Next to me, Ginny has gone rigid.

“No, I don’t think it’s funny,” Ethan says. Calmly. Evenly. “Did you come here for answers, or to yell at me?”

I lean back in my chair. Glance over at Ginny, who is studying her hands. Ethan interprets my silence as concession. “Now that that’s settled, would you like to hear what I have to say?”

My face is hot with anger. But I nod.

“I’d like to start with the fact that your stepfather,” Ethan says, “is the biggest asshole.”

Even though I’m not sure I can trust Tom anymore, I want to get up and leave. Ethan must sense it because he holds up a hand. “I’m sorry. But it needed to be said.”

“What did he ever do to you?” I demand.

“I’ll get to that,” Ethan says. “But I need you to know that even though you’re going to be skeptical about what I tell you happened that night, I swear I’m telling the truth.”

Dread pools in my stomach. Before I can speak, Ginny clears her throat. “You tried to tell Tom what you saw, didn’t you?”

Ethan looks from me to Ginny. “Yes. What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” Ginny says, at the same time as I blurt, “What did you see that night?”

Ethan cracks a knuckle. Holds my gaze. “I was in the woods behind the Berrys’ house around ten. There was a dark pickup truck parked across the street, and two people were on the back deck. A girl was yelling at someone. I couldn’t tell if it was a girl or a guy because they couldn’t get a word in. Whoever it was, was tall and wearing a hoodie over their head.”

“Which girl was yelling?” I ask. “Susan or Juliana?”

“I couldn’t tell then. Now I know it was Juliana, since Susan was in the shower.” Ethan takes a sip of his coffee. “It seemed like a bullshit argument, so I just kept walking.”

“What do you mean bullshit?”

“Something like Don’t tell me to calm down, or I won’t calm down. I don’t know,” Ethan says. “It didn’t sound serious, and the last thing I needed was for Susan Berry to find me creeping around outside her house and call the cops after I was expelled for a hit list with her name on it.”

If she had, maybe the girls would still be alive. I swallow back the thought. “When did you tell Tom what you saw?”

“Not right away. At first the cops made it sound like they knew for sure that the neighbor did it, so I didn’t really question anything.” Ethan takes another sip of his coffee. “Then a few weeks later, when they released the details to the public, the police said they knew exactly what time Juliana died because of her Fitbit.”