The Cheerleaders(86)

My brother is on the living room couch, watching an Avengers movie. An explosion on-screen makes the throbbing in my head quicken.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

“Dad is at the range, and Mom is at her play, duh.”

A fresh wave of panic hits me. My parents left Petey and me alone—of course they did. It’s broad daylight on Sunday, and we’re not infants. They don’t know what happened last night. Maybe Ginny was right, and I should have woken Tom up to tell him everything.

“They said you have a hangover and I shouldn’t wake you up but if you do, I’m supposed to tell you not to set one foot outside this house,” Petey says.

“Got it.” I massage my temples.

I plod into the kitchen, wincing at the light coming in through the window over the sink. Water. I need to rehydrate, maybe force some food down so I can take a Tylenol.

The sound of a car door shutting makes me freeze. Maybe Tom, back from the range already. I look out the window, but the driveway is empty.

There’s a knock at the door leading from the kitchen into the garage. Tom must have left the garage door open when he left.

I swallow back the urge to vomit. I creep over to the door, opening it the slightest crack.

Brandon stares back at me. My stomach plummets.

“I just want to talk,” he says.

I have a flash of him at Susan Berry’s back door. “You need to leave before I call my stepdad,” I say. “Did I mention he’s a cop?”

“And tell him what?” There’s panic in Brandon’s voice. “You have the wrong idea about everything.”

I think about my brother, lounging on the couch. Mango curled at his feet, unable to hear the knock at the door because of the volume of his movie.

I angle myself so Brandon can’t see me and fumble until I find the sound recording app on my phone and hit START. I slip my phone into my pajama pants pocket and step into the garage, pulling the door shut behind me.

“What do you want, Brandon?” His name tastes foul in my mouth, but I need some way to prove it’s him on the recording.

“I’m sorry about last night. I was out of line.” His eyes are pink around his pupils, the skin underneath them gray and shiny. “But we need to talk about why you care so much about Carly Amato and Allie.”

“You know why I care about them.” I think of the security cameras Tom never got. Did anyone see Brandon come here? Will it even matter if he drags me out of here and gets me into his car? My brother won’t hear my scream over the movie, and if he does, I have no idea what Brandon will do to him.

“Monica, whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong.”

“So you didn’t cheat on Allie with Juliana Ruiz?”

His reaction to her name is all the confirmation I need. He flinches, and his expression hardens. The lightest twitch in his jaw. I almost buckle over. I’m right—the earring, Carly’s earring—

“I met her through Carly,” Brandon says. “It was stupid of me. I ended it quickly.”

“The night she was killed, right? Someone saw you outside Susan’s house.”

Brandon’s lips part. I’m shaking so hard. His eyes drop to my pocket, from which I’ve forgotten to remove my hand. Realization dawns on his face. “Are you recording this?”

He takes a step toward me at the same moment the kitchen door opens.

I whip around; Petey is standing in the doorway. He looks from Brandon to me. “Who is that?”

“No one. Go back inside, Petey.”

I pull Brandon aside by the arm, my pulse ticking in my ears. “He knows you were here. What you look like. You’re not a kid killer, Brandon. Please just leave and I’ll pretend you were never here.”

Brandon’s eyes flick from me to my brother, who hasn’t moved.

“Please,” I say quietly. “You didn’t think this through. He’s just a kid. And if you take me, he’ll be able to lead the cops straight to you. You won’t get away with it.”

A bead of sweat crops up on Brandon’s lip. I’ve gotten through to him. He’s not a kid killer.

When I feel the tension leave his body, I knee him in the balls and scream for Petey to run. “Go straight to Ginny’s house. Number eighty-four. Call the police there.”

Brandon doubles over and yelps with pain. He stands up straight as I’m stumbling toward Tom’s workbench and grabs me by the shoulder.

He’s hurting; I can hear it in his labored breathing. I could probably fight him off, but I need to give my brother a head start. I struggle against Brandon, keeping my eye on the open garage door; as soon I spot Petey running down the street, I twist and elbow Brandon in the face.

When I start to scramble away from him, pain sears the back of my head. He has me by the ponytail; I scream as he yanks me to a stop. He covers my mouth with one hand. I bite him, hard. While he recoils, I grab Petey’s baseball bat off the rack next to the workbench. I use one hand to keep the bat pointed at Brandon.

“You move, I bash your head in. Hands up.”

Brandon complies. The hand where I bit him is pink, blood drops forming where my teeth met his flesh. I think of Susan Berry’s dog, trying to stop Brandon from smothering her. I tighten my grip around the bat.

“Sit there.” I nod to the rack where we keep our dirty shoes. Brandon obeys.