Two Can Keep a Secret(32)
Her laugh is as light as spun sugar, and just as brittle. “As fun as a small-town dance can be, I guess. I hardly remember it.”
“You don’t remember being homecoming queen?” I press. “That’s weird.” Ezra tenses beside me, and even though I don’t look away from Sadie, I can feel his eyes on me. We don’t do this; we don’t dig for information that Sadie doesn’t want to give. We follow her conversational lead. Always.
Sadie licks her lips. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. Probably more of an event now that kids can document the whole thing on social media.” She shifts her eyes toward Ezra. “Speaking of which, I’m loving your Instagram stories, Ez. You make the town look so pretty, I almost miss living there.”
Ezra opens his mouth, about to answer, but I speak first. “Who did you go to homecoming with?” I ask. My voice is challenging, daring her to try to change the subject again. I can tell she wants to, so badly that I almost backtrack and do it myself. But I can’t stop thinking about what Caroline Kilduff said in Dalton’s Emporium. A princess. What a stupid thing to want to be. Sadie was one—my extroverted, attention-loving mother hit the absolute pinnacle of high school popularity—and she never, ever talks about it.
I need her to talk about it.
At first, I don’t think she’ll answer. When the words spring past her lips she looks as surprised as I am. “Vance Puckett,” she says. I’m not prepared for that, and my jaw drops before I can stop it. Ezra inhales sharply beside me. A crease appears between Sadie’s eyes, and her voice pitches upward as she looks between us. “What? Have you met him?”
“Briefly,” Ezra says, at the same time I ask, “Were you serious with him?”
“I wasn’t serious about anyone back then.” Sadie tugs on one of her earrings. It’s her nervous tell. I twist a strand of hair around my finger, which is mine. If Sadie dislikes this line of questioning, she’s going to hate the next one.
“Who did Sarah go with?” I ask.
It’s like I took an eraser and wiped the expression right off her face. I haven’t asked about Sarah in years; Sadie trained me not to bother. Ezra cracks his knuckles, which is his nervous tell. We’re all wildly uncomfortable and I can see, all of a sudden, why Hamilton House counsels “uplifting communication.”
“Excuse me?” Sadie asks.
“Who was Sarah’s homecoming date? Was it someone from Echo Ridge?”
“No,” Sadie says, glancing over her shoulder. “What’s that? Oh, okay.” She turns back to the camera with an expression of forced brightness. “Sorry, but I need to go. I wasn’t supposed to use this phone for more than a couple of minutes. Love you both! Have fun tonight! Talk soon!” She makes a kissy face at us and disconnects.
Ezra stares at the newly blank screen. “There wasn’t anybody behind her, was there?”
“Nope,” I say as the doorbell rings.
“What was that about?” he asks quietly.
I don’t answer. I can’t explain it; the urge I had to make Sadie tell us something—anything—that was true about her time in Echo Ridge. We sit in silence until Nana’s voice floats up the stairs.
“Ellery, Ezra. Your ride is here.”
Ezra pockets his phone and gets to his feet, and I follow him into the hallway. I feel restless and unanchored, and have a sudden urge to grab my brother’s hand the way I used to when we were little. Sadie likes to say we were born holding hands, and while I’m pretty sure that’s physically impossible, she has dozens of pictures of us clutching one another’s tiny fingers in our crib. I don’t know if Sadie used to do that with Sarah, because—surprise—she’s never said.
When we get downstairs, Officer Rodriguez is waiting in Nana’s foyer in full uniform, his hands clasped stiffly in front of him. I can see his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallows. “How’s it going, guys?”
“Great,” Ezra says. “Thanks for the ride.”
“No problem. I don’t blame your grandmother for being concerned, but we’re working with Fright Farm staff and school administrators to make sure the pep rally is a safe environment for every student.”
He sounds like he’s reading from a script, and I can see the gawky teenager peeking out from beneath his new-cop veneer. I’d mentioned to Nana how Sadie had described him during our first call in Echo Ridge—broken-hearted and falling apart at Lacey’s funeral—but she just made the pshhh noise I’ve come to associate with conversations about Sadie. “I don’t remember that,” Nana huffed. “Your mother is being dramatic.”
It’s her standard response to Sadie, and I guess I can’t blame her. But I keep looking at the photo of Lacey’s junior class picnic that I snapped on my phone. When I zoom in on sixteen-year-old Ryan Rodriguez, I can see it. I can imagine that lovesick-looking boy breaking down over losing her. What I can’t tell, though, is whether he’d do it because he was sad, or because he was angry.
Nana folds her arms and glares at Officer Rodriguez as Ezra and I grab our coats. “Every student, yes. But you need to be especially vigilant about the three girls involved.” Her mouth puckers. “I’d be happier if they canceled homecoming altogether. Why give whoever is behind this more ammunition?”