One of Us Is Next(60)

Knox’s eyes remain glued to her dark phone. “Me either. I thought seeing that would jog my memory, but it didn’t.” We’re all quiet for a few minutes, lost in our own thoughts, until Knox adds, “Maeve, you said Luis sent a bunch of videos. Are there any other—”

“No,” she interrupts quickly. “There’s nothing else about Brandon. The rest is just…personal stuff.” She goes bright red when she says it. Even though I’m still numb with shock, my mouth twists into a grimace.

“Ew. Please don’t tell me you accidentally watched a Sean sex tape.”

Maeve looks like she just sucked on a lemon. “No, but there was a…shower selfie.”

“Oh my God.” I stare at her in horrified commiseration. “Was it…”

“Full frontal,” she confirms, shuddering at the memory.

Knox snorts out a humorless laugh. “Imagine how much fun we could have with that if we were assholes like him.” Then he frowns and massages his temple. “So, what should we do about the video? Should we tell someone?”

“Well,” I say cautiously. “It doesn’t change anything, does it? It’s still a shitty accident, except now they’d all get in trouble for lying.” I don’t care about Sean or Monica, but there’s Jules to consider. “And then…the Truth or Dare game would be out there. Teachers would know about it, so we’d lose our phones at school. And parents would know.” I glance at Knox to see if that’s sinking in, and sure enough, he looks appalled at the thought. I’m sure he doesn’t want his parents learning his Truth any more than I want my mother to hear mine.

“Right,” Knox says decisively. “It doesn’t change anything.”

I turn toward Maeve. She’s usually the first to jump in with an opinion, but she’s been quiet for a while. Now that my eyes have gotten used to the drama club office lighting, she doesn’t look as green anymore—but she does look exhausted. Dark circles ring her eyes, and her usually shiny hair is pulled back into a dull, messy bun. “What do you think?” I ask.

Her amber eyes droop. “Whatever you guys want to do.” She picks up her messenger bag and loops it around her shoulder. “I have to go. I have a doctor’s appointment in half an hour.”

I pluck at her sleeve. “Everything okay?”

“Sure. Fine. It’s just…” Maeve glances between Knox and me and bites her lip, her face conflicted. Then she seems to make up her mind about something. “It’s just that I might not be around as much, for a while. Depending on how things go today. I’ve been having…symptoms. The sort of things that used to happen before I relapsed. So I’m getting that checked out. We’re starting with a blood test, and then we’ll see what’s next.”

My mouth falls open, and I’m rooted to the spot as Maeve gets to her feet. But Knox isn’t; he jumps up with her, knocking his knee hard against the desk. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Maeve, what the hell? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She gives him a wry half smile. “We haven’t exactly been talking.”

“Yeah, but that—that doesn’t matter. Not compared to this.” Knox runs a hand through his hair and snatches his backpack up from the ground. “I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t,” Maeve protests. “You have class.”

“I’ll cut. Phoebe showed me how.”

“It’s true,” I volunteer, but neither of them is paying attention to me.

Maeve twists her hands together. “My parents are taking me. I don’t think they’d want a committee in my oncologist’s office.”

“Then I’ll wait in the lobby. Or the parking lot.” Knox slips his backpack over his shoulders and grips the straps so tightly that his knuckles turn white. “God, Maeve, I’m sorry. I feel like shit that I didn’t know about this.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Maeve says. “I do.”

“You tried. I wouldn’t listen.”

I get the feeling, suddenly, that I’m intruding on an overdue conversation. I stand and enfold Maeve in a quick, hard hug. “I better go,” I say into her hair. “Good luck. I’m thinking all the good thoughts for you.” She murmurs her thanks as I slip through the office door.

I part the velvet curtains onstage and descend the side staircase onto the auditorium floor. My thoughts are in a whirl, pinballing between Maeve’s news and the video I just saw. When I reach the back of the auditorium, I almost trip over a sneakered foot jutting into the aisle.

“Hey,” Matthias Schroeder says. “I have a message for you.”

He’s sitting in the back row, a brown paper bag in his lap, clutching half a sandwich. I pause and take him in: light blue hoodie with some Star Wars character I don’t know, skinny black jeans, and weirdly jaunty red sneakers. His wispy blond hair is too long, hanging in his eyes. “You have a message for me?” I ask, skeptical. Matthias and I have never spoken before. “And you, what? Had to trip me before you could tell me?”

“I waved at you the entire time you were walking up the aisle,” he says. “You didn’t notice me. Anyway, I had English with Emma before lunch and she doesn’t feel well so she took your car and went home. I guess she doesn’t have a phone, or whatever.”