One of Us Is Next(91)
Mrs. Lawton hesitates. “I’m so sorry, Knox, but Phoebe probably shouldn’t be talking with other witnesses in the Jackson case right now. It’s a delicate time.”
“No, I totally get that. Phoebe already said. I promise I won’t ask. But I thought she could use a friend. Also…” I dig into my pocket and pull out a folded piece of paper. “I wanted to give you this. From Eli. It’s a list of lawyers you could call, if you’re looking for referrals or anything like that. He says they’re good.”
Eli emailed me the list before he left his apartment for the ceremony. Until Proven can’t touch the case, obviously, given our involvement, he wrote. But Emma should get representation as soon as possible. There’s growing precedent for courts coming down hard on kids who are seen as inciting others, both in person and online. Even when they pull back, like Emma did.
If she did. I want to believe Emma, but it’s hard to imagine that Jared would see the Truth or Dare game all the way through without her being involved. Plus, there’s the fact that she must’ve fed this guy gossip not only about Phoebe and Derek—which is seriously messed up—but me and Maeve. Even though neither of us has ever done a thing to her. I actually thought she liked me. So who even knows what Emma is capable of.
You sure she’s telling the truth? I wrote to Eli.
He responded instantly. Whether she is or not, she needs good representation.
One of these days, I hope to be the type of person who worries about a girl who was allegedly part of a revenge-swapping plot to destroy me. I’m not there yet, though. I’m glad the hospital is keeping Emma for observation another day so there’s no chance I’ll run into her now.
“How incredibly kind.” Mrs. Lawton’s eyes get filmy when she takes the paper. “Please give him my thanks.” She rubs her temple and offers a weak smile. “I suppose a few minutes with Phoebe couldn’t hurt. You’re right—she could use a friend. It would cheer her up immensely to see you, I’m sure. She’s on the roof deck.”
“Thanks so—” I was about to step inside, but I pause on the threshold. “Sorry. The what?”
“There’s a new roof deck on the building. They just finished putting the railing up last week. Phoebe’s there. You can take the elevator to the top floor, and there’s a stairwell right next to it that leads to the roof.”
“Oh.” My fear of heights has gotten ten times worse since Brandon died, and a roof is the last place I want to be right now. It’s okay, though. I’ll just stay in the middle, where you can’t see over the edge. Then it’s more like a floor. A floor without walls or a ceiling. Crap. “Okay. So. I’m just going to go on the…roof.” I try to give her a confident wave when I head down the hallway, but I don’t think I pull it off.
The elevator has mirrored doors, which I could do without on the ride to the top floor. My untucked shirt is a wrinkled mess and my half-mast tie is askew. My hair looks like I combed it with a Weedwacker. At least it’s finally growing out, I guess. When the doors open, I find the stairwell and climb two short sets of stairs to a heavy metal door. I push against it, and I’m immediately hit in the face with a gust of wind.
Right. Of course. Because the only thing worse than being on a roof is being on one so windy that you could blow right off.
I tamp down the thought and take a few tentative steps forward, until I spot Phoebe leaning against what looks to be a very flimsy railing. “Hey,” I call, and she turns. “I brought you some cake.”
Phoebe lifts her hand in an anemic wave, but stays where she is, so I guess I’m going over there. I owe her, probably, after thinking for even a nanosecond in Maeve’s car last night that she could’ve been involved in this mess.
“You brought me what?” Phoebe asks when we’re close enough to talk. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun on the top of her head, tendrils flying everywhere in the wind. She’s wearing what look like pajama bottoms and a tank top. I’d think she’d be freezing, but she doesn’t seem to notice the chill in the air.
“Cake,” I gulp, holding it out when I’m a foot away. That’s the absolute closest I can get to that deathtrap of a railing. “Wedding cake. From the…wedding.” For a second she looks like she’s going to cry, and regret seizes my chest. Was this a dumb thing to do? Then she smiles and takes it from me.
“Thanks. That’s really nice of you.” She breaks off a piece and eats it, then holds out the napkin. “Want some?” she asks through her mouthful.
“Nah, I’m good.” I stuff my hands into my pockets and try to figure out where to look. Cold sweat has started to coat my face. There’s nothing but open sky around us, which is making me dizzy, so I focus on Phoebe’s face. Even when it’s covered in crumbs, that’s hardly a chore. “How are you?”
Phoebe’s stuffing cake into her mouth like she hasn’t eaten in days. Which is possible, I guess. She says something I can’t understand, and I wait for her to swallow. “Shitty,” she says when she does, taking another huge bite of cake.
“I guess, yeah. Sorry.”
She swallows again and brushes crumbs from the corners of her mouth. “But you! I didn’t get a chance to thank you. For figuring things out, first of all, and for saving everybody. Things would be so much worse if…” Her voice wavers. “If anybody besides Brandon…oh God.” She folds the empty napkin in half so the clean side is facing outward and presses it against her eyes. “I’m sorry. Every time I think I’m done crying I start again.” Her shoulders shake as she slumps against the railing, choking out noisy sobs. “I can’t stop. I don’t know when it’s going to stop.”