Reputation(24)

“Why?”

I shrug. “I came home one time to find her in my bedroom, standing near my dresser. The drawers weren’t open, there was no sign she’d touched anything . . . but I don’t know why she was in there in the first place.”

Willa’s eyes linger on the stairs again. We can’t hear any noises coming from all the way up there. “Was she close with Greg?”

“Not that I know of. Though . . .” I glance upstairs again. Those tears in Raina’s eyes. That heartbroken voice.

And suddenly I realize something. The night Greg was killed, I’d called Sienna when we reached the hospital. Before blurting out what happened, I’d asked where she was. “At this party,” she said. “But it’s winding down. And I’m not drunk. As soon as I find Raina, I’m leaving.”

As soon as I find Raina. But Raina just told me she’d been with Sienna when my daughter heard the news. She’d implied that she’d been standing right next to her. Witnessing it all.

She just lied.





10





RAINA


FRIDAY, APRIL 28, 2017


I know I should stay away from Alfred Manning’s house—for a lot of reasons. It’s not like I’m his favorite person these days. But I saw him pulling out of the street before I turned in, so at least I knew I’d avoid that minefield. I came for Sienna. I need to be around people who are as shaken as I am. I wish I could tell her the truth . . . but I’m not an idiot. Sienna wouldn’t understand. She’d take offense. I would, too, if I were in her shoes.

But still, for all intents and purposes, she’s my friend. And as a friend, I have the right to console her. So here I am.

When I climb the stairs to the bedroom where Sienna is staying, I find her sitting on the floor, a yellow fleece blanket bunched in her lap. She’s not crying. Practically not breathing. Instead, she’s staring at something on her cell phone. Her finger keeps scrolling, down, down, down—it’s a long text. Or a homework assignment. I really hope Sienna isn’t worrying about homework at a time like this, but then again, she’s obsessed with grades. The day I met her, when I was working in her grandfather’s office, she’d run into the lobby near tears because she didn’t understand an organic chemistry assignment and was sure she was going to fail the required class. Alfred was out, but I’d stepped in to help her. Organic chemistry isn’t that hard if you understand the equations. Sienna was so grateful for my pop-up tutoring session that she instantly made me her friend . . . which worked to my advantage.

Now, Sienna looks up and sees my tears, and a confused expression flutters over her features. Maybe she’s thinking, drama queen. Maybe she’s speculating about Greg’s hacked e-mails—I’m sure she’s read them. Who hasn’t?

Or maybe she’s wondering who killed him.

I drop to my knees next to her. “How are you holding up, baby?”

Sienna blinks slowly, like a turtle. She looks at my tears and, once again, her face registers confusion. “Sorry.” I wipe my eyes, growing self-conscious. “I’ve got PMS. And I’m scared shitless. There’s a killer on the loose, you know?”

Sienna’s mouth twists. Still, she says nothing.

“Have the police figured anything out?” I ask. “Do they have a suspect?”

“I don’t know.” Sienna’s voice is emotionless. “Our whole house is being dusted for fingerprints. Even my bedroom. They’re probably going through my drawers. Looking at my underwear and tampons.”

Her eyes lower almost catatonically. She reminds me of a barnyard animal that sleeps standing up. It makes my heart twist. My friendship with Sienna might have started out less than sincere—I saw her as yet another stepping-stone to truly get close to Alfred Manning—but she’s grown on me. If I’m rocked by Greg’s death, I can’t imagine how I’d feel if Greg were my stepfather.

“Are you okay?” There’s a hitch in my voice.

Another slow blink. “I took some NyQuil,” Sienna admits. “It’s making me feel . . . I don’t know. Like my bones have turned to vapor.”

I breathe out. It’s just pills, then. She doesn’t know anything. And I’m actually glad she’s taken something. It’s probably better just to blur these next few days . . . or even weeks.

“Do you want me to call anyone?” I ask. “Friends from the dorm? Maybe Anton?” That’s the boy she admitted she had a crush on but was too nervous to act on it. They were just friends, for now, but Sienna could totally snare him if she tried.

Sienna closes her eyes. “No.” Her voice is soft and faraway. Her features slacken.

“Okay. Sleep it off.” I pat her shoulder. “Let me help you into bed. Where’s Aurora?”

“Don’t know.” Sienna lets me pick her up and walk her over to the little bed by the corner. She is a rag doll as I move her legs onto the mattress. “She’s pissed at me. She didn’t even sleep in this room last night.”

“Why would she be mad at you?” I ask, but Sienna is snoring as I finish the sentence.



* * *





Ten minutes later, I’m walking around Aldrich campus. The place is a shitshow. Classes are still being held, but a lot of kids are using the hack and the downed systems as an excuse to go home for a long weekend. Many who are still here are protesting about things that have come out in the hack—there’s a group by the library up in arms about some uber-racist remarks one of the people in housing made to his staff. Over by the Campus Life building, a stately brick house with columns, girls are holding signs bearing Greek letters with slashes through them—something must have come out about a frat. There’s a news van on every street corner. It all makes me a little sad. I adore Aldrich. I don’t want its reputation to be tarnished. I don’t want people to stop applying here. I went through enough to get accepted; I want this all to be worth something.