I toss my barely-touched lunch in the trash, and Lana and I walk in awkward silence out of the dining hall, through the front doors and onto the grassy quad. She settles on a bench and I follow suit, my palms growing sweaty in anticipation.
“So I thought about everything,” Lana says carefully. “And I’m still really upset, but…I don’t hate you.”
“You don’t?” I let out a sigh of relief. “Really?”
“I might have done the same thing if I were in your shoes,” she concedes. “Anyway, I’m still not ready to tell everyone about Chace. It’s more than a little humiliating, being dumped for you.”
My face reddens.
“I’m sorry—”
“But,” she continues. “I think you and I can maybe try to be friends again.”
“Really?” I throw my arms around her. “You don’t know how much I’ve wished for that.”
I want it so much, I don’t even entertain my fleeting thought that this might all be too good to be true.
“So, remember the masquerade party I wanted to have?” Lana asks, switching topics abruptly.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“It’s happening tonight. We can’t make it as big as my original plan, since that’ll be too hard to keep quiet from Higgins, so it’ll just be a small group of us girls. We’ll take plenty of Instagrams, though, and make everyone else jealous.” She gives me a conspiratorial smile. “You in?”
To be back in Lana’s good graces and welcomed into her inner circle again, all without having to say goodbye to Chace, is more than I dared to dream. Nothing could keep me from this party.
“Definitely,” I tell her. “Where is it?”
“In the woods, just past the bridge,” she replies. “We needed a private spot so we can drink without getting caught, and this’ll be perfect. Meet us there at nine?”
I nod, still smiling, even though she knows I’ve always found those woods to be the creepiest place on Oyster Bay grounds. Especially at night.
“You don’t know how much this means to me, Lana. Thank you.”
I’m deep within the forest of moss-covered trees, trying not to panic. The woods are still dead silent, with no sign of anyone here but me. When I reach the low cliff that splits my path in two, a sick realization dawns on me.
I turn around slowly, my flashlight bouncing its paltry glow across the trees. There it is—another note pinned to a tree. I step forward with trepidation.
DID YOU REALLY THINK I’D FORGIVE YOU? WHAT A JOKE! HOPE YOU’RE NOT STILL SCARED OF THE WOODS, BECAUSE NO ONE IS COMING FOR YOU. YOU’RE ALL ALONE, JUST LIKE YOU DESERVE TO BE.
I stagger backward, an icy chill running through my body. She lied to me. She led me into the woods alone, when she knew I’d be terrified. I’m an idiot, such an idiot for believing her about the party, for thinking we were actually friends again.
The sound of a high-pitched trill fills the air, and I scream as a yellow-eyed owl swoops down from the sky, landing on the branch closest to me. I never knew I was scared of owls, but this one, with its blood-red coloring and beady stare, is downright fearsome. I break into a run, blinded by tears as my mind struggles to process what Lana’s done. And then my ankle slams into a stump and I’m howling in pain, my body rebounding backward. With a cry of shock, I feel myself falling, tumbling over a precipice. The earth scratches my face, sticks scrape along my skin, until my head hits a slab of rock—and everything turns black.
I’m lying half awake in an unfamiliar bed, surrounded by beeping machines and the sterile smell of disinfectant. I struggle to blink, and when my eyes finally flutter open, I find myself looking up at the hazy figure of an unfamiliar woman standing over me. She has glossy dark hair and eyes that remind me of someone—but somehow I know I’ve never seen her before in my life.
“M—Mo—” I try to call out for my mother, but I only manage a feeble croak. My head feels heavy, my body listless, like I’ve swallowed sleeping pills. The strange woman hastily grabs my hand, covering it in her cold palms.
“It’s all right,” she says, her voice low and smooth. “Don’t tire yourself by trying to speak. Just listen.”
There’s something hypnotic about her voice, and I lean my head back against the pillows, feeling my consciousness begin to drift. But then her grip tightens on my hand.
“I know about you and my son. And it needs to stop.”
My eyes snap back open. Chace’s mother? What is she doing here? Where am I? And why is she looking down at me with such contempt?
“I know all about what you’re pushing him to do, but if you think you can destroy my family, you’re severely mistaken.” Her silky voice is a sharp contrast to her threatening words. “Stay away from my son. And if you tell one other soul about the car accident—my husband and I will make sure you never speak again.”
I stare up at her in horror as she wipes the scowl off her face, replacing it with a cold smile.
“Do we understand each other?”
There’s a frantic pounding in my chest and I can’t answer, I can’t so much as move my head. The machines’ beeping turns into a squeal, and I watch helplessly as Mrs. Porter slips out of the room, just before two nurses come running in.
I wake to the sound of my mother’s voice, crying out in relief.
“She opened her eyes!”
I blink up at her, my eyes flickering from her familiar face to my foreign surroundings.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my voice coming out thin and wobbly. I try to swallow, but it feels like a blade is stabbing at my throat. “Where am I?”
Mom hovers over me, tears running down her cheeks as she strokes my hair.
“You’re in the hospital, sweetie. You were found in the woods behind the school, badly hurt. I’ve never been so scared in my life.” She looks closer at me. “What happened to you, darling? What were you doing there?”
I lean back against the pillow, trying to remember.
“I was—it was—”
But nothing comes to mind. All I can recall is the fear, and the piercing pain. My hand flies to the left side of my face. It is covered in thick bandages.
“Am I going to be okay?” I whisper.
Mom wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Yes, darling. Thank God for that.”
“My violin,” I burst out, with a jolt of panic. “Will I still be able to—”
“Don’t worry,” she interrupts. “You hurt your head badly, but the doctors assured me it won’t affect your musical cognition or your ear.”
“I need my Maggini,” I say. “I need to know for sure.”
Mom glances outside the room.
“Your friend brought it for you. I’ll bring him in, but only for a few minutes. You need to take it easy.”
I hear Mom’s footsteps leaving the room. When I glance up, Chace Porter is standing in her place, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and my violin case in the other. A fist tightens around my heart at the sight of him.
“Nicole,” he breathes. “I was so afraid I was going to lose you.”
“I—” I struggle to speak, my thoughts a foggy jumble. “Your—your mom. I think I had a dream about her.”
Chace smiles slightly.
“Maybe it’s because you were supposed to meet her over dinner tonight. She’s visiting for the weekend. We’ll do it another time, when you’re all better.”
He sets the flowers onto the bedside table and drops the violin case, rushing to my side. But just before he can touch me, I hold up my hand to stop him.
“Is it the pain?” he asks, his brow furrowed with worry.
“I—I can’t see you anymore,” I blurt out.
His mouth falls open.
“What?”
“Go back to Lana, to life before me. It’ll be better for everyone. I need to stay away from you.” I ache to look away, but I force myself to meet his eyes, so he’ll know I’m serious.
“You hurt your head,” he says, his voi
ce shaking. “It’s just the head trauma talking. You don’t really mean it.”
“But I do,” I tell him. “I may not remember what happened to me, but I know it’s my…punishment. This never would have happened if I hadn’t—if I hadn’t made the mistake of wanting you.”
I hear his sharp intake of breath. I shut my eyes, and when I open them again, Chace is gone. The flowers are the only sign that he was ever here.
I rise to my feet, my mind returning to the present inside my cell. Fury swells in my chest, and I kick the cold stone wall as hard as I can, until my toes are bruised purple.
I’m beginning to have an idea of what might have happened to Chace.
And there’s only one person who can help me prove it.
“This way, Miss Rivera. You’ll need to remove your hood.”
I shrug off my jacket but keep my head down as I follow the heavyset cop through a narrow corridor and into the Visitors’ Center—such an innocent, cheery name for the most depressing, guilty place.
The cop leads me to a window with a chair and a phone on either side, like something out of CSI. I sit down hesitantly. Now that I’m here, I’m oddly afraid of seeing her. I’m beginning to regret the hasty decision I made when I got her call. What if someone recognizes me in here? I shake my hair in front of my face, contemplating a stealth exit, when I hear the sound of chains.
Nicole shuffles toward me, flanked by two guards. She wears the hideous orange prisoner’s jumpsuit, her hands in cuffs, and for a moment I flash back to the happily naive, scarless girl I first saw practicing onstage. That girl is far away now.
She manages a slight smile as she sits in front of the glass opposite me, picking up the phone next to her. I reach for mine.
“You came,” she says.
Her voice sounds different, raspy—like she’s been sick or crying, or both.
“You took a big risk, spending your one phone call on me,” I tell her. “What made you think I would show up?”
“You might be a lot of things but you’re not a monster,” she says simply. “I know you feel guilty about that night in the woods, and what happened to my face. It’s easier to hate me than to feel the guilt, isn’t it?”
The shock pierces my chest, the phone fumbling out of my grasp. My fingers shake as I bend down to retrieve it. I thought she didn’t remember. I thought my secret was safe.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I finally answer. “I—I didn’t do that to your face.”
“But it’s because of you that I was in the woods that night and got hurt,” Nicole says. “We both know you’re the one who lured me there.”
I should just hang up, but instead my words come tumbling out.
“I never meant for any of that to happen. I just—just wanted to show you what it feels like to have the rug pulled out from under you, like how you made me feel.” I tug at a strand of hair. “If I’d known what would end up happening to you that night…I wouldn’t have done it.”
“I believe you,” Nicole says. “And I’m not trying to get you in trouble. I just need your help.”
“My help?” I raise an eyebrow at her. What is she talking about?
“I didn’t just remember the accident. I remembered being in the hospital right after,” she reveals. “And Chace’s mom was there. She—she threatened me into staying away from Chace and keeping quiet about this family secret they had. She would have done anything to keep the truth hidden.” Nicole gives me a pointed look. “Anything.”
“Wait, what?” I stare at her through the glass, bewildered. “You think Mrs. Porter killed her own son? That’s crazy. She practically lived for him.”
“I don’t think she did it on purpose, but…Chace was going to expose a cover-up from almost two years ago, the kind of thing that would have gotten the congressman kicked out of office and tarnished the family’s reputation. It was a constant source of fights between them, his desire to tell the truth and his parents’ desperation to keep the lie going.” Nicole takes a deep breath. “I think Chace’s death could have been a fight gone too far. And now Mrs. Porter is trying to pin it on me.”
I shake my head.
“I really don’t know about this—”
Nicole leans forward, ignoring my protest.
“We both lost, Lana. Chace is gone. I don’t expect us to ever be friends again, but we both cared about him, and if we have any hope of putting this behind us, we need his real killer in here instead of me. Your mom has the power to help make that happen.”
I bite my lip in guilt. She has no idea the extent of my mom’s power, and how it likely helped dig Nicole further into this hole.
“So you want my mom to hunt down evidence on Mrs. Porter?” I ask.
She nods fervently.
“But what if…what if I have another theory?”
Nicole stares at me, as I pull out the phone Ryan swiped from the Dumpster.
“This might sound crazy, but just listen. Ryan and I were at Pete’s Canteen, and we overheard Brianne yelling at someone over the phone—”
Nicole lets out an outraged sputter.
“My Brianne? You’re not actually suggesting—”
“Let me finish,” I interrupt her. “Brianne was freaking out, acting different than I’d ever seen her, and something about it gave me pause. Ryan and I followed her outside and watched her throw her phone in the Dumpster. It was so weird and dramatic…something just seemed off…and I made Ryan get the phone.”
Nicole folds her arms across her chest, clearly more offended on Brianne’s behalf than curious about what I have to say.
“Anyway,” I continue. “We saw that it was one of those cheapo disposable phones. We redialed her last call, and it went to a guy’s voice mail. A Justin Jensen.”
Nicole freezes in place. I watch the color drain from her face, and realize I just might be on to something.
“Maybe it’s a coincidence, but I recognized the name Jensen from what Chace said the day you guys…you know, had that talk with me. And then I remembered how I saw you wearing the silver cardigan the night of Tyler’s party—but I only saw it from the back, and you weren’t wearing it earlier. Could someone else have had access to your sweater? Someone we both know is close enough in height and hair color to pass for you from behind?”
Nicole’s lower lip begins to quiver.
“I—I let her borrow whatever she wanted,” she whispers. “She knew I kept an extra key under the mat.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, hardly able to believe it, even though it was my own theory. And then Nicole gasps, covering her mouth with a trembling hand.
“JJ,” she says, staring at me. “That was Brianne’s old boyfriend. She was crazy about him, and devastated when they broke up. JJ must have been a nickname for—”
“Justin Jensen,” I chime in. “But what does he have to do with Chace?”
“Justin is the one who took the fall,” Nicole says. “He was the one charged in the hit-and-run and sent away. Maybe—maybe that’s why he broke up with Brianne, and why she never explained it to me. The timing all lines up.”
“What hit-and-run?” I ask.
But before she can answer, the cop who escorted me in appears at my shoulder.
“You have one more minute, and then visiting hours are up.”
I nod quickly, then turn back to the glass.
“Look, I’ve learned a few things from my mother. If Brianne really did this…I might be able to trick her into confessing.”
At the sound of the knock, I grab my iPhone and fire off a quick text message, before shoving the phone into my bedside drawer. With a deep breath, I answer the door. Here goes.
“Hey, Brianne.”
“Hi!” She gives me an eager smile as she walks into my room, clutching her cello case.
“Have a seat.” I gesture to the bed, then turn to the mini-fridge next to my desk. “Want anything to drink?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.” She perches on the e
dge of my bed. “It was so nice of you and your mom to think of me. I have to say, I got pretty excited when I saw your text.”
I try not to smirk.
“Yeah, well, Nicole was such a hit when she performed at the New Year’s party last year, that my mom was hoping for a repeat performance. But obviously now we need a different performer, so I thought of you.”
Brianne nods.
“Well, I’m more than up to the task. Does the congresswoman have a particular piece in mind? I brought a list of songs that are great for solo cello—”
“Oh, we can go over song selection in a minute,” I say breezily. “I wanted to actually talk to you about something private first.” I give her my best secretive look, and she leans in.
“Yeah? What about?”
“Nicole.”
I watch as Brianne stiffens. Her smile sticks to her face, like a mask.
“What about her?”
“I wanted to thank you,” I say. “For getting her out of my life.”
Brianne tilts her head up at me, frowning.
“Um, what did I do?”
Here it comes. I take another deep breath before delivering the blow.
“You framed Nicole for Chace’s murder, didn’t you? It was brilliant.”
Brianne leaps up from the bed, stumbling over her cello case in her haste.
“Are you crazy? What are you talking about?”
I open my desk drawer and retrieve the disposable phone. Brianne’s face turns a ghastly shade of pale.
“It’s okay,” I say soothingly. “It’s just us here. And because of you, the girl who stabbed me in the back is behind bars.”
“Who—” Brianne gulps, beads of sweat dotting her pale, pointy face. “Who else have you told about this?”
“Which part? How you killed Chace to get revenge for the guy you’re obsessed with? Or how you wore Nicole’s sweater, wrote an incriminating email from her account, and planted the murder weapon in her room?”
“Shut up, shut up!” Brianne’s eyes flash wildly. I can see the killer in them now. But I’m not afraid.