My stomach sours and I take a breath. I pick the papers up, because it doesn’t matter anymore. I already know too much.
There are four sheets—six names I recognize and more I don’t. What the hell? How big is this mess? Is he doing this for other schools? He told me he was done. He kept this from me.
You’re keeping secrets too.
Guilt pricks at my chest, curls fingers around my ribs. It hurts. Everything hurts.
I flip to the next page with shaking fingers. Not graph paper. A bill. Claireville Orthopedic and a local address is listed at the top. I scan down the bill. Some sort of preauthorization. A surgical preauthorization. Lumbar fusion.
I think back to Mr. Raines struggling under the desk. To the two weeks this summer when he was laid up in bed. Out of work. He’s had a bad back for a while, but I didn’t know.
My eyes trail to the patient responsibility amount listed after the insurance payment—$3,164. I close my eyes and swallow down the bitter truth. I didn’t know anything.
It’s like a nail in my coffin. One that feels like it’s been driven through the center of my chest.
I put the papers back where I found them and tug a blanket over Manny. I pull an afghan over Mr. Raines too, before I head outside. The door bangs louder than I intended, and I cringe, hoping it doesn’t wake them. I start my car and sit there, shivering and sick in their driveway. I don’t know where to start.
My phone shows a list of texts that burn my eyes. Where did it go wrong to begin with? This is where it went wrong. Right here.
I was stupid enough to believe that this was about justice, that I could do right by Stella. But this was never about any of those things. It was me pretending I could make up for something I can never change.
Tacey paid the price. I can’t let that happen again.
Nick asked me if I was afraid to get caught. I was. Still am. But I’m more afraid of what will happen if I don’t end this.
My fingers fly over the keyboard on my phone.
You went too far. We need to be done.
His reply comes moments later.
We aren’t done. Lots of people left to punish.
I don’t want to punish anyone. I told you, I quit.
If you quit, I’ll keep choosing. Who do you think I’ll find next?
Manny. Rage bubbles up from my center, so hot my head spins when I reply.
You’re the next person to get found. I’m about to make sure of it.
I press Send and shove my phone to the bottom of my purse. Because I don’t want to hear back from him. I don’t want to read another damn thing he has to say.
I steer my Subaru out of Manny’s driveway and take a left at the light. I head into town, past all the places I would normally stop. In the business district, I take the left toward our government offices. It’s not an area I’m familiar with, but soon enough I see the brass letters on red brick. The ones that spell out Police Station.
I park in the lot and pull my purse onto my lap. Then I stare at the brightly lit double doors that lead inside.
I can do this. I picture it in my head, sliding my phone across a high counter. Speaking to a nameless, faceless police officer. Admitting my part in this awful thing.
Shame burns my cheeks, but it’s starting to feel familiar. Just another part of me.
I grab my door handle and my purse vibrates on my legs. My body turns to stone.
Do not check it. Do. Not.
In the end, I can’t help it. I tug the phone out and jab the button to bring it to life. The message flashes, black on a glowing white background. I read it once and my world shrinks. Narrows into three sentences.
Go ahead. Turn me in. Let’s see how fast I can show the world your daddy’s big secret.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
My dad hunches over the table, sketching something crazy elaborate on the inside cover of the phone book. I’ve been watching him for ten minutes, staring bullets into the back of his head. If mind reading is real, I definitely don’t have the gift.
I have no idea what anyone would have on my dad. But then, I would have never dreamed anyone could find something on Tacey.
“You look great. Stop fidgeting,” Dad says without looking up.
I look what? Oh. Right.
I glance down at my sweater and skirt. Nick’s supposed to pick me up in a few minutes. There’s a lot to fill him in on. Poor guy probably thinks it’s just a date. I wish it were. I press my lips together, wondering if I should slap on a little lip gloss. Probably.
If I could stop stalking my dad long enough to go get some.
He caps his pen and reclines back, grinning at me. “You’re lucky Mom’s in Boston. She’d probably give you a curfew.”
His words stab like little needles, and I’m sick of being poked. Or maybe I’m too edgy about all the things we’re both hiding. “Mom likes Nick. And she’s not like that.”
“I’m just teasing you, Peanut.”
I think back to Mom’s red eyes the night I went to the club. The fight on Christmas morning. “No, you’re teasing her. And she’s not here to defend herself.”
His face reflects his hurt, and I get it. I’m working bitchy like it’s a full-time job. It isn’t fair. I know he loves me and teasing is just who he is, but I can’t shake the idea that he’s hiding something big.
Headlights in the driveway signal my escape, so I sling my coat on and grab my purse from the counter. “I’ll be home a little after midnight, if that’s okay.”
“Sure,” he says, trying to stay bright. “Have a good time.”
I can’t even force myself to thank him before I bolt. Nick is halfway up the driveway, looking a little surprised.
“Uh…should I say hi to your parents?”
“If you don’t mind me waiting in the car.” I sigh. “It’s just Dad. We’re on each other’s nerves. Besides I have texter news.”
His face falls. “I was really hoping the radio silence would work.”
He rushes to open my door and I give him a sad smile. “That makes two of us.”
I fill him in on the way, the mess with Tacey, my idea to turn the phone in to the police, his threat against my dad. He parks in front of a little Italian restaurant but doesn’t get out.
“I don’t like it. I think you should talk to the police.”
Tears blur my vision. “I can’t. After what he did to Tacey, I have this awful feeling he’ll do worse to my dad. He set that up before I was supposed to send a name, so that he’d be ready.”
“Did you find out who was at the coffee shop? Maybe you could track it that way.”
I wave that off. “According to Manny, the place was packed with students.”
“Okay, well do you know what he’s after? What your dad might have going on?”
“No idea.” But I wonder not for the first time if it’s the source of my parents’ fighting.
“So now what?”
“I have to find out what my dad’s hiding before Friday or I’ll have to send him a name. Same song.”
“For how long?” Nick’s grip on the steering wheel turns his knuckles white. “I hate it, Piper. He’s totally in control, and you don’t know who he is. This won’t end. Not ever. And what if Jackson finds out you’re involved? I can’t even think about that.”
“Look, I know the end game here. I have to turn him in, turn myself in. I know that. But I’m not ready. I’m okay going down—I made my bed. But I don’t think I’m ready to see my dad’s name smeared all over this very small town!”
“Hey,” he says, voice soft and hands reaching for me. He touches my shoulders, my face. He holds me together with those touches. “I know. I know this isn’t easy. I’m just freaked, you know?”
“Me too.” I sniff, forcing myself to pull it together. “But I can do this. I k
now I can. I’m just hoping by some miracle I can figure out my dad’s mess, you know? But I swear to you, this ends soon, okay?”
“I can handle that. Now would it be totally irresponsible to not think about this for an hour?”
My only answer is a smile.
For all the ways Nick and I are mismatched, it’s so easy between us. He pulls out my chair before we sit down and we want to share the same salad. He’s got great stories. He’s leaned in using a breadstick to enhance the tale of his first mountain climbing adventure—how he hadn’t known how to tie his harness and how he’d almost thrown up when he looked down. I’m laughing so hard I’m afraid we might get kicked out.
“Tate was ready to call the damn park ranger to get me down—” He stops so suddenly, I think maybe he’s going to sneeze. Or that he’s choking, but he’s not. His expression drifts, eyes going cloudy.
“Nick? What is it?” I ask.
“Tate. It’s, uh…his birthday party tonight.”
“And you’re not there?” I can’t imagine missing one of my crew’s birthday parties. And by the way he’s wincing, I’d say this is a first for Nick too.
“Well, I’d obviously rather be with the girl I’m dating,” he says, trying a smile. When I frown, he tenses, clearly misreading me. “Oh, come on. I didn’t use the word girlfriend.”
“Would you?”
“Would you actually let me?”
I’m too stunned to answer, because yeah, I think I would. And Nick must see it, because he’s looking at me like I handed him the key to the city.
And I give him the only thing I have in return. “I think you should go to Tate’s party. He’s your friend. That’s important too.”
I can see an idea bloom in his eyes. And I have a bad feeling I’m not going to be crazy about it. “How would you feel about coming with me?”
• • •
I’m trying to stay positive, but when we pull up to the house, I feel like a cold, wet blanket’s been tossed over me. We’re parked at the edge of Tate’s wide, flat lawn. The last time we were here, he puked in a bucket. Now, it might be my turn.
There are a handful of people on the porch smoking, and even from here I can hear the music pounding. Girls in micro-skirts and guys in collared shirts are wandering in and out of the house. It looks like…everything I hate about high school.
“I feel like this is going to turn into one of those scenes where someone swings on a chandelier,” I say. “Or maybe gets pregnant.”
Nick laughs. “Claireville football parties are obviously wildly exaggerated.”
“It’s not like I never go to parties, you know.”
“Not to our parties,” he says.
I arch a brow at him. “And what about you? I don’t see you at the theater kid bashes. Which, for the record, are a hell of a lot more inventive than keg stands by the hot tub.”
“Touché.” We share a smile and then he tips his chin toward the long driveway. “Last chance. If you’re not up for it, I can take you home.”
Home sounds better. So much better. But Nick ran through a shopping mall two days before Christmas to kiss me. I can put on my big girl panties and deal with an hour at his friend’s birthday party.
“No. Let’s do it.”
I open the passenger door and hop out. Nick meets me at the front bumper of the Jeep. He hugs me hard enough to pull me off my feet. I cross my arms behind his neck and butterflies lift off in my stomach. Even though it’s dark, I can see the pale green of his eyes.
“If you keep surprising me, then I’m going to be like a bad penny,” he says.
“A bad penny?”
“It’s something my mom says,” he explains. “It means I’ll keep turning up.”
He kisses me once before he drops me back to my feet and takes my hand as if there’s no question about how we’ll be arriving at this party. Nick walks up the drive with his shoulders back and his head high. I command myself not to look sullen. Or scared.
I do great until the door opens and a wave of apprehension rolls over me. The living room is teeming with people I barely know and usually avoid. At least half of them look up to see us stepping inside. An invisible hand squeezes my throat just as hard as I’m gripping Nick’s hand.
Terror aside, it’s not exactly the hedonistic rave I was expecting. The music is loud and the living room is pretty packed, but most of the cans on the coffee table are soda. I can tell where the liquor is, hiding none too stealthily in the red plastic cups. It’s a party. A pretty normal looking party, really.
There are two long leather couches lined with people in the main room. Another group is clustered around a giant wall-mounted television playing a video game. I spot a lot of familiar faces—Kristen, Candace, and Shelby, who’s apparently gotten over her little Tate crush if her tongue being in Nathan’s mouth is any indicator.
The crowd at the television cheers, and someone gives a triumphant howl. A fist pumps into the air and my ribs constrict. Jackson. He slaps some victory high fives. And then his dark eyes lock onto us so fast I feel like I’ve got a target on my forehead. He lopes toward us, and Nick’s fingers tighten around mine.
“Nicky Boy,” he says, grabbing Nick’s free hand.
“How’s it going?”
“Not bad, not bad,” Jackson says, but his eyes flick down to the place where our hands are joined with a less than friendly smile. Nick just pulls me closer. I can’t read his expression from my angle, but the way he tilts his head looks like a challenge.
“Piper! Hi!”
It’s Aimee Johnston, wearing a red skirt that matches her lipstick perfectly. And she’s smiling. Really smiling. “Do you want to come get something to drink?”
“Who’s that?” someone says behind her. I think it’s Ming. My suspicions are confirmed when she pushes up on tiptoe behind Aimee, revealing heavily lined golden eyes and a smile that belongs on TV. “Oh, hey, you’re the school photographer, right? Do you want to take a picture?”
I laugh, but Aimee groans. “She doesn’t want to take your picture, freak.” Then she turns to me with a wink. “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen. I’ll introduce you to everybody.”
I hesitate for just a moment, feeling my link with Nick grow taut as Aimee pulls my arm. Nick holds my gaze, a silent question in his eyes.
And I know just a shake of my head, and he’ll make sure this doesn’t happen. It’s up to me. With him it’s always up to me, isn’t it?
Ming makes a knowing sound. “Oh, I wouldn’t let Nick go either.”
Aimee sweeps me away. She’s chattering a mile a minute, introducing me to people I already know and shoving a lukewarm can of soda into my hand when I decline a beer. It’s…not terrible. I’m not tempted to pick up a pair of pom-poms or start a more thorough collection of pop music, but everyone’s polite. Almost pleasant.
Still, when Nick steps into the kitchen twenty minutes later, I feel my shoulders sag with relief. He walks up to me, ignoring the way Ming coos at our closeness.
I take a breath, surprised at how familiar he smells already. How right.
“Hey.”
“Hey back,” I say.
“You ready to get out of here?” I try not to nod too hard. And fail. He smiles at me anyway. “Want to come with me to find Tate? I still haven’t wished him happy birthday.”
“He wasn’t out there with you guys?”
“No.”
He doesn’t need to tell me he’s worried. I can see it in his eyes. And it wasn’t so long ago that I saw the guy standing beside his own mailbox looking like lukewarm death, so I get it.
“Let’s look around,” I say.
We don’t bother with the back porch, but we check out front where a few kids are still smoking. Then we head upstairs, passing by one room with enough moaning to keep us from knocking. Nick points at
a closed door across the hallway, and since he pushes it right open, I’m assuming it’s Tate’s bedroom.
I hold my breath, half-terrified of what we’re going to find in here. After my last experience with Tate, I’m imagining a tabloid overdose scene, him slumped over next to a coke-dusted mirror and a pile of empty liquor bottles. At the very least, I figure he’ll be sobbing facedown on one of Stella’s pictures.
I’m wrong. He’s lying on his back in the middle of his neatly made bed, throwing a baseball into the air. The ball lands with a smack on his palm and he throws it again. The normalcy of it is weirder than any of my imaginings.
“Hey,” Nick says, and I hesitate behind him, thinking I should have waited in the hall. Or maybe in the next town.
“Hey,” Tate says. His eyes move right past Nick to me. “You can come in, Piper. I don’t bite.”
I’d really rather light my own hair on fire than hang out in Tate Donovan’s bedroom, but I smile tightly and push the door closed behind me.
Tate rolls forward to sit up, scrubbing a hand over his pale hair. He looks better. Like he’s at least slept.
Nick shuffles forward, kicking the edge of Tate’s bed. “Figured you’d be downstairs enjoying your party. Happy birthday, by the way.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Tate says. “I should get down there.”
“Pretty much everybody showed up.” He starts listing names, but Tate doesn’t seem interested. Eventually, Nick heaves a sigh. “You know, you could just come with us. If you don’t feel like being around all these people. We could grab pizza or something.”
Tate looks at me and I force myself to look back, to face this, like I’ve needed to since that day in the hallway. He’s still the same guy he’s always been. Too pretty for his own good and spoiled within an inch of his life. He’s also the guy who said things to Stella DuBois that will haunt me until the day I die. But I’ve got ugliness in me too. Things I’ve done that will trail behind me like a shadow.
Is that why he looks different?
It’d be a nice lie to believe, but I know this isn’t about some self-actualization for me. It’s about the way he looked at Stella in that picture at Mrs. DuBois’s house. He loved her. He loved her, and that tape, what she did with…whoever that was. It destroyed him.