“You remember those spotlight posts Simon used to do when he first launched the app?” Addy asks. “More in-depth stuff, like a blog, almost?”
My throat gets tight. “I remember.”
“Well, he did that with Aiden,” Addy says. “It was straight-up evil.” Something about her tone makes me uneasy. I never thought I’d hear shallow little Addy Prentiss speak with such venom in her voice. Or have an opinion of her own.
Cooper jumps in hastily, like he’s worried she’s going to go off on a rant. “That’s what Leah Jackson said at the memorial service. I ran into her under the bleachers. She said we were all hypocrites for treating him like some kind of martyr.”
“Well, there you go,” Nate says. “You were right, Bronwyn. The entire school’s probably been walking around with bottles of peanut oil in their backpacks, waiting for their chance.”
“Not just any peanut oil,” Addy says, and we all turn to her. “It would have to be cold-pressed for a person with allergies to react to it. The gourmet type, basically.”
Nate stares at her, brow creased. “How would you know that?”
Addy shrugs. “I saw it on the Food Network once.”
“Maybe that’s the sort of thing you keep to yourself when Gupta comes back,” Nate suggests, and the ghost of a grin flits across Addy’s face.
Cooper glares at Nate. “This isn’t a joke.”
Nate yawns, unperturbed. “Feels like it sometimes.”
I swallow hard, my mind still churning through the conversation. Leah and I were friendly once—we partnered in a Model United Nations competition that brought us to the state finals at the beginning of junior year. Simon had wanted to participate too, but we told him the wrong application deadline and he missed the cutoff. It wasn’t on purpose, but he never believed that and was furious with both of us. A few weeks later he started writing about Leah’s sex life on About That. Usually Simon posted something once and let it go, but with Leah, he kept the updates coming. It was personal. I’m sure he’d have done the same to me if there had been anything to find back then.
When Leah started sliding off the rails, she asked me if I’d misled Simon on purpose. I hadn’t but still felt guilty, especially once she slit her wrists. Nothing was the same for her after Simon started his campaign against her.
I don’t know what going through something like that does to a person.
Principal Gupta comes back into the room, shutting the door behind her and settling into her seat. “My apologies, but that couldn’t wait. Where were we?”
Silence falls for a few seconds, until Cooper clears his throat. “With all due respect, ma’am, I think we were agreeing we can’t have this conversation.” There’s a steel in his voice that wasn’t there before, and in an instant I feel the energy of the room coalesce and shift. We don’t trust one another, that’s pretty obvious—but we trust Principal Gupta and the Bayview Police Department even less. She sees it too and pushes her chair back.
“It’s important you know this door is always open to you,” she says, but we’re already getting to our feet and opening the door ourselves.
I’m out of sorts and anxious for the rest of the day, going through the motions of everything I’m supposed to do at school and at home. But I can’t relax, not really, until the clock inches past midnight and the phone Nate gave me rings.
He’s called me every night since Monday, always around the same time. He’s told me things I couldn’t have imagined about his mother’s illness and his father’s drinking. I’ve told him about Maeve’s cancer and the nameless pressure I’ve always felt to be twice as good at everything. Sometimes we don’t talk at all. Last night he suggested we watch a movie, and we both logged in to Netflix and watched a god-awful horror movie he picked until two in the morning. I fell asleep with my earbuds still in, and might have snored in his ear at some point.
“Your turn to pick a movie,” he says by way of greeting. I’ve noticed that about Nate; he doesn’t do pleasantries. Just starts with whatever’s on his mind.
My mind’s elsewhere, though. “I’m looking,” I say, and we’re silent for a minute as I scroll through Netflix titles without really seeing them. It’s no good; I can’t go straight into movie mode. “Nate, are you in trouble because of how everything came out at school today?” After I left Principal Gupta’s office, the rest of the afternoon was a blur of stares, whispers, and uncomfortable conversations with Kate and Yumiko once I finally explained what had been going on for the past few days.
He snorts a short laugh. “I was in trouble before. Nothing’s changed.”
“My friends are mad at me for not telling them.”
“About cheating? Or being investigated by the police?”
“Both. I hadn’t said anything about either. I thought maybe it would all go away and they’d never have to know.” Robin had said not to answer any questions about the case, but I didn’t see how I could apply that to my two best friends. When the whole school’s starting to turn against you, you need somebody on your side. “I wish I could remember more about that day. What class were you in when Mr. Avery found the phone in your backpack?”
“Physical science,” Nate says. “Science for dummies, in other words. You?”
“Independent study,” I say, chewing the sides of my cheeks. Ironically enough, my stellar grades in chemistry let me construct my own science course senior year. “I suppose Simon would’ve been in AP physics. I don’t know what classes Addy and Cooper have with Mr. Avery, but in detention they acted surprised to see each other.”
“So?” Nate asks.
“Well, they’re friends, right? You’d think they’d have talked about it. Or even been in the same class when it happened.”
“Who knows. Could’ve been homeroom or study period for one of them. Avery’s a jack-of-all-trades,” Nate says. When I don’t reply, he adds, “What, you think those two masterminded the whole thing?”
“Just following a train of thought,” I say. “I feel like the police are barely paying attention to how weird that phone situation is, because they’re so sure we’re all in it together. I mean, when you think about it, Mr. Avery knows better than anyone what classes we have with him. Maybe he did it. Planted phones in all our backpacks and coated the cups with peanut oil before we got there. He’s a science teacher; he’d know how to do that.”
Even as I say it, though, the mental image of our frail, mousy teacher manically doctoring cups before detention doesn’t ring true. Neither does Cooper making off with the school’s EpiPens, or Addy hatching a murder scheme while watching the Food Network.
But I don’t really know any of them. Including Nate. Even though it feels like I do.
“Anything’s possible,” Nate says. “You pick a movie yet?”
I’m tempted to choose something cool and art house-y to impress him, except he’d probably see right through it. Plus he picked a crap horror movie, so there’s not a lot to live up to. “Have you seen Divergent?”
“No.” His tone is wary. “And I don’t want to.”
“Tough. I didn’t want to watch a bunch of people get killed by a mist created from an alien tear in the space-time continuum, but I did.”
“Damn it.” Nate sounds resigned. He pauses, then asks, “You have it buffered?”
“Yes. Hit Play.” And we do.
Chapter Thirteen
Cooper
Friday, October 5, 3:30 p.m.