The door clicks and Jake pulls it open. He looks the same as ever—tousle-haired and blue-eyed, in a perfectly fitted T-shirt that shows off his football season workouts to great effect. “Hey. Come in.”
I instinctively turn toward the basement, but that’s not where we’re headed. Instead, Jake leads me into the formal living room, where I’ve spent less than an hour total since I started dating Jake more than three years ago. I lower myself onto his parents’ leather sofa and my still-sweaty legs stick to it almost immediately. Who decided leather furniture was a good idea?
When he sits down across from me, his mouth sets in such a hard line that I can tell this won’t be a reconciliation conversation. I wait for crushing disappointment to hit, but it doesn’t.
“So you ride a bike now?” he asks.
Of all the conversations we could have, I’m not sure why he’s starting with this one. “I don’t have a car,” I remind him. And you used to drive me everywhere.
He leans forward with his elbows on his knees—such a familiar gesture that I almost expect him to start chatting about football season like he would have a month ago. “How’s the investigation going? Cooper never talks about it anymore. You guys still all under the gun, or what?”
I don’t want to talk about the investigation. The police have questioned me a couple of times over the past week, always finding new ways to ask me about the missing EpiPens in the nurse’s office. My lawyer tells me the repetitive questioning means the investigation’s going nowhere, not that I’m their main suspect. It’s none of Jake’s business, though, so I tell him a stupid, made-up story about how the four of us saw Detective Wheeler eating an entire plateful of doughnuts in an interrogation room.
Jake rolls his eyes when I’m done. “So basically, they’re getting nowhere.”
“Bronwyn’s sister thinks people should be looking at Simon more,” I say.
“Why Simon? He’s dead, for crying out loud.”
“Because it might turn up suspects the police haven’t thought of yet. Other people who had a reason for wanting Simon out of the picture.”
Jake blows out an annoyed sigh and flings an arm across the back of his chair. “Blame the victim, you mean? What happened to Simon wasn’t his fault. If people didn’t pull such sneaky, bullshit moves, About That wouldn’t even have existed.” He narrows his eyes at me. “You know that better than anyone.”
“Still doesn’t make him a great guy,” I counter, with a stubbornness that surprises me. “About That hurt a lot of people. I don’t understand why he kept it up for so long. Did he like people being afraid of him? I mean, you were friends with him growing up, right? Was he always that way? Is that why you stopped hanging out?”
“Are you doing Bronwyn’s investigative work for her now?”
Is he sneering at me? “I’m as curious as she is. Simon’s kind of a central figure in my life now.”
He snorts. “I didn’t invite you here to argue with me.”
I stare at him, searching for something familiar in his face. “I’m not arguing. We’re having a conversation.” But even as I say it, I try to remember the last time I talked to Jake and didn’t agree one hundred percent with whatever he said. I can’t come up with a thing. I reach up and play with the back of my earring, pulling it until it almost comes off and then sliding it on again. It’s a nervous habit I’ve developed now that I don’t have hair to wind around my fingers. “So why did you invite me here?”
His lip curls as his eyes flick away from me. “Leftover concern, I guess. Plus, I deserve to know what’s happening. I keep getting calls from reporters and I’m sick of it.”
He sounds like he’s waiting for an apology. But I’ve already given enough of those. “So am I.” He doesn’t say anything, and as silence falls I’m acutely aware of how loud the clock over his fireplace is. I count sixty-three ticks before I ask, “Will you ever be able to forgive me?”
I’m not even sure what kind of forgiveness I want anymore. It’s hard to imagine going back to being Jake’s girlfriend. But it would be nice if he stopped hating me.
His nostrils flare and his mouth pulls into a bitter twist. “How could I? You cheated on me and lied about it, Addy. You’re not who I thought you were.”
I’m starting to think that’s a good thing. “I’m not going to make excuses, Jake. I screwed up, but not because I didn’t care about you. I guess I never thought I was worthy of you. Then I proved it.”
His cold gaze doesn’t waver. “Don’t play the poor-me card, Addy. You knew what you were doing.”
“Okay.” All of a sudden I feel like I did when Detective Wheeler first interrogated me: I don’t have to talk to you. Jake might be getting satisfaction from picking at the scab of our relationship, but I’m not. I stand up, my skin making a faint peeling sound as it unsticks from the sofa. I’m sure I’ve left two thigh-shaped imprints behind. Gross, but who cares anymore. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
I let myself out and climb onto my bike, putting on my helmet. As soon as it’s clipped tight I push up the kickstand and I’m pedaling hard down Jake’s driveway. Once my heart finds a comfortable pounding rhythm, I remember how it almost beat out of my chest when I confessed to cheating on Jake. I’d never felt so trapped in my life. I thought I’d feel the same way in his living room today, waiting for him to tell me again I’m not good enough.
But I didn’t, and I don’t. For the first time in a long time, I feel free.
Cooper
Monday, October 15, 4:20 p.m.
My life isn’t mine anymore. It’s been taken over by a media circus. There aren’t reporters in front of my house every day, but it’s a common-enough occurrence that my stomach hurts whenever I get close to home.
I try not to go online more than I have to. I used to dream about my name being a trending search on Google, but for pitching a no-hitter in the World Series. Not for possibly killing a guy with peanut oil.
Everyone says, Just keep your head down. I’ve been trying, but once you’re under a microscope nothing slips by people. Last Friday at school I got out of my car the same time Addy got out of her sister’s, the breeze ruffling her short hair. We were both wearing sunglasses, a pointless attempt at blending in, and gave each other our usual tight-lipped, still-can’t-believe-this-is-happening smile. We hadn’t gone more than a few steps before we saw Nate stride over to Bronwyn’s car and open the door, being all exaggeratedly polite about it. He smirked as she got out, and she gave him a look that made Addy and me exchange glances behind our shades. The four of us ended up almost in a line, walking toward the back entrance.
The whole thing barely took a minute—just enough time for one of our classmates to record a phone video that wound up on TMZ that night. They ran it in slo-mo with the song “Kids” by MGMT playing in the background, like we’re some kind of hip high school murder club without a care in the world. The thing went viral within a day.
That might be the weirdest thing about all this. Plenty of people hate us and want us in jail, but there are just as many—if not more—who love us. All of a sudden I have a Facebook fan page with over fifty thousand likes. Mostly girls, according to my brother.
The attention slows sometimes, but it never really stops. I thought I’d avoided it tonight when I left my house to meet Luis at the gym, but as soon as I arrive a pretty, dark-haired woman with a face full of makeup hurries toward me. My heart sinks because I’m familiar with her type. I’ve been followed again.
“Cooper, do you have a few minutes? Liz Rosen with Channel Seven News. I’d love your perspective on all this. A lot of people are rooting for you!”