“You like sugar, huh?” It’s a dumb thing to say. What I mean is, I have no idea how you take your coffee because this is the first time we’ve been out in public together. Kris presses his lips together, which shouldn’t be attractive but is. I feel awkward and jittery and accidentally bump his knee under the table.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Addy says, tipping her cup against Kris’s. The liquid inside hers is so pale it barely resembles coffee.
Kris and I have been spending more time together, but it doesn’t feel natural yet. Maybe I’d gotten used to the sneaking around, or maybe I haven’t come to terms with the fact that I’m dating a guy. I found myself keeping my distance from Kris when we walked from my car to the coffee shop, because I didn’t want people guessing what we are to each other.
I hate that part of me. But it’s there.
Bronwyn has some kind of steaming tea that looks too hot to drink. She pushes it aside and props one of the manila folders against the wall. “Here’s all the stuff we know about Simon: He was going to post rumors about us. He paid two kids to stage a car accident. He was depressed. He had a creepy online persona. He and Janae seemed on the outs. He had a thing for Keely. He used to be friends with Jake. Am I missing anything?”
“He deleted my original About That entry,” I say.
“Not necessarily,” Bronwyn corrects. “Your entry was deleted. We don’t know by whom.”
Fair enough, I guess.
“And here’s what we know about Jake,” Bronwyn continues. “He wrote at least one of the Tumblr posts, or helped somebody else write it. He wasn’t in the school building when Simon died, according to Luis. He—”
“Is a complete control freak,” Ashton interrupts. Addy opens her mouth in protest, but Ashton cuts her off. “He is, Addy. He ran every part of your life for three years. Then as soon as you did something he didn’t like, he blew up.” Bronwyn scribbles Jake is a control freak on a Post-it with an apologetic glance at Addy.
“It’s a data point,” Bronwyn says. “Now, what if—”
The front door bangs and she goes bright red. “What a coincidence.” I follow her gaze and see a young guy with wild hair and a scruffy beard enter the coffee shop. He looks familiar, but I can’t place him. He spots Bronwyn with an exasperated expression that turns alarmed when he takes in Addy and me.
He holds a hand in front of his face. “I don’t see you. Any of you.” Then he catches sight of Ashton and does a classic double take, almost tripping over his feet. “Oh, hi. You must be Addy’s sister.”
Ashton blinks, confused, looking between him and Bronwyn. “Do I know you?”
“This is Eli Kleinfelter,” Bronwyn says. “He’s with Until Proven. Their offices are upstairs. He’s, um, Nate’s lawyer.”
“Who cannot talk to you,” Eli says, like he just remembered. He gives Ashton a lingering look, but turns away and heads for the counter. Ashton shrugs and blows on her coffee. I’m sure she’s used to having that effect on guys.
Addy’s eyes are round as she watches Eli’s retreating back. “God, Bronwyn. I can’t believe you stalked Nate’s lawyer.”
Bronwyn looks almost as embarrassed as she should be, taking the envelope I’d given her out of her backpack. “I wanted to see if Sam Barron ever got in touch, and pass along his information if he hadn’t. I thought if I ran into Eli casually, he might talk to me. Guess not.” She darts a hopeful look at Ashton. “I bet he’d talk to you, though.”
Addy locks her hands on her hips and juts her chin in outrage. “You can’t pimp out my sister!”
Ashton smiles wryly and holds out her hand for the envelope. “As long as it’s for a good cause. What am I supposed to say?”
“Tell him he was right—that the car accident at Bayview the day Simon died was staged. The envelope has contact information for the boy Simon paid to do it.”
Ashton heads for the counter, and we all sip our drinks in silence. When she returns a minute later, the envelope’s still in her hand. “Sam called him,” she confirms. “He said he’s looking into it, he appreciates the information, and you should mind your fucking business. That’s a direct quote.”
Bronwyn looks relieved and not at all insulted. “Thank you. That’s good news. So, where were we?”
“Simon and Jake,” Maeve says, propping her chin in one hand as she gazes at the two manila folders. “They’re connected. But how?”
“Excuse me,” Kris says mildly, and everyone looks at him like they’d forgotten he was at the table. Which they probably had. He’s been quiet since we got here.
Maeve tries to make up for it by giving him an encouraging smile. “Yeah?”
“I wonder,” Kris says. His English is unaccented and almost perfect, with just a little formality that hints he’s from someplace else. “There has always been so much focus on who was in the room. That’s why the police originally targeted the four of you. Because it would be almost impossible for anyone who wasn’t in the room to kill Simon. Right?”
“Right,” I say.
“So.” Kris removes two Post-its from one of the folders. “If the killer wasn’t Cooper, or Bronwyn, or Addy, or Nate—and nobody thinks the teacher who was there could have had anything to do with it—who does that leave?” He layers one Post-it on top of the other on the wall next to the booth, then sits back and looks at us with polite attentiveness.
Simon was poisoned during detention
Simon was depressed
We’re all silent for a long minute, until Bronwyn exhales a small gasp. “I’m the omniscient narrator,” she says.
“What?” Addy asks.
“That’s what Simon said before he died. I said there wasn’t any such thing in teen movies, and he said there was in life. Then he drained his drink in one gulp.” Bronwyn turns and calls “Eli!” but the door’s already closing behind Nate’s lawyer.
“So you’re saying …” Ashton stares around the table until her eyes land on Kris. “You think Simon committed suicide?” Kris nods. “But why? Why like that?”
“Let’s go back to what we know,” Bronwyn says. Her voice is almost clinical, but her face is flushed brick red. “Simon was one of those people who thought he should be at the center of everything, but wasn’t. And he was obsessed with the idea of making some kind of huge, violent splash at school. He fantasized about it all the time on those 4chan threads. What if this was his version of a school shooting? Kill himself and take a bunch of students down with him, but in an unexpected way. Like framing them for murder.” She turns to her sister. “What did Simon say on 4chan, Maeve? Do something original. Surprise me when you take out a bunch of lemming assholes.”
Maeve nods. “Exact quote, I think.”
I think about how Simon died—choking, panicked, trying to catch his breath. If he really did it to himself, I wish more than ever we’d found his damn EpiPen. “I think he regretted it at the end,” I say, the weight of the words settling heavy on my heart. “He looked like he wanted help. If he could’ve gotten medication in time, maybe a close call like that would’ve jolted him into being a different kind of guy.”
Kris’s hand squeezes mine under the table. Bronwyn and Addy both look like they’re back in the room where Simon died, horrified and stunned. They know I’m right. Silence descends and I think we might be done until Maeve looks over at the Post-it wall and sucks in her cheeks.
“But how does Jake fit in?” she asks.
Kris hesitates and clears his throat, like he’s waiting for permission to speak. When nobody protests he says, “If Jake isn’t Simon’s killer, he must be his accomplice. Someone had to keep things going after Simon died.”
He meets Bronwyn’s eyes, and some kind of understanding passes between them. They’re the brains of this operation. The rest of us are just trying to keep up. Kris’s hand pulled away from mine while he was talking, and I take it back.
“Simon found out about Addy and TJ,” Bronwyn says. “Maybe that’s how he approached Jake in the first place to get his help. Jake would’ve wanted revenge, because he—”