I lean my crutches against the wall and hop into the open kitchen, admiring the mosaic tile backsplash. Who knew Bayview had something like this? “It’s beautiful. Are you, um, thinking of renting it?” I try to sound enthusiastic and not terrified of Ashton leaving me alone with Mom. Ashton hasn’t been home all that long, but I’ve gotten kind of attached to having her there.
“I already did,” she says with a grin, spinning around a little on the hardwood floors. “Charlie and I got an offer on the condo while you were in the hospital. It still has to close, but once it does, we’ll make a pretty good profit. He’s agreed to take on all his student loans as part of the divorce settlement. My design work’s still slow, but I’ll have enough of a cushion that it won’t be a stretch. And Bayview’s so much more affordable than San Diego. This apartment downtown would cost three times as much.”
“That’s fantastic!” I hope I’m doing a good job of acting excited. I am excited for her, truly. I’ll just miss her. “You’d better have a spare room so I can visit.”
“I do have a spare room,” Ashton says. “I don’t want you to visit, though.”
I stare at her. I can’t have heard her correctly. I thought we’d been getting along great these past couple of months.
She laughs at my expression. “I want you to live here, silly. You need to get out of that house as much as I do. Mom said it’s okay. She’s in that decline phase with Justin where she thinks lots of private couple time will fix their problems. Plus, you’ll be eighteen in a few months and can live wherever you want then anyway.”
I grab her in a hug before she can finish, and she suffers it for a few seconds before ducking away. We still haven’t mastered the art of non-awkward sisterly affection. “Go ahead, check out your room. It’s over there.”
I limp into a sun-splashed room with a huge window overlooking a bike path behind the building. Built-in bookshelves line the wall, and exposed beams in the ceiling frame an amazing light fixture with a dozen Edison bulbs in different shapes and sizes. I love everything about it. Ashton leans against the doorway and smiles at me.
“Fresh start for both of us, huh?”
It finally feels like that might be true.
Bronwyn
Sunday, November 18, 10:45 a.m.
The day after Nate was released, I gave my one and only interview to the media. I didn’t mean to. But Mikhail Powers himself ambushed me outside my house, and as I expected when I first saw the full force of his charm turned on our case, I couldn’t resist him.
“Bronwyn Rojas. The girl most likely.” He was dressed in a crisp navy suit and subtly patterned tie, gold cuff links glinting as he held out his hand with a warm smile. I almost didn’t notice the camera behind him. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for weeks. You never gave up on your friend, did you? I admire that. I’ve admired you throughout this entire case.”
“Thanks,” I said weakly. It was a transparent attempt to butter me up and it totally worked.
“I would love your take on everything. Can you spare a few minutes to tell us what this ordeal has been like for you, and how you feel now that it’s over?”
I shouldn’t have. Robin and my family had held our last legal meeting that morning, and her parting advice was to keep a low profile. She was right, as usual. But there was something I’d wanted to get off my chest that I hadn’t been allowed to say before.
“Just one thing.” I looked into the camera while Mikhail smiled encouragingly. “I did cheat in my chemistry class, and I’m sorry. Not only because it got me into this mess, but because it was an awful thing to do. My parents raised me to be honest and work hard, like they do, and I let them down. It wasn’t fair to them, or my teachers, or the colleges I wanted to apply to. And it wasn’t fair to Simon.” My voice started shaking then, and I couldn’t blink back the tears any longer. “If I’d known … If I’d thought … I won’t ever stop being sorry for what I did. I’ll never do anything like that again. That’s all I want to say.”
I doubt that’s what Mikhail was hoping for, but he used it anyway for his final Bayview report. Rumor has it he’s submitting the series for Emmy consideration.
My parents keep telling me I can’t blame myself for what Simon did. Just like I keep telling Cooper and Addy the same thing. And I’d tell Nate, if he’d let me, but I’ve barely heard from him since he got out of juvenile detention. He talks to Addy more than me now. I mean, he should talk to Addy, who is obviously a rock star. But still.
He finally agreed to let me stop by and catch up, but I don’t feel my usual excited anticipation as I ring his doorbell. Something’s changed since he was arrested. I almost don’t expect him to be home, but he opens the creaking door and steps aside.
Nate’s house looks better than it did when I was feeding Stan. His mother’s staying here and she’s added all sorts of new touches like curtains, throw pillows, and framed pictures. The only time Nate spoke to me at any length after he got home, he said his mother had convinced his father to try a stint at rehab. Nate didn’t hold out much hope for it, but I’m sure having his father out of the house temporarily is a relief.
Nate flops into an armchair in the living room as I make my way over to Stan and peer into his cage, glad for the distraction. He lifts one of his front legs in my direction, and I laugh in surprise. “Did Stan just wave at me?”
“Yeah. He does that, like, once a year. It’s his only move.” Nate meets my eyes with a grin, and for a second things are normal between us. Then his smile fades and he looks down. “So. I don’t actually have a lot of time. Officer Lopez wants to hook me up with a weekend job at some construction company in Eastland. I have to be there in twenty minutes.”
“That’s great.” I swallow hard. Why is it so hard to talk to him now? It was the easiest thing in the world a few weeks ago. “I just—I guess I wanted to say, um, I know you went through something awful and I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m here if you do. And I still … care about you. As much as ever. So. That’s all, I guess.”
It’s an awkward start, made worse by the fact that he won’t look at me during my sad little speech. When he finally does, his eyes are flat.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. First, thanks for everything you did. Seriously, I owe you one. I probably won’t ever be able to repay you. But it’s time to get back to normal, right? And we’re not each other’s normal.” He averts his eyes again, and it’s killing me. If he’d look at me for more than ten seconds I’m positive he wouldn’t say this.
“No, we’re not.” I’m surprised at how steady my voice is. “But that’s never mattered to me, and I didn’t think it mattered to you. My feelings haven’t changed, Nate. I still want to be with you.”
I’ve never said anything that matters so much in such a straightforward way, and at first I’m glad I didn’t wimp out. But Nate looks like he couldn’t care less. And while I’m not fazed by external obstacles thrown my way—Disapproving parents? No problem! Jail time? I’ll get you out!—his indifference makes me wilt.
“I don’t see the point. We’ve got separate lives, and nothing in common now that the investigation’s wrapped up. You need to get ready for the Ivy League, and I—” He lets out a humorless snort. “I’ll be doing whatever the opposite of that is.”
I want to throw my arms around him and kiss him until he stops talking like this. But his face is closed off, as though his mind’s already a thousand miles away, waiting for his body to catch up. Like he only let me come here out of a sense of obligation. And I can’t stand it.
“If that’s how you feel.”
He nods so fast that whatever tiny flicker of hope I might’ve been nursing disappears. “Yup. Good luck with everything, Bronwyn. Thanks again.”