I Swear

19. BETH

When I got home from Jillian’s, Mom’s Bible study was just finishing up. There were still seven or eight women hanging out, drinking coffee and eating cake and cookies. I’d almost made it through the living room when I heard my mom’s voice.

“Oh, Bethany, honey. How wonderful you’re home! How did things go at your deposition? Mrs. Warren, Bethany has been called as a witness in a civil case! It’s very important! Did you say hello to Mrs. Warren, Bethany?”

I stopped, then slowly turned. “No, Mom, actually I was fleeing through the living room in hopes of not being noticed. I’m tiny and fast.” I smiled to Mrs. Warren, who must’ve been eighty if she was a day. “Usually I can get away with it.”

Mrs. Warren blinked at me, then said, “My grandson Stanley is at the Christian school down by the airport. He’s a junior there. Plays basketball. Bet you all would have a lot in common.” She smiled.

“I’ll bet we would,” I said. “Especially calculus homework. Nice seeing you, Mrs. Warren.”

“Bethany . . . ,” Mom said. “I wish you could stay for a moment—”

“That makes one of us.” I smiled sweetly and waved as I rounded the bend with my bag and headed upstairs.

I opened my laptop and logged on to Gmail. The first message was from Coach Stevens with the details for the meet next weekend. The second email was from an address I didn’t recognize, but the subject said, “Regarding Leslie.” I clicked it and froze.

Inside the email was a screenshot of Leslie’s Facebook page from the morning she died. There was the message she’d left for me on her wall:

List Chick, I’m sorry I didn’t feel the same way about you. I could’ve been your friend. Anchors away.

Underneath the screenshot in bold black letters were the words: You’re only as sick as your secrets.

A wave of nausea swept over me and I ran into the bathroom just in time. I wanted to cry, but there were no tears, just fear. I was sweating and freezing at the same time. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead as I wiped my mouth and flushed the toilet. I used some mouthwash, then raced back into my room and locked the door.

I looked back down at the screen and noticed a Gchat window blinking with the message: “hipstermatic94 has invited you to chat.” It was the same address the email was from.

listchick1: who is this?

hipstermatic94: Let’s not play games okay?

listchick1: F*ck YOU KRISTA

listchick1: WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?

hipstermatic94: You better come see me if you want to find out. We should talk.

listchick1: I can’t. I have homework to do.

hipstermatic94: We all do. So you should come talk now so we can get back to Calculus.

hipstermatic94: Or you can just find out how it goes down in my deposition tomorrow.

listchick1: You are such a bitch.

hipstermatic94: See you soon . . .

I slammed closed my computer, grabbed my keys, and drove to Krista’s.

Krista’s little brother Sam buzzed me in at their loft when I knocked. He was wearing a SPAM T-shirt and holding a hot glue gun.

“Hey,” he said. “Krista’s in her room.”

“Thanks,” I said, and pushed past him. When I got to the top of the stairs, I paused and looked at the light coming out from under Krista’s door. My hand was shaking. I grasped the top of the banister to steady it. I couldn’t tell if I was furious or terrified. I settled on both and walked down the hall as silently as possible.

“Oh—totally.” Krista’s goose honk laugh was coming through the cracked door. “I swear to God she’s shaking like a leaf.”

I reached out to push open the door, but a second voice stopped me.

“It’s so genius that you took that screenshot.”

It was Macie.

“She was so upset that morning that I wasn’t sure she saw it, but the minute she got in the shower, I nabbed a screen grab and sent it to myself,” said Krista. “That’s when I knew for sure.”

Three years of frustration broke loose somewhere near my right hamstring, and the next thing I knew, I raised my right foot in a kung fu kick and the door flew open, breaking the mirror on the back.

Krista shrieked and Macie jumped.

“Knew what for sure?” I yelled as I advanced on Krista, who was sitting on the floor in front of her bed. I was on my knees and grabbed her by the collar of her jean jacket. I pinned her against the bed and shook her once, good and hard.

Macie started to laugh. “Oh, Beth. You’re so cute. Here, put Krista down.”

She pried my hands off Krista, who was scrambling for her glasses, which had been knocked off when I pushed her up against the bed. Just as she reached for them, I slammed my foot down on them, feeling the vintage plastic crack beneath my foot.

“You bitch,” Krista yelled.

Sam appeared at the door, holding an ice cream sandwich.

“Sam! Get out of here. Go to your own room,” Krista commanded.

“Just wanted to let you know that Mom called a minute ago. She’s on her way home from her shift at the hospital,” he said, then looked at Krista’s glasses, and noticed the shards of mirror lying on the area rug and the dark wood floor. “Everything okay?”

“Just working some things out,” said Macie brightly.

Sam slowly turned around and walked toward the stairs. Macie reached over and closed the door.

“Let’s make this brief, Beth. Due to your epic meltdown this week, the rest of us are in deep shit. You copped to the rumor about the boobs, which throws Krista under the bus for writing ‘whore’ on Leslie’s locker.”

“This is all bullshit,” I said. “You’ve lied so much for so long you don’t know what the truth is anymore.”

“I know the truth about one thing,” sneered Krista. “They’re going to jump all over me for the Sharpie-on-the-locker thing, and they’ll rake Josh over the coals for his stunt. But they’re missing some of the more colorful history about our little group.”

My stomach jumped into my throat. “What history?” I asked.

“Here, let me read some of it to you.” Krista picked up a worn lavender envelope and took out a piece of stationery that was inside. She opened it and read:

Dear Beth—

I’ve never told anyone that you tried to kiss me. I don’t know why you hate me so much. Ever since that day in my garage, you won’t even look me in the eye. I told you then, and I’ll say it again now: I don’t care if you’re gay. I didn’t ever want to hurt you. I just wanted you to be my friend.

Can we try to be friends again? Can you try to get Macie and the other girls to stop being so mean to me? I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I’m tired of crying every day. I’m tired of feeling worthless.

I want you to have this necklace. It reminds me of those two weeks before freshman year when I thought you were going to be my best friend. Maybe it will remind you of those good times too.

Love, Leslie

When Krista finished reading, she slipped the note back into the envelope and smiled at me.

“Where did you get that?” I was shaking. The room was spinning.

“Don’t you remember?” Macie said with wide eyes. “Leslie tried to give it to you at your birthday party, but you refused to take it.”

It all came rushing back in a flood. Leslie showing up at my party the week before she died. The argument in the driveway. Begging her to leave.

“Probably didn’t want anything to do with the girl who turned you down, huh?” Krista smirked.

“I always thought you were a little lesbo.” Macie giggled. “I mean, you’re little choppy pixie cut is so dykadelish. When sharp-eyed Krista here retrieved this envelope from your mailbox after your birthday, that confirmed my suspicions.”

“Then, lo and behold, a wall post the morning Leslie died. It was the last wall post she made. Her official final Facebook act,” said Macie.

“Must make you feel pretty special, eh, List Chick One?” Krista sneered.

When my hand flew at Krista’s face, Macie stopped my wrist and said in a low voice, “Thought that was you.”

I dropped to my knees crying.

“We’re going to share equal portions of this thing, Beth. Just wanted you to know that the secret is about to be out. Krista’s going in tomorrow and telling them what we all know.”

“And what do you know?” I sobbed.

“That you were in love with Leslie. You turned on her because she didn’t want to be with you.”

“All you’ve got is a necklace and a letter,” I choked out. “That’s not enough to pin all of this on me. They’ll never buy that.”

“Maybe they won’t,” said Krista. “But your Mom’s Bible study sure will.”

“And my dad’s press secretary.” Macie smiled. “Besides, the thing the lawyers will believe is that you set up the fake Facebook account that we used to send Leslie a weekly message.”

Krista snickered. “Yeah, they’ll believe that because it’s true. In fact, pretty much all the bullying that’s gone on in the last year can be linked to an account set up by your IP address. We know the lawyers have already subpoenaed the records from Facebook. I’ll bet they’ve read every message you sent Leslie Gatlin in your account and the fake account, and that’ll be enough evidence to stop this conversation once and for all.”

“If I were you, Beth, I’d come clean,” said Macie flatly. “If anyone should cop to Leslie Gatlin’s death, it’s you.”

“I can see it now,” said Krista. “‘Spurned High School Lesbian Drives Girl Crush to Suicide.’”

I stood up and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “You two will never get away with this,” I said softly.

Macie laughed. “Oh dear, sweet Beth. We already have.”