The door slammed. Caitlin sat with her hands in her lap, feeling jumpy and strange. She hated lying to her mom, but what was she supposed to do?
She was still struggling with the fact that someone really had killed Nolan. So many kids had been at the party. But was there someone who hated her, specifically? Someone who would have wanted Nolan gone—and wanted her to be blamed? Someone who was in her film studies class and at that party?
Ursula, she realized with a start. The girl sat in the back of film studies and usually nodded off as soon as Granger turned out the lights. But they were just soccer rivals. Ursula wasn’t nutty enough to kill someone and frame Caitlin just to get her spot on the high school team. Was she?
Caitlin stood and shook out her hands, itching to get on the field. Maybe it would help her blow off some steam. She grabbed her cleats, strode to her car, and swung into the driver’s seat.
When she turned the key in the ignition, though, nothing happened. Caitlin frowned. No lights came on. The radio didn’t come on. The car charger didn’t glow blue. She tried the ignition again and again, but it seemed as though the battery was dead. “Crap,” she whispered, glancing around the driveway. Sibyl had already left. Could anything else go wrong today?
Pulling out her phone, she tried to think. First she called Vanessa, but she didn’t pick up, probably already on the field for warm-ups. Shannon, Sujatha, and Gina didn’t answer, either. Voice mail, voice mail, voice mail.
“Damn it,” Caitlin whispered, pacing around the car. After a moment, she pressed the number two on her speed dial—Josh. He didn’t have practice today; the boys’ coach was out sick.
Josh’s cell went to voice mail, though that was typical—half the time, he left the thing at home. She dialed his landline next. It rang a few times, and then a gravelly voice picked up and mumbled hello.
“Hey,” Caitlin said gratefully, the words coming out in a rush. “My car won’t start, and I really have to get to practice.”
“Oh, I’ll drive you,” the voice on the other end said.
Caitlin blinked. “Jeremy?” He and Josh sounded eerily similar. “Wait, is Josh there?”
“No.” Jeremy sounded a little disappointed. “But really, Caitlin. I can drive you. It’s no big deal.”
“Uh, are you sure you don’t mind?” Caitlin asked.
Jeremy laughed on the other end. “If I minded, I wouldn’t have offered. I’ll be there in five.”
“Okay.” Caitlin hung up and tried to start the car a few more times, but it didn’t magically work just because she wanted it to. As she got out and slammed the door hard, she heard a faint buzzing sound in the distance. A pale green Vespa scooter appeared at the end of the road. Caitlin squinted as it drove right for her house, the helmeted driver hunched forward.
Caitlin drew in a small breath at the sight of him. He wore a pair of cargo shorts and a puffy North Face vest over a long-sleeved shirt, his longish hair falling into his eyes. She couldn’t help but notice how muscular his bare legs were. He looks hot, she thought. Then she shut her eyes, surprised at the notion.
“So. How’d you break your car?” Jeremy asked.
Caitlin stared at the ground. All at once, she felt her eyes fill with tears.
“Hey.” Jeremy’s voice dropped. “Oh my god. Caitlin. What is it?”
Caitlin didn’t even know what it was. Her mom’s weird confession about that girl who picked on her? Taylor? Nolan? Definitely Nolan. All of it, all of it.
Jeremy stepped closer. He put his hand on her arm. “I get it,” he said softly. “You need to get to soccer. You need to run around and get loose and lose yourself. Right?”
She blinked at him. It was as though she’d said the words herself.
“I feel like that sometimes,” Jeremy admitted. “Like . . . if I don’t do something, and I don’t do it right that second, I’m going to explode.”
She blinked hard, willing her tears back. “So what do you do?”
Jeremy shrugged. “Usually, I get on this and just go.” He patted the Vespa. “You cool with this? Or do you still think these things are for losers?”
“I don’t—” Then Caitlin clapped her mouth shut. She remembered the day Jeremy had gotten the Vespa. He’d been fourteen years old, not technically old enough to even ride one, and he’d bought it secondhand from someone on Craigslist. The thing was thirty years old and didn’t run, but he’d taken it to his parents’ garage, downloaded an old manual, and asked questions on a bunch of discussion forums. He had it running in a few months.
Those things are for pussies, Josh had said. It’s a freaking scooter. And Caitlin had giggled, too. Jeremy’s face had fallen. That was back in the day when Josh’s opinion had mattered to him.