—
We’re in a booth at the back of the Waffle Hut; our server looked us up and down before seating us and taking our orders. Probably torn between the moral obligation to ask why we’re not in school and the promise of a tip on a slow morning. My coffee is blissfully hot between my frozen hands; I’m holding it tightly, thawing my fingers. Tyrell sips from a sweaty glass of ice water.
He’s the one who finally says something. “Is this about Andrew?”
I think of the way he and Andrew answer the phone. Always trying to top each other’s ridiculous nicknames. Hey, Johnny Rocket. What’s up, Shoeless Joe Jackson. Guys act like they’re afraid their dicks will fall off if they use the term best friend. But not Andrew and Tyrell—they’re shameless in their love for each other.
“Did he say something to you?” I ask. “About why the cops talked to him the other night?”
Tyrell’s eyes flick from the rim of his glass to me, nervous.
I lean forward—my impulse is to whisper, even though we’re not in Broken Falls anymore. “I saw the phone records,” I finally say. “Andrew called her before she left the party. Twice. He was the last person she talked to.”
“Andrew was?” Tyrell’s eyes snap open and he looks back up at me. “Nah, that doesn’t sound right.”
I wipe a line of condensation from my water glass with the tip of my finger. “I know. But it looks like Bay left to meet up with him. It looks really bad.”
Tyrell lets out a low sigh. Rubs his eyes. “Shit.”
I find myself wedging my knife through the prongs of my fork. Picking it up like it’s a gun, the way Andrew always used to do when we came here while Lauren was at dance. I instantly put it down. “I’m just trying to understand all this.”
I don’t mention the tire tracks by Andrew’s car last Sunday morning, or the way he lied about how they got there. Even though it’s Tyrell, it would feel like a betrayal. Anything that comes out of my mouth now has the chance of making its way to Detective Burke.
“Understand what?” Tyrell asks. “You think Andrew actually had something to do with this?”
Our server brings over our orders: a stack of toast for me, scrambled eggs for Tyrell. When he leaves us, I can barely look at the food. Tyrell is still watching me. Waiting.
“I don’t think he hurt Bailey,” I finally say. “But if he had a reason to—if he was pissed at her about something—I’d want to know what it was. Since that detective is up my ass and everything.”
“You’re asking me if I think Andrew had a problem with Bailey.” Tyrell sets down his fork. It’s not a question; it’s an accusation.
I fold my hands and press them into my stomach. I want a do-over. I want to rewind to the time when I thought Andrew wasn’t capable of this. I want to still believe he’s the guy who gags when the liquid stuff comes out of the ketchup bottle and there’s no way he could go through with getting blood on his hands.
“Kacey.” Tyrell’s voice is hard. “You know Andrew—he didn’t do this.”
“Yeah.” I look down. I don’t want him to see what I’m thinking as he squirts ketchup on his eggs. Because all I can see is the blood smear in the barn, and all I can think about is how smart whoever took Bailey would have to be to have made it and thrown off the whole search for her.
“Shit.” Tyrell pats his back pocket. I can tell that his phone must be buzzing there by the look on his face. Pure dread. I set down my toast as Tyrell slides his phone out and looks at the screen.
“It’s my mom,” he says. “We’re fucked.”
The school must have called her. I should be freaking out, terrified about what Ashley will do to me for cutting, but the last few moments are playing in my head on loop.
Tyrell had acknowledged that I was asking if Andrew had a reason to hurt Bailey, but he’d never answered.
Senior Year
October
I fucked up. I went too far, and I almost ruined everything. Actually, maybe I did ruin everything. That remains to be seen, because this weekend was a complete and utter shitshow.
Kacey, Jade, and I were supposed to hang out. We hang out every weekend—we’re KaceyAndJadeAndBailey. I have even been willing to forgive the shameless flirting with Andrew on service day. I didn’t text her for an entire day afterward, which made her so pathetically needy. So many texts, demanding answers.
Are you okay?
Did I do something??
After twenty-four hours, I responded back: Of course not. Let’s chill.
Kacey’s like an abused puppy. The more you ignore her, the more she wants you. I find it endearing, because I like being wanted.
But now I know for sure that the bitch can’t be trusted.
It all happened Saturday night. I’d been texting Kacey throughout the day: what are we doing tonight? She never responded, so when I picked Jade up from the taqueria after her shift ended at nine, we called her. She must have hit the fuck you button, because it went right to voice mail. I scrolled through to her house number.
Jade sat up straight as a meerkat. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Getting more information, obviously.”
Lauren picked up on the third ring. I switched to speakerphone and Jade leaned in.
“Hey, babe,” I said. “Where’s your sister?”
“Madison,” Lauren said. “She and Andrew are visiting the school.”
“Oh really. They went alone?” I stared at Jade, as if to say, Told you, bitch.
“Nah, my mom’s with them.”
“Is your dad home?”
“Yeah, he’s sleeping. He worked half a day.”
Gotta love younger kids—they’ll give you all the information in the world if they think you’ll keep talking to them. I pictured Lauren growing up into one of those girls who would hand you their social security number and bank account information if it meant you’d include them in something.
“Then sneak out,” I said. “Chill with me and Jade.”
A hard elbow to my ribs. Jade mouthed, Have you lost your fucking mind?
“Um.” Lauren’s voice was small. “How?”
Hadn’t this child ever watched any sort of teen movie ever? “Just arrange your pillows under your bed like you’re sleeping, close your door, and leave,” I said. “But be quiet about it. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I expected her to say no, but instead all she said was “But what are we going to do?”
“We’ll figure something out,” I told her. “That’s the fun part.”
I hung up, and Jade burst into laughter. “We’re not actually hanging out with a fucking eighth grader.”
I looked away so Jade couldn’t read my face. I didn’t want her to sniff out what I was thinking. If we can’t have Kacey, we’ll take the Mini-Markham. “We are. And maybe she’ll actually grow up to be interesting.”
“This is so about Kacey,” Jade said. “You’re trying to fuck with her through Lauren.”
“What do you care?”