“You were pissed about moving?” Most kids their age would be upset at being forced to switch schools so close to graduating.
He regarded her silently, as if trying to decide something. Finally, he responded. “My brother was killed almost two years ago. Half brother really, but we were raised together since we were eleven. Drunk driver who hit the car blew nearly three times the legal limit. Walked with no more than probation.” Janie recognized the bitterness in his tone. She’d lived it. “I just wanted him to pay. But he never will. Guess you know about that.”
She ignored the reference to Kelsey. “What do you want Heather Miller to pay for?”
His gaze met hers. “I’ve been doing some digging. Almost sure she’s the one who tipped the school off about my operation last year. She could have found out from Ferin. He and I . . . ah . . . traded services for a while. Then she offered me two hundred bucks to take the SAT for her, because by then I was the safest bet in the world. I mean, who would believe me if I ever tried to rat her out? Assuming I could, without implicating myself. Anyway”—he shrugged—“the score I got her is a few points higher than yours. And I started thinking, that might mean the bitch beats you out of scholarships. Awards and whatnot, while she gets by scot-free. Just like the bastard who killed my brother.”
Traded services. Meaning last year Ferin supplied illegals to him. She didn’t ask how he knew her SAT score. From what she’d observed, he pretty well walked through the school server at will. There was a quick burst of temper, one that was short-lived when a snippet from her altercation with Heather floated across her mind.
I hope you realize you’ll have to do a verbal presentation. The days of you getting a free pass because of your poor dead sister are almost over. Being certain that Heather was cheating her way into the university of her choice burned. But Janie couldn’t argue with the truth. She’d be at a disadvantage in any case because of her anxiety. No amount of practice would magically gift her with an ease for social discourse. And that couldn’t be blamed on Heather Miller.
“Sometimes cheaters win.” Her voice was flat, her fingers clenched on the top of the couch. “Sometimes crimes aren’t solved. And sometimes people don’t pay for what they’ve done. Getting high doesn’t change that.” Janie was the last one to pretend she had the answers. But she knew that they weren’t found in a vodka bottle. They didn’t coincide with the number of pills popped. Her mother was living proof of that.
“Jesus, that’s harsh.”
Tired of this conversation—of him—she half turned away. “So’s life.” Her attitude didn’t reflect the measure of sympathy she felt for him. He’d had two years to adjust to the loss of a sibling. She’d had seven. She could have told him it didn’t get easier. Time—which was said to heal all wounds—was really a sneaky bitch. Because it also faded recollections that were once so sharp and clear. Until her sister’s face was fuzzy. The sound of her laugh was more difficult to summon. Somehow the memories faded more than the pain ever would.
“Well.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Guess I should go.”
She watched him head toward the doorway. Would never know what made her stop him. “Cole?” He turned to look at her. “Write down your memories of your brother. Every single thing, no matter how small. Later on you’ll remember moments, but you won’t recall the day-to-day stuff. What you both said. Normal stuff you’d do together. Silly stuff you’d laugh at.” She stopped, suddenly tongue-tied again.
“Is that what you did?”
She shook her head. “I was too young.” And her anxiety had only magnified her personal misery until both had taken over her life. “But I wish I had.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay. Thanks. I still owe you. Seriously, you ever need a favor . . .” The offer dangled in the air between them. When she didn’t respond, he headed for the door. She doubted very much that he’d apologized to every student impacted by his actions, and she had no illusions about why he’d singled her out. Pity. Similar tragedies. Shared pain.
She waited until she heard the front door close behind him before she headed toward the kitchen. Janie couldn’t imagine what Cole Bogart could ever offer that she’d want.
And she had nothing to offer him, either.
“Did your foster parents lift the ban for you riding in friends’ cars?” Janie stubbed out the cigarette she’d lit after pulling out of her friend’s driveway. It might take more than one to calm the tangle of nerves in her gut after Bogart’s visit.
“As if.” Her friend buckled her seat belt. “Apparently they think that punishment will prevent a repeat of my skipping school. Or getting drunk to begin with. Whatever. They had an early appointment at the family services’ office. Probably to meet the new kid or sign papers or something. Anyway, once I knew they’d be gone, I texted you.” She raised her brows meaningfully. “I’ve got big news.”
“Light me another cigarette, will you?”
Alyvia dug in the dash compartment, unerringly coming up with the Band-Aid box hiding Janie’s pack of cigarettes. Using the lighter on the dash, she lit it and drew deeply from it.
“Nothing beats nicotine in the morning. Unless it’s tequila.” She took another puff before handing it over. “Remember I said I recognized Deedee Bakker on that perv website? And how she was in a foster home with me for a while?”
Janie drew on the cigarette before placing it in the ashtray. “Did you get her contact information from your caseworker?”
“No, that uptight wench lives by the book. But there was another girl living with us at the time, Sarah, and I found her on Facebook. Anyway, she still kept in contact with Deedee, and I got a phone number.”
A drumroll of anticipation started in Janie’s chest. “Did she talk to you about the pictures?”
“Eventually.” The smugness in Alyvia’s expression matched her tone. “It took finesse, for sure. That bitch always hated me. But finally, I said I’d heard she’d had some ‘artistic’ pictures taken and said a friend of mine was interested and could she recommend the photographer, yadda yadda. She shut down real fast when I brought up the photos. I had to make a couple of threats before she gave in.” She shrugged as if it had been no big deal, but Janie could imagine the conversation. Alyvia’s shitty life had resulted in a streak of toughness that she could wield or tuck away, depending on the situation. “And you’re never going to believe who the photographer was. Herb Newman.”
Revulsion skated through her. “Mr. Newman from school?”