Ivy and Mattie sat there for a moment, looking at each other. Gone was the easy back-and-forth from when they’d first met. They both knew what was between them, impenetrable and dark, like toxic smoke—too thick to breathe through.
She was beautiful, Mattie thought. The kind of girl he might go for if he were single and good enough for her. But he wasn’t.
“Have you heard from your boyfriend at all?” Ivy’s voice, a little strange, jerked him out of his thoughts.
They both knew what she was asking.
“Um, a little. I guess . . . nothing seems new. But I’m not sure.”
Mattie watched Ivy’s face, and for a second it looked like she was going to say something—something real—but the barista brought over their drinks, Mattie’s iced soy chai, and a green tea frappe with extra whipped cream for Ivy.
Mattie frowned. Ivy was not the kind of girl who asked for added whipped cream. She was the kind of girl who asked for foam, just foam, and then scooped it out with a plastic spoon while watching happy full-figured girls gulp down chocolate-chip lattes. (It was how Nicole Kidman did it, he’d heard.)
“So let’s talk about you and Derrick,” Ivy said. “Tell me about your relationship.”
(Translation: tell me if we can trust him.)
“He’s the best,” Mattie said. “We spent, like, every minute together. We told each other everything.”
“Past tense?” Ivy asked. “So things haven’t gotten better?”
Mattie shook his head. “Worse.” He swallowed hard and looked across the table at Ivy. She was so beautiful and miserable. He knew what she was asking. She wanted to know if Derrick knew anything dangerous. “Can I just say it?”
Ivy nodded. Her lips clasped onto the straw and she took a long drink of her frappe. “Just give it to me straight.” She looked left and right. There were people everywhere. “Are orange jumpsuits going to be a good look this season?”
Mattie laughed even though there was nothing funny at the heart of it. “I don’t know, Ivy. I wish I did, but Derrick and I haven’t been good since I moved here. Since maybe a little before I moved here. And we haven’t broken up, but”—he paused, finally voicing a deep, silent fear—“I don’t know if we’re still together.”
Ivy reached across and clasped his hands in hers. His hands shook slightly, and she squeezed them hard, trying to still them, but he realized that she was shaking too.
“Look, Mattie. I’m sorry if this is insensitive, but I have to know. Do you think he heard anything, or not?”
Mattie paused. “I think he did, Ivy. I just think he doesn’t know what that was right now. I don’t think he’s going to say anything. At least not immediately. Because I know what we had—have, whatever—was real, and we both still value that. He just doesn’t completely trust me right now, and I don’t want him to realize . . . I can’t let him figure out exactly what he heard.” He dropped his voice, his eyes searching the people around him. No one was listening. It’s like he wants me to confess. He knows something is off.”
“But he doesn’t know exactly what?”
Mattie shook his head. “I mean, I don’t think so. Really, if he knew, wouldn’t he have said something? Wouldn’t you have, if you were Derrick?”
Ivy’s hands tightened around her frappe. “I don’t know.”
Mattie looked down at his own drink. He had barely touched it.
“You know,” he said, his heart strange and thumpy and calm all at once, “I don’t know why we’re involved.”
“What?” Ivy asked. Her eyes were jumping around frantically, taking stock of her surroundings.
Mattie leaned in, looked into her eyes, and said in a low voice, too quiet for anyone else to hear, “Why are we even here? What did we do to deserve this?”
He’d been thinking about it since Cade called him. He’d been pulled in. He hadn’t been the one to punch Stratford. Or trip him. Or the one to beg everyone not to tell. He hadn’t done anything. And Ivy had just wanted to save him. But according to Cade, Mattie looked the guiltiest of all. His phone was basically evidence. Well, not technically, but Cade was right—the call was made from the river on that night to Derrick, and chances are, Derrick had heard Mattie more clearly than he’d heard anyone else. It made him look guilty.
Ivy shook her head. Her eyes got glassy, and she let her bangs fall into them. “Maybe it’s punishment, Mattie. I didn’t used to be . . .” She trailed off for a second, like she was watching the past unfold. “I’m not a good person.”
Mattie’s phone buzzed with a message from Derrick.
He unlocked it, and the message took all the air out of him, like he’d been socked in the stomach.
I think I deserve an explanation. Fess up, Byrne.
He handed his phone to Ivy and covered his eyes, trying to slow his pulse.
Maybe Derrick didn’t know exactly what happened. But one thing was certain: he knew Mattie had done something wrong.
Maybe Cade was right.
Derrick wanted a confession. Maybe he knew what he’d heard that night.
If someone was going down for this, it was going to be Mattie.
Kinley
Wednesday, June 24
No.