My neck prickles.
She looks at her phone and shakes her head. “I’m going to be late to work and so are you.”
She turns away, but I grab her sleeve. “Who else?”
“I don’t exactly follow him arou—”
“Who else, Reva?”
“You two seem close.” She pulls out of my grip and backs away. “Figure it out for yourself.”
“Wait.” I think of the SD card in my closet and bite the inside of my cheek. “She—she had video of you and her.”
She stops and stares. “Is that a threat? How very Gretchen of you.”
My face floods with heat. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Right. You just spent all your time with her because you were nothing alike.”
“We weren’t.” I nearly choke. Because I loved Gretchen, I miss her, but I don’t want anyone to think I was on board with some of the things she did.
Her eyes flash.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I say. “I just don’t know who to trust.”
“I know how you feel.”
“Reva, I would never—”
“Maybe you should get inside.” She tosses her short hair. “There’s only one bitch down. It’d be a shame if someone came back to finish off the second.”
Before I can open my mouth, she’s halfway down the block. She walks boldly, head high, like someone not at all worried for her life. I peer through the trees toward the vandalized memorial and wonder if that was her way of taking credit for her work. Maybe she likes scratching faces out of photos too. I hurry back to the other side of the road.
The diner door swings open as I approach, and Tyrone steps out, shoving his wallet in his pocket. He smiles when he sees me, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Sonia. How you doing?”
“Surviving. How about you?”
He exhales. “The same.”
His posture is stooped, his eyes duller than I’ve ever seen them. We’re alone on the sidewalk, and if this wasn’t such a perfect moment to pin him down with some questions, I might offer him a hug. Tyrone and I have never had much in common, but until recently, he had Notre Dame, I had Penn, and we both had Gretchen.
“You want to come back in for a milk shake? On the house if you don’t tell Dina.”
He manages a smile, but shakes his head. “Thanks, I just ate.” He looks at me and hesitates. “Why do you ask?”
I step closer, keeping my voice low. “How are you really doing? Forget all this polite bullshit. I know that you and Gretchen—I mean, she told me a lot.”
He clenches his teeth, looking up at the sky. “I guess I didn’t realize how I actually felt till I left town. It was just a fling for her. But when I got back, I thought—” He exhales. “I didn’t even get a chance to see her.”
He stares at the ground, clutching one arm. Tyrone’s a pretty massive guy, but right now he seems like he just wants to disappear. I touch his elbow, trying to keep him talking. “Were you supposed to see her? That night, I mean?”
He tenses, pulling away from me. “I texted her. She was vague about meeting up.”
I look down the street, thinking over everything Reva said. She was clearly trying to ruffle my feathers, but she’s not the kind of person to blatantly make stuff up.
“You didn’t happen to meet Marcus instead?”
His eyebrows draw together. “Look, I don’t have a problem with Marcus, but we’re not exactly friends.”
The diner door opens and Mr. and Mrs. Abramson say hello as they leave. I wave at them automatically, glancing at the clock through the window. I’m officially late, of course.
“I’ve got to go help my dad with some stuff,” Tyrone says.
“Yeah, I should go too.” I reach for the door handle, more relieved than I should probably feel, but he calls out before I can open it.
“Sonia.”
I look back and he lifts his chin, staring me straight in the eyes.
“That wasn’t me who climbed in her window. Just so we’re clear.”
My stomach drops. I guess I can’t be mad at Aisha for telling him what I said. I just wish I’d never said it out loud. He could be lying, of course, but if it wasn’t Tyrone in Gretchen’s room that night, who was it? Why was he there?
I bite my lip and nod. “Okay. That’s good to know.”
Dina pulls the string, shutting off the neon Open sign in the front window. She double-checks the lock while I turn out most of the lights and the television above the counter. This is my favorite time at the diner, when everything is still and the only sounds are rubber soles on linoleum and the clink of coins being counted out in the cash drawer.
“You crashing on our couch again, or is Uncle Noah driving you home?”
Dina sighs. “Couch. I’ve got a paper due and I don’t want to wear Noah thin when I need a ride to class tomorrow. If they can’t fix the stupid car at this new place, I don’t know what I’ll do.”