Aisha gives my arm an anxious squeeze.
“They’re here to see Gretchen,” Mrs. Meyer says. We all stare at her, and I can’t help noticing the fuzzy pink slippers on her feet. Gretchen’s mom never used to leave the house without at least three-inch heels. She covers her mouth and laughs, leaning on Kirsten’s shoulder. “Oops, I always get you and your sister mixed up.”
Kirsten looks like she wants the floor to swallow her.
“Thanks for coming on such short notice, sir.” Sheriff Wood comes around the corner behind us and shakes hands with Gretchen’s dad. “If you’ll step into my office . . .”
Mr. Meyer hustles his family around the corner. Mrs. Meyer waves like she’s bidding us bon voyage. Martina slumps back in her chair.
I glance one last time at Marcus, who looks just as anxious as Gretchen’s dad, but Martina calls him over just as Aisha grabs my arm and pulls me out the door.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe the sheriff didn’t call my parents.”
“He’s still going to tell them,” I say, trying to collect my thoughts.
“I know, but not right now.” She lets go of my arm, leaving my skin hot and sweaty. I follow her down the block toward the diner, where she parked her Jeep. “I just can’t disappoint them too, not now.”
She hasn’t said a word about this to me yet, so I just ask. “What do you mean?”
She looks up and down the street as if someone might be watching, and I wonder if this is how I look all the time now. She leads me closer to the windows in front of the post office.
“Tyrone told you he got thrown out of Notre Dame—which I can’t believe he actually shared. Our parents are mortified.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “What happened? He didn’t really explain.”
She closes her eyes and inhales. “He got caught using steroids. They nailed him with a random drug test and kicked him to the curb.”
I cover my mouth, but this is exactly what I was afraid she’d say. Tyrone worked himself half to death to play at Notre Dame. His father was an alumnus, and after Tyrone made the team, Mr. Wallace could hardly stop talking about it.
“I just don’t want them to find out I screwed up too. They sent me to therapy and everything last time. They think I’m cured.”
“You’re going to have to tell them if the sheriff doesn’t. . . .”
“I know—I mean I will.” She sighs. “I just need to wait for the right time. Maybe after this investigation stuff blows over.”
My stomach twists into a knot. “I didn’t realize you knew about Gretchen’s files.”
Her lip curls. “From what I saw, she had dirt on just about everyone.”
“How much did you see?”
“Enough.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“She knew Tyrone was doping.” Aisha frowns. “She made sure I saw video of that, even before he got caught.”
“What would be the point of that? Did she want you to stop him?”
“I begged him to stop. I’m sure she knew how that would go.” She shakes her head, focused down the street. “You know, we were in the dollar store before I took that stupid ring. I was about to slip a tube of toothpaste in my pocket, but she stopped me. I thought she was going to try and talk me out of it like Haley.” Her eyes flash. “Instead, she dared me to go for something bigger.”
A familiar heaviness creeps into my stomach.
“After everything went down—the cops, my parents, Mr. Meyer calling in favors to get the charges dropped—I got this weird feeling. Like she somehow set it all up. Like she knew what would happen and was just sitting back to watch.”
I look into the empty window of the post office, afraid to admit she might be right. “Aisha, that sounds a little—”
“I tried to distance myself from her, thinking that would help, but I felt the same way after what happened with Tyrone.”
I hesitate, wondering if it was Aisha who pulled away back then, or Gretchen who isolated me. I turn back and her face is so serious. I can’t bring myself to confess I know how she feels, so I shut my mouth and just nod.
“Look, I don’t think Gretchen had any particular beef with me and my brother. I know we weren’t the only ones she messed with.” She looks hard at me. “All I’m saying is, there were a lot of people she could’ve pissed off. Maybe she finally did it to the wrong person.”
THIRTY
AFTER AISHA DRIVES AWAY, I text Marcus. I have so many unanswered questions, and a lot of them still center on him, but a strange charge works its way through my limbs, down into my fingers and toes. It’s a while before I recognize it as hope.
Meet me later. Need to talk.
As soon as I hit Send, my phone starts ringing with a call from my mother. I frown. When I phoned to tell her I was spending the evening with Aisha, she couldn’t have sounded more thrilled. I’m not sure why she’d be calling now. I walk over and open the restaurant door.