So far she hasn’t replied, but I already know her answer. “If you hadn’t gotten involved with Chace, he would still be alive.” I can’t tell if the voice in my head whispering these words belongs to Lana or me. But either way, somehow I know it’s the truth.
I throw the covers off me and swing my legs over the bed. There’s no hope of sleep tonight. My room, once the only place where I felt safe at Oyster Bay, is contaminated now, infected by Officer Ladge and Detective Kimble’s presence. It doesn’t even feel like mine anymore, not with the journals missing from my desk and photos stripped off my wall.
I glance at my bedside alarm clock, which reads 2:30 a.m. If there’s ever going to be a safe time for me to escape my room and breathe the outdoor air without getting harassed, it’s now.
After changing out of my pajamas and into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, I grab a flashlight from under the bed and slip into a pair of flats. I’m not sure where I’m going—only that I need to get out of here.
—
Sneaking out in the middle of the night is a run-of-the-mill thrill for most Oyster Bay girls, something that lost its fear factor once they realized they could actually get away with it. But tonight is my first time breaking the rules, and my heart is hammering so loudly in my chest, I’m half convinced it’ll give me away. I can just see the triumphant expressions on Detective Kimble and Officer Ladge’s faces if they catch me running through the grounds, searching for a hideaway. “Now do you have anything you’d like to tell us?” I imagine Kimble saying smugly, with that suspicious look in her eyes. The thought is nearly enough to send me tiptoeing back up to my room but I press forward instead, following the marble staircase down to the lobby of the Dorm Wing. But on the second landing, I hear a low, frenzied din of voices coming from the Dining Hall—and my stomach jolts. I’m not the only one awake.
I wager a quick debate in my mind. Do I dare stay and find out what sort of clandestine meeting is taking place in the middle of the night? Or should I make a beeline back to my room before I get caught? The latter is clearly the wiser choice—but then I hear a cool female voice say, “My concern is for Lana, of course.” And I find myself inching forward, switching off the flashlight so I can blend into the dark, feeling my way along the walls until I reach the closed door to the dining hall.
A man inside mumbles something too quiet for me to hear, even as I press my ear against the door. And then a familiar voice cuts through the others. It’s Headmaster Higgins.
“What do you expect me to do?” she asks.
“Make a statement saying what a devoted girlfriend Lana Rivera was, and what a model student and citizen she still is,” comes a voice that I now recognize as belonging to Lana’s mother. “Tell the press that she is in no way a suspect.”
My heart leaps into my throat. Lana…a suspect?
“That’s the police’s call to make, not mine,” I hear the headmaster say stiffly. “I don’t doubt that Miss Rivera had nothing to do with it, but I’m not convinced of your theories surrounding Miss Morgan, either. And clearly the police are just as skeptical, or they would have brought her into custody.”
“It’s only a matter of time,” Mrs. Rivera says smoothly. “I understand she’s under investigation.”
The sound of my name, mixed in with all the ugliness spoken behind these closed doors, is like a punch to the gut. I cover my mouth with my palm, biting back a cry. She’s setting me up, then. Lana and her mother are trying to make me look like the culprit—but for what? Revenge for loving Chace? Still, it makes no sense that Chace’s parents would entertain any of this, much less in a shady, under-the-table meeting.
As if hearing my thoughts, another woman speaks up. This must be Chace’s mother.
“It’s not right,” she says, her voice shaking with rage. “My son died, and not even forty-eight hours later the two of you are making this about politics and appearances? It’s repulsive.”
A chair pushes back with an angry screech, and I plant myself against the wall, terrified that she’s about to storm out and discover me eavesdropping. But then the man speaks.
“I hate this just as much as you do, but we have no choice. We have to protect ourselves. We have to protect Teddy.” After a pause, he says, “Please, sweetheart.”
Protect themselves? From what? Haven’t they already lost what matters most?
My head is spinning, and it seems the narrow hallway is growing ever tighter, making it a challenge to breathe. The dark engulfs me like quicksand and I feel myself sinking into it, falling into the words and plans of the adults plotting in the next room. Until I’m shaken out of my trance by the sound of whistling coming from the other end of the hall.