And then snippets of memory engulf me.
Ryan Wyatt is standing behind the kitchen counter at Tyler Hemming’s party, pouring drinks into plastic cups like some kind of amateur bartender. I can’t find Chace anywhere, and my frustration is mounting when I finally spot him—talking in a corner with her. But that can’t be right. Whatever little thing they had is over. She told him herself that she never wanted to speak to him again. But there they are now, unaware they’re being watched. He says something that makes her smile and she looks like a sad clown, smiling with that teardrop scar on her cheek.
I blink and the scene changes.
It’s hours later, past midnight, and the party is over. Everyone is gone, everyone but me and…Ryan? Yes, Ryan Wyatt. We’re outside, arguing about something. I’m gesturing wildly, showing him the blood on my sweater.
“What did you do, Lana?” I hear him slur. He’s drunk, too.
I dig my fingernails into the inside of my wrist, and the memory fades. My eyes snap open.
“I didn’t kill him,” I tell Mom, but the words aren’t as convincing as they once were. “I don’t remember everything from that night, but I—I couldn’t have. I was mad, but not enough to…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“Listen to me, Lana,” Mom says, lowering her voice. “Whatever did or didn’t happen, I choose to believe it wasn’t your fault. But that night is over. There’s no bringing Chace back. What we need to focus on now is protecting your future, and the future of our family.”
“But what if it was my fault?” I whisper. “How could you protect me then?”
“Because you’re my daughter,” Mom says firmly. “And besides, you just said you didn’t do it. So you didn’t.”
I swallow hard, a lump burning in my throat.
“Do the detectives even have anything on Nicole? Or was that all just you fanning the flames?”
Mom gives me a disapproving look.
“Really, mija. Even I don’t have the kind of power to create a suspect. Obviously Detective Kimble has her eye on Nicole for her own reasons.”
Except I know she’s wrong. I’ve heard stories about my mom twisting the president’s actual arm. What’s a small-town detective in comparison?
“Just a few more washes and the stains will be gone,” Mom continues, nodding at the duffel bag. “It’s not safe to throw it out, what with the cops searching the garbage, but I can send it through the incinerator once I get back to DC.”
I stare at her, wondering how she can be so calm and calculating. Has she done this sort of thing before?
The doorbell rings. Room service is here, jarring us out of one reality and into another. My mom smoothes her hair and heads to the door while I remain frozen in place. And then a thought hits me.
Ryan saw me wearing the bloodied sweater the night Chace died. If he thought I killed his friend, he wouldn’t have wasted a minute before calling the cops on me. So then…he must have an explanation for the blood on my hands.
I snatch my phone from my pocket, and quickly type Ryan’s name into the text window.
We need to talk.
“Hey, can I talk to you about something?”
I glance up from the sheet music in my lap. Lana is propped up on her bed opposite mine, methodically applying bright red polish to her toenails. She doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Of course,” I reply. “What is it?”
“Have you noticed anything off about Chace?”
The question takes me aback.
“What do you mean, off?” I push my sheet music away with my foot, as if Lana might see the song title and know what it means, who it’s from. But it’s only a song. I haven’t done anything wrong—have I?
Lana lets out a frustrated sigh.
“I don’t know. Something is just different. In the beginning he was all about me, and now it seems like…” Her voice lowers. “Like his heart isn’t in it anymore. Which is crazy, I know. But that’s how it feels.”
My cheeks grow hot, and I pray I’m not turning visibly red. I’ve stayed true to my word, I haven’t spent any time alone with Chace since our last conversation, but I’ve felt it every time we’ve been near each other in group settings. There’s an electric charge between us, an intrinsic pull, and I recognize now that this is what I was so frightened of when he first approached me, before I pushed him toward Lana. I was afraid of feeling too much.
“Hello?” Lana waves a hand in front of my face. “Did you hear me?”
“Sorry!” I say, with a stab of guilt. “I was just…trying to remember if I’ve noticed Chace acting weird. But I don’t think you have anything to worry about. If he’s the one you’re supposed to be with, nothing will keep you two apart.”
Are those words for Lana’s benefit or my own? I look into her picture-perfect face, wondering what I would do if they broke up. Would I go out with Chace if he still wanted me? Am I really the kind of person who could hurt my friend?