Oh, for Pete’s sake. “Ben.” I can’t keep the exasperation out of my voice. Honestly, between the two of them I’m ready to jump off the bridge again. “He pulled me out of the creek. He saved my life—I would have drowned.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean he owns you,” Ben grumps.
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t say that he did.”
He gets up from the chair. “I need to get going.”
“You just got here,” I remind him. “You know you can stay awhile.”
Ben’s eyes move to the doorway Finn just passed through, then back again. “Can’t,” he says. “I just came by to see how you were holding up. I’ve got a game tonight to get ready for.”
“Maybe your soccer honey will be there,” I say hopefully.
“Nah. She’s into somebody else already.”
I raise my brows. “Great girl you almost had there.”
“Tell me about it.” He drains his soda, setting the can on the kitchen counter. “See ya Monday, St. Clair.”
“See ya,” I call after him. I hear Finn and Danny shout their good-byes, and as the door closes, I get up to go see how their game is going.
As expected, Danny is gleefully beating Finn, racing circles around him. It’s not even close. As Baby Peach raises her trophy in the air, Danny jumps up to do a victory dance.
“Beat you!”
“And he did it in a stroller, even,” I point out.
“I never stood a chance,” Finn says, shaking his head. “He’s a demon on wheels.”
“Do I kill people with my car?” Danny asks.
“No, Danny,” I affirm. “We don’t kill people.”
“Does Ben kill people?” he asks.
“What?” I look at him and shake my head. “No, Danny. Ben doesn’t kill anybody. How can you say that? Ben is your friend.”
“But when he doesn’t drive his truck, does he kill them?” he insists. “When he’s in his blue Dad car?”
I slide my eyes to Finn, who gets up from his chair slowly. “You saw Ben driving the car?” Finn asks. “The one that almost hit Jessa?”
“I didn’t see. It was too fast. Too fast.” Danny sits back down and reloads the game. “Let’s race!” he says.
“I’m done for now, Danny,” Finn says. “I have to go.”
He walks with me into the other room, and then puts his hand on my arm. He lowers his voice and asks, “What was all that about?”
I sigh. “The car that almost hit me was a blue car,” I say. “And he knows Ben’s dad drives a blue car, because Ben’s driven it here before. In his mind that means from now on, anyone with a blue car kills people.”
“And Ben drives a truck.”
“Yeah.” I fold one leg under me as I start to sink down into the couch. I freeze halfway down and I’m sure I look comical for a moment, before I shake my head and finish sitting.
“What?” Finn’s too clever to have missed that.
“It’s nothing. Stupid.” I paste a smile on my face, but my stomach is suddenly in a knot.
Finn crouches down in front of me, raising my chin with his fingers. “What, Jessa?”
I almost forget to answer him. His face is very close, and my eyes slide down to his lips, like they’re beyond my control.
“Jessa—what?”
I take a deep breath. “Ben’s truck broke down on Monday.”
Finn’s eyes widen. “So he could have been in his dad’s car?”
I dismiss that outright. “No, he said his dad needed the car. He even canceled a date because of it. He couldn’t have been driving—I would have seen him.”
“It all happened very fast, Jessa,” Finn points out.
“This is Ben we’re talking about.”
“I know. And you wouldn’t necessarily have noticed him, because you weren’t looking for him.”
“What are you saying, Finn?”
“I’m saying, maybe he was looking for you.”
22
Accusations and Assignments
It’s Saturday night, but I’m not out having a social life. Instead, I took a pain pill for my shoulder that put me to sleep and now I’m sitting on the edge of Mario’s desk in our classroom, swinging my legs back and forth and trying really hard not to roll my eyes as Finn speaks.
“Because of some new information,” he says, “we think it might be Ben.”
“Ben. Hmmm.” Mario’s eyes meet Rudy’s, and they both look concerned. We’re having a full meeting tonight, to consider what Finn calls the new development.
“Finn thinks it might be Ben,” I correct him. “He potentially could have been driving a blue car on Monday, but that’s pretty far-fetched.”
“And he doesn’t have an alibi,” Finn supplies.
“Yes, he does,” I refute. “He said his dad took the car to work.”
“He said,” Finn reminds me. “And we do know he’s got motive,” he continues. “I’m sure he’s not exactly thrilled to have me here.”
“No,” Rudy agrees. “I would imagine he’s not.”
Mario taps his chin thoughtfully. “We can’t rule him out as a possibility.” His eyes are staring off somewhere in the distance, as if he can see all the multitude of unrolling possible futures branching off every choice and diverting factor.
“He wouldn’t hurt anyone,” I assert vehemently. “I know Ben. He’s not like that.”