One of Us Is Next

by Karen McManus

  Addy, who was in tears for most of last night, stands smiling at the edge of the dance floor in a beautiful, ice-blue maid of honor’s dress. She’s holding a bouquet of white roses in one hand, and the arm of cute groomsman-slash-molecular-biologist Daniel with the other. He bends toward her ear and says something that makes her laugh so hard that she almost drops her flowers.

  “Ashton looks gorgeous,” Bronwyn says. She’s standing beside me at our reception table, her hand firmly in Nate’s. I don’t think she’s let go of him since he was discharged from the hospital this morning. Nate’s the least formally dressed of us all, since he couldn’t manage to get anything except a T-shirt over his sling. Surgeons removed five chunks of metal from his left arm last night, and he’s bandaged up to his shoulder. He’ll have scars for life, probably, but he’s incredibly lucky that he doesn’t have nerve damage.

  And that he works for Mr. Myers. Knox’s dad came to the hospital last night to let Mrs. Macauley know that the company’s disability policy will cover Nate’s salary while he recuperates.

  “For how long?” Mrs. Macauley asked nervously.

  “As long as it takes,” he replied.

  Now, Nate grins at Bronwyn and me. “Eli looks like he’s about to keel over.”

  “I’m pretty sure this is his first time on a dance floor,” I say.

  Nate nods. “I believe it.”

  Bronwyn gazes around the crowded ballroom. “Where’s your date?” she asks me.

  “Talking to Mom and Dad,” I say, pointing a few tables over to where Mom is smiling brightly at Luis and Dad just clapped him on the shoulder.

  My sister scowls as she watches them. “Oh, this is so not fair. Luis has been your boyfriend for five minutes and they’re already falling all over him. It took a year before Mom and Dad even started to warm up to …” She glances toward Nate, who’s still on her other side, and catches herself. “Anyone else.”

  Nate slips his good arm around her waist and pulls her close, nuzzling her neck. “What are you talking about?” he teases. “Your parents love me. Always have.”

  The DJ picks up his microphone again as the music changes to a pulsing beat. “Everyone, please join the happy couple on the dance floor!”

  Kris grabs hold of Cooper’s hand and starts to pull. “Come on. You’d better get ready, because I am a dancing machine at weddings. We’re not stopping until the music does.”

  Cooper blinks as he follows. “There’s still so much I don’t know about you, isn’t there?”

  “Let’s dance,” Bronwyn says to Nate.

  “Can’t.” He holds up his bandaged arm. “I’m injured.”

  She puts her hands on her hips. “Your legs aren’t.”

  Nate grimaces and raises a hand to his forehead. “I feel dizzy all of a sudden,” he says, sinking into the chair behind him. “I think I might pass out.” When Bronwyn leans over him with a worried expression, he grabs her around the waist and pulls her onto his lap. “I probably need CPR. You’re certified, right?”

  “You’re the worst,” Bronwyn complains, but she’s already started kissing him before she finishes the sentence.

  I look over at my parents’ table, where Luis is still making polite conversation. Another check mark in his pro column: Good with Parents. I’d suggest he give Nate lessons, but I think the whole sacrificing himself to save Bronwyn deal might’ve finally won them over. When Mom looks our way, she doesn’t even glare at the makeout session happening to my right.

  Luis and I spot one another at the same time, and I can’t help but smile when he heads toward me. That boy in a suit—wow.

  We meet up on the edge of the dance floor, and he holds out his hand. “Shall we?”

  “We shall,” I say. He spins me deftly so my skirt twirls in a glittering circle before he pulls me close. I put my head on his chest, breathing in his clean, soapy smell, and he brings his lips to my ear.

  “How are you?”

  It’s a hard question to answer. I tilt my head so I can meet his eyes. “Right this second, really good. Today was beautiful. In general, though …” A shiver goes through me, raising goose bumps all over my body. “Things aren’t great, are they? I’m scared for Ashton and Eli and everybody he works with. Nobody knows what’s going on with Emma. And Brandon is still gone.” My voice breaks a little. “If we’d figured out who Jared was sooner …”

  Luis’s arms tighten around me. “There’s no possible way you could have seen into that guy’s head any earlier than you did. Don’t even go there. You did great, Maeve. You saved lives, you know. You and Knox.”

  That part doesn’t seem real yet. My brain won’t let me imagine an alternate scenario where we don’t get Jared’s backpack away from the restaurant. “I guess.” I want to feel something good, something happy, so I wind my arms around Luis’s neck and rise up on my toes to steal a soft kiss from his lips.

  “One of these days,” he says when I pull away, “I’m going to put the moves on you first.”

  A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. It worked; my mood is lifting again. “Looking forward to it.”

  “Maybe when I take you on a real date.”

  I look around. “Is that not what this is?”

  “Nah, there’s too many other people. Plus we’ve been stuck inside all day. You know how I feel about inside.”

  “You’re unnaturally prejudiced against it, yes. Where would you go instead? If, for example, we decided to do something tomorrow?”

  “La Jolla Cove,” he says instantly. “I’d take you kayaking.”

  I gulp. Oh God, not the beach. And the ocean. But then again, maybe all that would be different with Luis. A lot of things are. Still, I narrow my eyes at him. “Kayaking? Sounds like work.”

  “I’ll do it all,” he promises.

  “Is this what dating you is going to be like? You’ll just cart me around various scenic areas in greater San Diego?” It doesn’t sound bad, actually.

  He grins. “I’ll teach you how to kayak, if you want. It’s fun, I swear. My family goes all the time in the summer. They’d love for you to come.”

  I like the direction of this conversation, but … “I might not be here then,” I say. His eyebrows rise. “I think I’m going to apply to be a counselor at this school in Peru with Addy. If I get accepted, I’d be there all of July and August.”

  I’d been thinking about the possibility ever since I saw that brochure at Addy’s apartment, and even more after getting a clean bill of health from Dr. Gutierrez. Last night, when I couldn’t sleep, I tried to count up the positive things that have come out of this horrible experience. Luis, definitely. Becoming friends with Phoebe. Learning that Knox and I will always be able to count on one another. And believing enough in my future to make plans for it.

  “Two whole months? Damn.” Here comes Luis’s disappointed face again, until he shakes it off with a regretful smile. “I mean, that sounds great. Obviously. Just make sure you come back.”

  “I will. I promise.” Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of a familiar figure alone at an empty table. I’ve been keeping tabs on Knox, because every once in a while his cheerful façade cracks, and he starts drooping under the weight of last night. Now looks like one of those times. I pull away from Luis and squeeze his arm. “I’m just going to check on Knox, okay? He looks like he could use some company.”

  “Sure,” Luis says. I turn to go, but he tugs me back and cups my cheek, bending down to plant a slow, lingering kiss on my lips. My breath catches in my throat, and when he pulls away he’s smiling. “That’s one.”

  “Yeah, well. You still have some catching up to do.” I blow him a kiss over my shoulder and head for Knox.

  When I reach him he’s standing, a folded napkin in one hand. “Hey,” he says. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

  “What? No! The reception just got started.”

  “I know, but—I’m wiped.” Knox loosens the knot on his tie and tugs it downward. His hair is me
ssy, his eyes shadowed with dark circles. “It’s been a long day. Plus I thought I’d see how Phoebe’s doing, and bring her some cake.” He lifts the napkin in his hand, and now I notice the pearly white frosting poking through.

  “They cut the cake already?” I ask. “How did I miss that?”

  “They didn’t,” Knox says. “But one of the servers told me there’s extra in the kitchen in case anyone wants to take some home. She gave me a slice to give to Phoebe.”

  “That’s really nice of you.” Impulsively, I step forward and squeeze his free hand. “You’re a good friend, you know that?”

  At some point, probably soon, our weird romantic history is going to leak outside of the Bayview gossip circles. The Jared Jackson story is huge, and reporters are already sniffing around for details. Mikhail Powers’s crew has been calling my house nonstop. Mikhail himself even sent a giant bouquet of colorful, exotic flowers with a note: My deepest admiration and respect, always, to the strong young women of the Rojas family.

  “Don’t be swayed by his charm,” Bronwyn lectured when I told her. Mikhail Powers has coaxed my sister into interviews more than once. They never go badly, but she always tells herself afterward that she’s not going to do it again. Until she does. “If you do talk to him, though, tell him I said hi.”

  I don’t plan on it. But I’ve lived through a media circus before, when Simon died. People won’t rest until every Truth and Dare of the texting game has been exposed and analyzed—including what happened between Knox and me. I’ve made my peace with it, though, and I hope he doesn’t care any more than I do. Neither of us has anything to explain, or be embarrassed about. We’re lucky, that’s all. Beyond lucky to have each other.

  He squeezes my hand back with a crooked grin. “So are you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Knox

  Saturday, March 28

  Mrs. Lawton greets me at the door, looking like she hasn’t slept in a week. She does her best to rally, though, giving me a wan smile. “Hi, Knox. Don’t you look handsome.”

  She doesn’t ask me how the wedding went, and I don’t offer. There are some conversations it’s better not to have when things are this raw. “Thanks.” I can make out the muted sounds of a video game somewhere in the apartment, and I hope Owen doesn’t appear. I can’t pretend to care about Bounty Wars right now. “Is Phoebe around?” I ask.

  Mrs. Lawton hesitates. “I’m so sorry, Knox, but Phoebe probably shouldn’t be talking with other witnesses in the Jackson case right now. It’s a delicate time.”

  “No, I totally get that. Phoebe already said. I promise I won’t ask. But I thought she could use a friend. Also …” I dig into my pocket and pull out a folded piece of paper. “I wanted to give you this. From Eli. It’s a list of lawyers you could call, if you’re looking for referrals or anything like that. He says they’re good.”

  Eli emailed me the list before he left his apartment for the ceremony. Until Proven can’t touch the case, obviously, given our involvement, he wrote. But Emma should get representation as soon as possible. There’s growing precedent for courts coming down hard on kids who are seen as inciting others, both in person and online. Even when they pull back, like Emma did.

  If she did. I want to believe Emma, but it’s hard to imagine that Jared would see the Truth or Dare game all the way through without her being involved. Plus, there’s the fact that she must’ve fed this guy gossip not only about Phoebe and Derek—which is seriously messed up—but me and Maeve. Even though neither of us has ever done a thing to her. I actually thought she liked me. So who even knows what Emma is capable of.

  You sure she’s telling the truth? I wrote to Eli.

  He responded instantly. Whether she is or not, she needs good representation.

  One of these days, I hope to be the type of person who worries about a girl who was allegedly part of a revenge-swapping plot to destroy me. I’m not there yet, though. I’m glad the hospital is keeping Emma for observation another day so there’s no chance I’ll run into her now.

  “How incredibly kind.” Mrs. Lawton’s eyes get filmy when she takes the paper. “Please give him my thanks.” She rubs her temple and offers a weak smile. “I suppose a few minutes with Phoebe couldn’t hurt. You’re right—she could use a friend. It would cheer her up immensely to see you, I’m sure. She’s on the roof deck.”

  “Thanks so—” I was about to step inside, but I pause on the threshold. “Sorry. The what?”

  “There’s a new roof deck on the building. They just finished putting the railing up last week. Phoebe’s there. You can take the elevator to the top floor, and there’s a stairwell right next to it that leads to the roof.”

  “Oh.” My fear of heights has gotten ten times worse since Brandon died, and a roof is the last place I want to be right now. It’s okay, though. I’ll just stay in the middle, where you can’t see over the edge. Then it’s more like a floor. A floor without walls or a ceiling. Crap. “Okay. So. I’m just going to go on the … roof.” I try to give her a confident wave when I head down the hallway, but I don’t think I pull it off.

  The elevator has mirrored doors, which I could do without on the ride to the top floor. My untucked shirt is a wrinkled mess and my half-mast tie is askew. My hair looks like I combed it with a Weedwacker. At least it’s finally growing out, I guess. When the doors open, I find the stairwell and climb two short sets of stairs to a heavy metal door. I push against it, and I’m immediately hit in the face with a gust of wind.

  Right. Of course. Because the only thing worse than being on a roof is being on one so windy that you could blow right off.

  I tamp down the thought and take a few tentative steps forward, until I spot Phoebe leaning against what looks to be a very flimsy railing. “Hey,” I call, and she turns. “I brought you some cake.”

  Phoebe lifts her hand in an anemic wave, but stays where she is, so I guess I’m going over there. I owe her, probably, after thinking for even a nanosecond in Maeve’s car last night that she could’ve been involved in this mess.

  “You brought me what?” Phoebe asks when we’re close enough to talk. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun on the top of her head, tendrils flying everywhere in the wind. She’s wearing what look like pajama bottoms and a tank top. I’d think she’d be freezing, but she doesn’t seem to notice the chill in the air.

  “Cake,” I gulp, holding it out when I’m a foot away. That’s the absolute closest I can get to that deathtrap of a railing. “Wedding cake. From the … wedding.” For a second she looks like she’s going to cry, and regret seizes my chest. Was this a dumb thing to do? Then she smiles and takes it from me.

  “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.” She breaks off a piece and eats it, then holds out the napkin. “Want some?” she asks through her mouthful.

  “Nah, I’m good.” I stuff my hands into my pockets and try to figure out where to look. Cold sweat has started to coat my face. There’s nothing but open sky around us, which is making me dizzy, so I focus on Phoebe’s face. Even when it’s covered in crumbs, that’s hardly a chore. “How are you?”

  Phoebe’s stuffing cake into her mouth like she hasn’t eaten in days. Which is possible, I guess. She says something I can’t understand, and I wait for her to swallow. “Shitty,” she says when she does, taking another huge bite of cake.

  “I guess, yeah. Sorry.”

  She swallows again and brushes crumbs from the corners of her mouth. “But you! I didn’t get a chance to thank you. For figuring things out, first of all, and for saving everybody. Things would be so much worse if …” Her voice wavers. “If anybody besides Brandon … oh God.” She folds the empty napkin in half so the clean side is facing outward and presses it against her eyes. “I’m sorry. Every time I think I’m done crying I start again.” Her shoulders shake as she slumps against the railing, choking out noisy sobs. “I can’t stop. I don’t know when it’s going to stop.”

  I’m frozen for a few seconds, torn between
her total misery and the terrifying void behind her. Then I step forward, ignoring the way my head spins and my stomach dips when I’m right at the edge, and pull her into an awkward embrace. “Hey. It’s okay.” I pat her back as she cries against my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “How?” she wails. “Everything is horrible. My dad is dead because of Brandon, and Brandon’s dead because of us!”

  “Not you,” I say, but she only sobs harder. I hold her for I don’t know how long, until she’s finally cried out and starts taking deep, uneven breaths. One of her palms is flat against my chest, and she looks up at me through swimming eyes.

  “Knox, your heart is beating out of your chest.”

  “Yeah.” I blink, trying to get rid of the spots dancing in my line of vision. “The thing is—I’m scared of heights, and this railing is … it does not look safe. Or tall. It’s not really tall enough for my liking.”

  “Oh my God.” She lets out a tearful laugh and, to my indescribable relief, pulls me away from the edge until we’re nearly at the center of the roof. “Why didn’t you say something? I could’ve bawled on your shoulder here just as easily.”

  “Well, you know.” My dizziness recedes to a manageable level. “I try not to make a big deal out of what a coward I am.”

  “Coward?” She stares at me, wiping her cheeks. “Are you kidding me? You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.” I drop my eyes, embarrassed, and she laughs softly. “Do you know what I thought, back there? I thought your heart was beating so fast because of me.”

  “What?” I’m so startled that I practically yelp, and Phoebe makes a face.

  “You don’t have to look so horrified.”

  “I’m not horrified. At all,” I say quickly. “It’s just—that’s not a thing I would consider, even, because …” I trail off and rub the back of my neck with one hand. “I would have no shot, obviously. You’re way too hot for me. Not that I spend a weird or inappropriate amount of time analyzing how hot you are, but—”

  And then I can’t talk anymore, because Phoebe is kissing me.