All Eyes on Her

by L. E. Flynn

  “Sorry, it’s a mess in here,” Keegan says as he opens his door. When we’re both inside, I’m very aware that we’re both inside, and he could do something to me, if he wanted, and everybody would be powerless to stop it. Including me.

  “It’s okay. You should see my room.” My face heats as I say it.

  “So what couldn’t you say in the store about Tabby and Mark? What did she do to him?” He sits down on a corduroy couch and I sit beside him, drumming my legs. His eyes keep flicking to them. You have the best legs, Tabby once told me. I never saw best the same way she did. I wanted them to be strong and capable for running. Tabby’s version of best was something that made everyone else stare.

  The way they’re staring at her now.

  I shift uncomfortably, then launch into the speech I prepared. “I think there was someone else, and she was planning on breaking up with Mark that day.”

  It’s a betrayal to my sister, talking about her like this, but not as much of a betrayal as I thought it would be.

  Keegan shakes his head ever so slightly. “She told you that? Who did she say the other guy was?”

  “I—she didn’t say.” It’s the way he asked—not did she say, but the who in front of it. My little speech, my fiction, sounds like something he has heard before. “Why, do you know who it was?”

  He rubs the stubble on his chin. “I don’t know, but probably that Beck asshole. Did you want a drink?”

  I shake my head. He walks over to the fridge and comes back with a bottle of beer. For some reason I think about Mark, how all summer he apparently didn’t drink, then had alcohol in his blood during the hike. What a hypocrite. He wanted the cloudiness in his head to deal with what he was about to do to my sister.

  And we’ll never know what that was, because only one person did, and he’s buried in Coldcliff Heights Cemetery right now.

  “I don’t really get why you’re here, Bridget. I mean, you made it pretty clear what you thought about Mark that day at the beach. I probably shouldn’t even be talking to you. I’m testifying at your sister’s trial.”

  I want to get up and leave, but I remind myself why I’m here. For Tabby.

  Although maybe I’m here just as much for me. To fill the spaces she left blank.

  “You didn’t,” I say firmly. “You didn’t make it clear what you thought about Mark. But you were jealous, weren’t you?”

  He takes a swig of beer, his face still composed. “I don’t know what she told you, but don’t believe it. She has so many people brainwashed. It’s wild. She gets into people’s heads and just infests them. So she’s all they think about. She makes them think she cares, but the only person she cares about is herself.”

  He makes my sister sound like a flesh-eating virus. I glance around his apartment, at what he calls a life. There are clothes everywhere. A laundry basket full of them, plus jackets covering a loveseat, and a girl’s bra sticking out. I know he has a girlfriend, because her Instagram is public, and she posts pictures of them almost as much as she posts pictures of herself.

  “You really hate her,” I say. “For taking Mark away. But it was a bit of a relief, too, wasn’t it? I saw how you watched him. You were jealous.”

  His knuckles are white around his beer bottle. “Mark was my guy. I wasn’t jealous. I was just looking out for him. He has this pattern, with letting girls use him.”

  “You wish they used you instead.” I know I’m right. That day at the beach, I saw things the others didn’t, because I paid attention when they all tried to talk over each other. I saw Keegan’s gaze pinball between Mark and Tabby. I couldn’t figure out who he hated more.

  I cross my legs. Keegan’s eyes flicker over them again. And in this moment, I get it. I understand it. The power Tabby felt every day. The power of her looks. It’s heady, reducing people. Maybe it’s the only thing she thought she could control.

  I’m not my sister. I have different powers. I don’t want hers. I shouldn’t be here at all.

  “What are you trying to say?” he asks. I meet his gaze—I misread him before. He’s not just a guy from the grocery store who lost his best friend. He’s smarter than he shows people. He and Tabby have that in common.

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me what you want to say? I bet nobody asks you that. They asked Mark instead. He got all the attention, not you. I can understand that. It’s the same with me and Tabby.” It might be the first time I’ve said this bit of truth out loud.

  “You’re in over your head,” he says. “She did it. I have no doubt that she did it. She has this dark side, you know. She didn’t want people to know about it, but I saw it. And you see it, too.”

  I almost defend her—almost—because it’s what I’ve been doing this entire time. Because she’s my sister, my blood. Then I realize what Keegan said is true. My sister does have a dark side. It’s her own little monster, maybe her version of the pet we weren’t allowed to have growing up, alternately quiet and sneaky, loud and brash. And the things she did—the things she did that she got in trouble for—were always to defend someone else. The people she loves. Me. Elle.

  How dark would she get to defend herself?

  “I should go,” I say, standing up. It’s not like Keegan has made me feel unsafe, exactly. But there’s something about him. A darkness, maybe like the one Tabby has herself.

  “She isn’t who you think she is,” he says. I freeze midstep on my way to the door, because part of me wants to know his version of Tabby. The part that keeps walking is afraid to.

  “Do something for me,” he calls after me when I’m at the door. “Give her a message. Tell her I’m not sorry at all.”

  When I’m in the hall, I take off the heels I can’t walk in and start to run. I run until I get to Coldcliff Park, where I sometimes do chin-ups on the monkey bars after practice. I run until the drumbeat of his words becomes a full roar.

  I’m not sorry at all.

  Tabby has said that before. And she’s not the only one.

  35

  KEEGEN

  IT’S HARD TO EXPLAIN. I know the trial is coming up, and the truth will be revealed or whatever, and Mark will be brought to justice. But I just have this feeling, like it isn’t even close to being over. That yeah, something really bad already happened, but Tabby has something else planned. Something bigger. I’m afraid to be around for it.

  36

  LOU

  I’M ABOUT TO RECYCLE the map Keegan gave me. I mean, it’s not like I’ll ever need it again, right? I’m not planning to pull another Veronica Mars–in-the-woods stint again anytime soon. Plus, holding on to it seems super creepy, like one of those Outwit the Split freaks.

  It’s only when I unfold it and almost send it to the shredder in my mom’s office that I notice something really strange about it. And I’m not sure exactly what that means.

  37

  BRIDGET

  TABBY TELLS ME KEEGAN doesn’t like her. “He wanted it to just be him and Mark, single for the summer.” She rolls her eyes and stares at her fingernails, dark purple today.

  “I went to see him,” I say. “Keegan. He said he has a message for you.”

  The arch of her left eyebrow is so small I almost miss it. Almost.

  “Oh, really? Why would you go to see him? Stay away from him, Bridge. He’s not a good guy.”

  “I don’t need to be protected. He wanted me to tell you he’s not sorry at all.”

  She smiles. “Yeah, I bet he’s not.”

  “What was he even talking about, Tabby?”

  She leans forward, so close our foreheads are almost touching. Her summer freckles have all but faded. “You’ll see.”

  THE COLDCLIFF TRIBUNE

  November 30, 2019

  Blue-Eyed Boyfriend Killer trial to commence

  By Julie Kerr

  The trial of Tabitha Cousins, the 17-year-old accused of first-degree murder after the hiking death of her boyfriend, Princeton student Mark Forrester, will commence M
onday morning at El Paso County Courthouse in Colorado Springs. Cousins has already entered a not guilty plea, and is being represented by powerhouse attorney Marnie Deveraux, who has told the press that the evidence is irrefutable that her client is innocent.

  “The truth will come out,” Deveraux said in an exclusive statement last week. “You can be sure of that.”

  District Attorney Anthony Paxton said justice will be served for Forrester’s family.

  COMMENTS

  SkeletonKrew: this bitch is gonna walk!!!

  TabbyCats4ever: Finally, she gets her turn to speak.

  38

  ELLE

  I TRY TO VISIT TABBY once a week. I bring her the things she can’t live without. Nail polish, lipstick, fake eyelashes, magazines. Mom always wants to go with me, but I tell her not to come. I know if she were here, she’d be hovering over my shoulder, wanting to do all the talking.

  I figured Tabby would look her worst today, with the trial coming up. But she has no tears. She’s in a beige prison uniform, socks with slide-on sandals. Her hair is done and she’s wearing makeup.

  The real difference is in her eyes. They aren’t blue anymore but a muddy brown.

  “Your eyes.” I can’t help it—why are they brown?

  She rolls them. “Yeah. I wear color contacts. Someone stole my last pair. Bridge is bringing more tomorrow. I’m not myself without them.”

  Everything about her is different without her blue eyes. Her skin duller, her eyes smaller, like they’ve completely changed shape. She doesn’t look like a girl everyone is talking about. She looks like a girl you might pass on the street and never think about again. She looks like me.

  “I never knew,” I say. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She folds her hands in her lap. “I guess we can’t tell each other everything.”

  I dig my fingernails into my jeans. “Where were you going? The night you were arrested? You packed a bag.”

  It’s the one question I told myself I wouldn’t ask her, but I need to know. We talked that day on the phone. I’m so bored, she said after calling from the landline. If I watch one more hour of the Real Housewives, I’m going to fry whatever brain cells I have left. She told me she had already painted her toenails and reorganized her closet.

  “Hang in there,” I had said. “I’ll come visit tomorrow.”

  That night, they came for her. She had a packed bag. That was when they pulled her in, maybe even when they decided she was guilty. Because she must have been running for a reason.

  “It was reckless,” she says. “I shouldn’t have done it. I just couldn’t stay in that house another second. Everyone thinks I did it, Elle. Do you even know what that feels like? To have nobody believe you?”

  “I believe you,” I say. “So do your parents. And my parents. And Bridget. And—” Except I can’t think of anyone else to add to the list.

  “I just saw my life, like, stalling right before me. I don’t even know where I was going. It wasn’t like I planned to leave for good. I just needed to get out of that house.” She scuffs her sandal on the ground.

  Why the bag? I want to ask, but I stop myself.

  “Now you’re stuck here, though,” I say.

  “Just until the trial. Then I’ll be free.” She sounds so sure of herself. “What are they saying about me now? Tell me everything.”

  “I stopped reading it,” I lie. “It’s so pointless. They don’t even know you. I wish I could stop them from saying anything.”

  She pulls on her hair, sweeps it over one shoulder in a thick black cord. “Why? Let them talk.”

  “They think you’re some kind of monster. It’s just not fair.”

  She leans forward. It’s disarming, seeing her up close without the eyes I’ve spent so much time staring at, wanting for myself, like looking at a funhouse mirror.

  “We’re girls, Elle. We make one wrong move, and we’re villains. There’s no in between. We’ve never had it both ways.”

  Then our time is up, even though I just got here. I tell Tabby there’s a care package from my mom at the desk, with the guards. “You’re going to be fine,” I say as she’s escorted back to wherever she came from, wherever she spends her days.

  She turns around and smiles. “I know.”

  39

  KEEGEN

  “TELL ME SOMETHING about yourself,” Kyla says. She’s sprawled on my couch like she lives here and her feet are in my lap, and I wish it felt normal between us but there’s nothing remotely normal about it. We’re both just pretending, going through the motions.

  “I’m not very interesting,” I say.

  “That’s not true.” She wiggles closer. She’s wearing one of my shirts, a Metallica one that used to be my dad’s. She always puts on my clothes when she’s here, as if that will make us into something we’re not. “Tell me something about yourself that nobody else knows. That maybe you’re afraid to tell anyone else.”

  It’s too hot in here. My shirt is sticking to my back and Kyla is smothering—not actually, but like there’s not enough air for both of us to breathe.

  “I have no secrets, trust me,” I say. “I’m an open book.” Take the hint. Stop asking.

  She flops back against the couch cushion and sighs. “I’m giving you the chance to talk to me, Keegan. I really think you should talk to me.”

  Something inside me bristles up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  She looks right at me. I have no idea what game she’s playing, and I don’t know the fucking rules.

  “You know exactly what it means. I’m giving you tonight to—”

  Then there’s a knock on the door, which is weird, because I’m not expecting anyone. I don’t really care, because I want out of this conversation by any means necessary.

  I jump up and look through the peephole, hoping it’s not Stewart, with more questions I’ve already answered. Every time I see the guy lately I feel like he thinks of me as a goddamn criminal, like he knows every shitty thing I ever did. Stupid shit he couldn’t possibly know, like cutting this chick’s ponytail off in kindergarten. Like borrowing my stepdad’s car without asking and scratching it in a parking garage, then leaving it in our driveway like nothing happened. Like all the girls I’ve promised stuff to then ghosted or ditched after a one-night stand. Maybe he does know all that stuff. He probably has a file on me as gigantic as that Lord of the Rings book Mark tried to get me to read back in high school.

  It’s not Stewart. It’s Lou, and she looks cold and pissed off. I open the door. She’s wearing this little skirt but she’s all wet, her hair kind of stuck to her head.

  “What do you want?” I say. “I mean, sorry—I just didn’t expect you to show up.”

  From the couch, Kyla turns her head around like an owl. “Who are you?” She stares from Lou to me. “You told me you weren’t seeing anyone else.”

  “I’m not,” I say. “But I never said that anyway.”

  She gets up and I’m afraid she’s going to throw something or start crying, and I don’t know which is worse, sad girls or angry girls. Usually sad girls turn into angry girls, and angry girls, well, they just eat you alive.

  “You’re an asshole,” she says. “I gave you the chance to tell me. Just remember that you didn’t take it.” Then she grabs her purse and storms past us, slamming the door shut.

  “What the hell was that all about?” says Lou.

  “Nothing. She just gets jealous,” I say. “We’ll work everything out. We’ll be fine.” Maybe I’m saying it more to convince myself. Because part of me wants to run out of here after her and tell her all the things she wants to hear, even though I’m not feeling them, because I’m kind of afraid of what will happen if I don’t.

  “Sorry to just barge in,” Lou says, stepping out of her boots. “Do you have a towel or something? I’m soaked.”

  I rub my forehead. “Sure. Yeah. Just a minute.” My towels are all sitting on my bed, over a bunch of clothes. I remembe
r when I told my mom I was moving out, she got me a bunch of cleaning shit, like a Dirt Devil and laundry detergent and even a feather duster, but I can’t keep on top of it. She said people wouldn’t want to come over if I lived in a pigsty, but it hasn’t stopped anyone.

  I throw a towel to Lou. She stands over my kitchen sink, wringing out her hair. “So why are you here?” I say. “What do you want? I have no idea how you even found out where I live.”

  She shrugs. “Instagram. It’s easy to find out just about anything.”

  It’s such a Tabby thing to say that I almost want to shake her. She’s in my kitchen, soaking wet, wearing barely any clothes, talking like Tabby, and I have no idea what her whole agenda is, only that she has one.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she says. “Since we went into the woods. About the hike being Tabby’s idea. She had that map, right? The cops found it when they searched her house. But why would she be careless enough to leave it there? You’d think she would have found some way to get rid of it. There are, like, a thousand ways to destroy a piece of paper.”

  I cross my arms. “I don’t know. She’s sloppy.”

  “Did Mark ever print a copy of the map?” she says. “Did he ever do anything like that when you were hanging out?”

  “No,” I say. “I mean, I doubt he even looked it up. Guys hate asking for directions.” She doesn’t laugh. “I only printed that copy out because I wanted to make sure you and I didn’t get lost.”

  “So you printed it after I asked if you’d come.”

  “Yeah.” There’s this awkward silence. “I mean, why else would I need it?”

  “I guess you wouldn’t.” She rubs her arms. She’s shivering.

  “I’ll get you a sweatshirt or something,” I say. She doesn’t stop me.

  I don’t take long—like, maybe a few minutes, just long enough to find a shirt that’s actually clean. But when I get back out, she’s gone. Almost like something scared her away. Or someone.