Em and Em
Page 14
Of course, if she ratted out Tommy, he would reveal her secrets to the entire school. Part of her was terrified of that prospect, but another part thought it might be for the best. She was going back to Jersey in a few days anyway. Maybe it was time for everyone here to see the real her. She could leave without a bunch of loose ends and false hopes. Charles, Claire, and everyone else would realize she was a phony. If she never came back, they’d know why. And they’d have no reason to miss her.
After the rally, she weaved her way through the sea of red and white to the nearest bathroom. All that misplaced school spirit nauseated her. She walked in to find Claire at one of the sinks, freshening her makeup.
“Hey, Ember! Wasn’t that fun? So much energy from the crowd.” She wiped at her mascara. “Of course, now I’m a sweaty mess.”
Ember forced a smile. “Yeah. Great job.” She walked over and stood next to her, checking out their reflections in the mirror. She recalled that first day they’d met, when Claire had sat down and talked to her before first-period history, and invited her to sit with the cheer squad at lunch, and asked her to go to the game that night, and even visited her in the hospital afterward, stuffed teddy and cell number in hand. Ember had thought she didn’t want any friends, didn’t need them, but somehow Claire changed all that in a single day.
“Are you okay?” Claire put her arm around Ember’s shoulder and squeezed. “You look sad.”
“I’m fine. I just … ” Ember sighed. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“What would you do if you could have a do-over?”
“A do-over? Of what?”
“Everything. What if you could change your whole life, your whole identity? What would you change?”
Claire shrugged and screwed up her lips. “I don’t know. Nothing.” She paused. “Except maybe I’d be braver. I’d tell Ryan I thought he was hot.”
Ember laughed. Claire was so … real. She wouldn’t want her to change a thing. Though it was about time she admitted Ryan was hot. Ember gave Claire a hug, and suddenly she found herself crying. Maybe it was because she knew she’d miss Claire, or maybe it was because she’d miss Charles even more. Charles. He’d been avoiding her the past few days. Not that she could blame him. She had a way of kissing him and running away, and she supposed that might put a guy off.
Most likely, though, she was crying because she wished her do-over could last forever—that she could take Ember back to New Jersey and be a normal teenage girl, known as “Red” or “Photographer Chick” or anything at all besides “Slutkowski.”
“Ember, are you crying?” Claire patted her gently on the back. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”
Ember’s silent tears turned to sobs, and she pulled away. She wanted to tell Claire what was wrong. She wanted to tell her everything. She couldn’t do that, of course, but she could tell her about Tommy Walker. Maybe that would help. Get it off her chest, make her feel better.
She grabbed a handful of tissues, blew her nose, and dried her eyes. “I do have something I need to tell you. But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ember pulled up the hood of her coat. A light drizzle cast a gray pall over the field. Her stomach rolled like waves in a storm. Was she really going to do this?
Claire had convinced her it was the best way: confront Coach Sebastian and Schmidt, and let them turn themselves in. To her relief, Claire hadn’t been angry or upset when she’d told her about the hacking scheme. In fact, she had encouraged her to speak up even though it would surely mean forfeiting their trip to the state championships. Claire, the consummate cheerleader.
Coach stood on the sidelines while his players executed drills on the field. Ember sidled up to him, glad now for the hood. It allowed her some anonymity. Maybe she could say her piece and get out of there without causing a scene. She scanned the field for Charles and spotted him off in the far end zone. Yes, this could work out okay after all.
“Mr. Sebastian.” She tried to sound confident, authoritative. “I need to talk to you. You and Marcus Schmidt.”
He gave her a dismissive look up and down. He seemed not to recognize her. “I’m a little busy here.”
“It’s important.”
“As important as state? I’m guessing not.” He swiveled back around and shouted at one of the players. “Come on, Wilkes! You gotta be quicker off the ball than that!”
“It’s about Schmidt’s grades.”
That got Coach’s attention. His head snapped around, and he practically snarled at her, but then he seemed to catch himself, and his curled lip morphed into a half smile. “Grades are confidential. Afraid I can’t help you there.” Again he turned his back to her.
Her phone buzzed.
Claire: Tommy is on the way.
Across the field, Claire was doing stretches by the bleachers with the cheer squad. She waved and gave Ember a thumbs-up.
Ember groaned. She had asked her not to involve Tommy, had said that once Coach and Schmidt turned themselves in, he would no doubt be implicated. But Claire insisted it would be better to confront them all at once and offered to have one of her friends on tech crew send him down to the field. Awesome. So much for not creating a scene.
“Listen, Coach. We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. Either you call Schmidt over here, or my next stop is Principal Keane’s office.”
Coach Sebastian turned and leaned toward her, his massive chest and shoulders dwarfing her. When he spoke, he sprayed spit onto her face. She resisted the urge to wipe it away. “Young lady, we are on the brink of winning the state football championship—something this school hasn’t seen in your lifetime. Do you understand? Do you know how much it means to these players, to these kids?”
“To your career,” she ventured.
He scowled and lowered his voice. “It’s one grade—English—and it went from an F to a C-minus. At the rate he’s going, he’ll fail next semester and have to take it over anyway. You’re making something out of nothing. Let it go.”
Maybe he was right. After all, no one was getting hurt, not really. Except for the team that deserved to go in their place. Was it worth it to go to all this trouble for a game? Especially when it meant Tommy Walker would blow her cover?
“Okay, I’ll let it go. If you bench him.”
“Bench him? He’s our best player. How am I supposed to explain benching him to the rest of the team? To his parents?”
Ember shrugged. “Figure it out.”
“No way.” Coach shook his head. “Not happening.”
Ember felt her confidence deflating. She hadn’t asked for this, had in fact tried to avoid getting in the middle of it. Maybe she should have followed her first instincts and stayed away.
Coach smiled, a smarmy, unctuous smile. “That’s a smart girl. Now run along and … do whatever it is you teenage girls do after school these days.” He turned his attention back to the players as though the matter was settled.
Ember backed up. Perhaps it was settled. As she turned to go, she glanced back toward Charles and watched him take one step, two steps, three, four, kick … and hold for the follow through. That was the most important part, he’d once told her. The follow through.
“Wimp out?” Tommy’s voice startled her. “I saw the expression on your face today at the pep rally. But I knew you’d keep your mouth shut. Smart girl, Slutkowski.”
Ember flinched. Had he really gone there? And why were he and Coach suddenly calling her a “smart girl”? She narrowed her eyes. Back in Jersey, she’d kept her mouth shut for so long, despite all the teasing and the name-calling and the groping and even the near-assault that day in the Shoot ’Em Up. She’d been “smart” and hated herself for it. In fact, one of the only things she didn’t hate about her Emily Slutkowski self was that call to the police.
Be the change you seek.
Jaw clenched, she walked over to a megaphone lying nearby and gra
bbed it. If she was going to make a scene, she might as well make it spectacular. “Coach Sebastian and Marcus Schmidt. I need to speak with you. Now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Coach dropped his clipboard, the players all stopped their drills, Charles forgot to follow through, and the entire cheer squad seemed to freeze mid-jump.
Coach stormed over. “I’m warning you, don’t do this. Walk away.”
Ember peered past him toward Schmidt. She raised the megaphone to her lips again. “Schmidt? I’m waiting.”
Slowly Schmidt, along with every other player on the team, made his way toward her. The cheerleaders bounded across the field as well. For a moment, she was transported back to that night almost three months ago, when she lay flattened, dazed, and sore with everyone staring down at her. The sense of panic she felt then was replaced now by dread. She considered some of these people her friends. That was about to change.
Ember took a deep breath and waved her hand at Tommy, Coach, and Schmidt. “I believe the three of you know what this is about. I had hoped to do this more discreetly, but apparently that’s not going to happen.”
Schmidt glanced nervously back and forth between Tommy and his coach. “How the … Who told her?”
“It didn’t take a genius to figure it out,” she said. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“Do about what?” Charles looked as confused as his teammates. “Em, what’s going on?”
Em. It was the first time he’d called her that. She shook her head. Focus, damn it. She explained everything, starting with the day she ran into Coach and Tommy under the bleachers and ending with the realization she’d had on the bridge.
“Are you kidding me?” asked the guy who played quarterback. He took a step toward her. “You’re going to ruin our chance to go to state and play in front of every college scout in the region because this idiot doesn’t know Shakespeare?”
“Dumb bitch,” muttered another. “Deon should have knocked her out for good when he had the chance.”
Ember searched the crowd for someone, anyone, who would stand up for her, but each face seemed angrier than the last. A few, like Deon, looked away, and even Claire seemed to shrink behind the other girls in her squad. Finally, she turned back to Charles, but his expression told her she’d get no support from him either. He wasn’t angry, but he seemed … confused? Hurt? She wasn’t sure. She only knew she couldn’t bear to face his reaction to what was surely coming next.
She turned toward Tommy. The stage was set. Most of these people were already pissed off at her. He might as well pit the rest against her, too. But to her surprise, he said nothing, just stood there, scowling.
Finally, Claire spoke up. “You know, maybe this isn’t so bad. Maybe if you guys tell the truth now—”
“Not so bad?” The quarterback interrupted her and stuck a finger in Ember’s face. “This is going to be all over the news. It’s going to look bad on the team, the school, all of us.”
Ember’s eyes flashed. “Well, maybe your coach should have thought about that before he paid someone to hack the computer system. Which, by the way, is not only cheating, it’s illegal.”
“It’s illegal.” One of the players mimicked her and a bunch of others snickered.
A few of the cheerleaders glared and whispered, and one began laughing a cruel, mocking laugh. Ember’s chest tightened. She felt like she had walking into school on the Monday after the Slutkowski Striptease. She glanced over at Charles, who stood kicking at the ground, his expression dark. She wished he would say something, anything.
“Why should we take your word for all this?” Marissa stepped forward. “You’ve been lying to us since day one.”
Ember blinked. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Marissa turned toward the team. “She’s a liar and a fake. Her name’s not even Ember O’Malley. I figured it out last night and looked her up. Her real name is Emily. She’s from New Jersey, and she was a total—”
“Shut up, Marissa. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tommy stepped forward. Why was he sticking up for her? And why did he look so nervous? He reached over and grabbed Ember’s arm, and that’s when things got really crazy.
Charles tackled Tommy to the ground. Schmidt punched the quarterback and told him never to call him an idiot again, at which point several of the other players jumped Schmidt and started screaming at him for ruining their season. Pretty soon the entire team seemed to be punching, kicking, and shouting at each other, and even a couple of cheerleaders joined in the melee.
Ember ducked a stray fist and ran toward the bleachers, followed by Claire.
“Ember, what was Marissa talking about? Why would she say those things?”
Ember turned away. Crap. Claire wanted to believe in her, she could hear it in her voice. How could she tell her it had all been a lie? That their entire friendship had been based on fiction? She took a deep breath and met Claire’s gaze. “Things are not always what they seem.”
“What the … What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ember hesitated. She wanted to explain, but what good would it do? Eventually, Claire would find out about everything anyway, including the Slutkowski Striptease and her reputation back in Jersey and all the things she foolishly thought she had escaped here. How could she face her once she knew all that? “It means we were never really friends.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, I do. Believe me. This is the first honest thing I’ve said to you since we met. We were never really friends, and you’re a fool if you think we were.”
Claire’s eyes filled with tears. “Screw you, Ember O’Malley.” She turned and walked away, shouting back over her shoulder. “Or whatever your name is.”
Ember slumped down onto the bleachers. She deserved that. Screw her indeed. Screw her fake identity and her so-called life in Boyd County. All she wanted to do was leave, disappear, and she knew just the person who could make that happen.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Deputy Steuben’s number. “My cover’s been blown.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The first person Emily saw when she walked into the courtroom was Rosa. The room swirled for a moment, and she grabbed onto her mother’s arm for support.
Of course, it wasn’t Rosa. It was Rosa’s mom. An older but still very beautiful version of her. Emily imagined she would have been even more stunning were it not for the lines of pain etched into her face.
Emily’s knees shook as Deputy Steuben led her up the aisle and pointed her toward the witness stand. She’d spent the past four days holed up in a hotel in Newark and the past two hours confined to a tiny office in the courthouse basement waiting to be called by the prosecutor. She wanted to get this over with.
She took the stand and swore to tell the truth. The leather Bible felt smooth and sturdy under her hand, calming her nerves for a moment. As she sat, she saw that Rosa’s entire family had come. They filled up four rows of benches—tall, handsome brothers, adorable nieces and nephews, sobbing aunts and grandmothers. Emily’s heart pounded in her ears. All of them were relying on her and that inconclusive toxicology report for justice.
She glanced over at the defense table, where Jimmy d’Angelo sat quietly in a dark blue suit, a row of attorneys behind him. He wore a calm but pensive expression. Clearly he’d been coached on how to appear before a jury.
The prosecutor smiled as he approached her. They’d been over this several times in the past two days. It was simple, really. All she had to do was tell the truth.
“You were on the beach the night Rosa Menendez died, is that correct?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He took her through a series of questions, asking her what she’d heard and seen, right up through Brad smacking Rosa’s drink into the fire. He then presented her with a flask of dark blue liquid. “Is this the color of the drink you saw?”
“It is,” she answered.
The judge called up the defense attorney for cross-examination. Emily took a deep breath. Here it came. The prosecutor had warned her this could get rough, that the defense’s primary goal would be to make her look bad in front of the jury. I’ll do what I can to protect you, he’d said, but you need to be prepared to answer some ugly questions. Emily had a pretty good idea what that meant. She was glad she’d talked her mother into leaving Trina downstairs with one of the deputies.
First, the attorney attacked her testimony, piece by piece. So she was sleeping when Rosa went into the water? And she herself had been drinking? She hadn’t actually seen anyone put anything in Rosa’s drink, had she? In fact, she wasn’t even sure where Rosa had gotten her drink, was she? And how could she be sure about the bluish color in the light of the bonfire? Finally, wasn’t it true that she had actually witnessed Jimmy trying to save the victim—performing CPR on her? By the time he’d finished, Emily almost doubted her own testimony.
The defense attorney paused and walked over to his table. He shuffled through some papers. Was he finished? Would he let her go without asking those ugly questions?
He cleared his throat and pointed to a flat-screen off to the side of the witness stand. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Ms. Slovkowski, if you’ll direct your attention toward the screen, I have a brief video I’d like to show you.”
“Objection.” The prosecutor stood. “This has no bearing on the case.”
“Your honor, the video speaks to the witness’s credibility and motivation for testifying.”
Emily’s breathing grew shallow. Video? As in, the Slutkowski Striptease? It had to be. She met her mother’s eyes. Oh, no. No no no no. Not with her mother sitting here.