“What if what?”
I lean a little closer. “What if she was killed ’cause she was on the list?”
I get the exact look I expected. Incredulity mixed with a smile. “Hey, I’m the one who thinks it’s a big deal, and even I don’t think any of the two hundred–some girls who didn’t get on the list would kill over it,” she says. “Anyway, it’s not like that leaves an opening or something.”
“I don’t know,” I say softly. “It’s just scary.”
“Death is scary,” she agrees, looking over my shoulder. “You know what else is scary?”
“What?”
“Levi Sterling.”
I snap around without thinking, meeting his smoldering gaze, locked on me. Inside, everything sort of shifts … my heart, my stomach, my center of gravity. I’m vaguely aware that seeing Josh had no such effect on me.
He barely notches his chin at me, very cool, very subtle, very sexy.
“Talk about killers,” Molly mutters. “If anyone could have given poor Olivia a push, it’s him.”
I feel the strange desire to defend him. And … kiss him. I force myself to look away and my gaze lands on Josh. He’s cute, too, and slightly above me on the food chain in the sea of high school, but Levi Sterling? He’s a great white, and right now, he’s looking at me like I’m a guppy.
Levi stops directly in front of me, ignoring all the others sitting on the table. I instinctively cross my arms like a protective shield and stare right back at him.
“Mack.” He speaks one word—one I don’t particularly like—and I’m warm despite the October chill in the air. I feel the eyes of my friends moving between Levi and me, as if they can’t believe we’re talking.
I just look up at him, not moving, my seat on the top of the picnic table still not high enough to put us eye to eye.
“Come with me,” he says. And I fight the urge to push myself off the table and go anywhere he wants. I don’t answer, not because I think I’m being cool. I really don’t trust my voice not to come out in a croak.
He puts his hand on my knee, giving it a slight squeeze. “You’re not still mad at me, are you?”
I can practically hear Molly’s jaw unhinge.
“I wasn’t mad at you.”
Lifting my hand, he takes a good look at the Band-Aid I used to replace the gauze my mother had unraveled. “How is it?”
“Hurts.” Kind of like it does to look into his eyes. But I do anyway.
He brings my hand close to his mouth and it takes me a second to realize he’s going to kiss my fingertip. I can’t draw back in time and his lips touch the Band-Aid.
Still holding my hand, he tugs. “Please. It’s important.”
I don’t bother to argue, and I don’t look at Molly. I slip off the top of the table, my sneakers landing on the asphalt next to his black boots. “I’ll be right back,” I say to Molly, still not daring eye contact.
I walk next to Levi along the perimeter of the lot. He doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, making me feel super awkward, so I fuss with a hair that’s fallen out of my ponytail and then wonder if that makes me look like an airhead hair-twirler, so I let my hands fall to my sides.
“Don’t be nervous,” he says softly, as if he can smell my discomfort the way I can smell leather and soap and rain on autumn leaves all over him.
“I’m not,” I lie, finally tucking my hands into my jacket pockets and looking around like walking with Levi Sterling is the most normal thing in the world. I glance to my right and instantly lock eyes with Josh Collier.
There’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking back. Despite the fairly standard “what’s up” nod from him, I can see everything in his expression change, even from twenty-some feet away. Disgust, distrust, disapproval.
Of course guys like Josh Collier don’t like guys like Levi Sterling. Actually, no one likes Levi Sterling: I don’t think he has a single friend at this school. But he only came in the spring of last year.
“Over here,” Levi says, either oblivious to or completely unconcerned about Josh. He leads me down a row of parked cars to the very edge of the lot, far away from any of the kids. We stand for a second and I rub my jacket sleeves, aware that I’m hugging myself.
“So what’s up?” I ask.
Standing in front of me, he blocks my view of the rest of the parking lot. No, what he does is command all my attention so that the lot and the kids and the cars and the noise all fade away and one hundred percent of my focus is on Levi Sterling.
He doesn’t speak for a minute but searches my face carefully. “You’re upset,” he finally says.
“A girl died,” I reply, hoping he doesn’t think that being alone with him has a deep impact on me. “What’s up?” I ask again.
I see him suck in a slow breath, then let it out with a long, soft exhale, looking over my shoulder into the distance, a struggle drawing thick brows and tensing his jaw. God, his jaw is beautiful.
“I need a favor.”
The request pulls me out of my reverie about his bone structure. “More tutoring?”
For a second, he doesn’t say anything, but somehow manages to get closer. “Where were you last night?” he finally asks.
My whole stomach twists and tumbles. Why does he want to know? The question, the tone, the proximity actually make me a little dizzy.
“I was home,” I tell him, leaving out the part about a movie with my mom.
He eyes me, almost as if he doesn’t believe me. “Then why did you text me?”
“What?” I choke the reply. “I don’t even know your number.”
His dark eyes narrow in confusion. “I got a text from you.”
“You’re mistaken.”
He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a phone. “Look.” He taps the screen and starts searching, squinting as he thumbs through. “What the hell …”
“Maybe you were loaded and imagined it.”
He gives me a sharp glare. “I don’t get loaded,” he corrects. “And I didn’t imagine that you told me to meet you at the Keystone Quarry.”
I hiss in a breath. “What?”
“It’s gone, damn it. I didn’t delete that text.”
A dark tendril of concern slips through me. “That’s happened to me recently.”
He lets out a frustrated sigh. “Well, if you didn’t send it, then I guess you can’t help me.”
I’m still curious and tamping down a little rise of concern. Who texted him and pretended to be me? “Help you with what?”
Giving up on the phone, he sticks it into his back pocket and pins me with a smoky look. “Explain what I was doing there if anyone asks.”
“So you were there at the quarry when she died?”
“I left before …” He scuffs his boot on the ground and looks around, his eyes distant. “She was alive when I left.”
“Oh,” I say, not really sure of the right response.
“But who’s going to believe that?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” I ask.
He snorts softly, as if the question is rhetorical. “Would you say that you asked me to meet you there?”
A soft gasp escapes me. “You need an alibi, Levi?”
Something like amusement, then disappointment, flickers in his eyes. “Et tu, Brute?”
Did Levi Sterling just speak clichéd Shakespearean Latin to me? “Me too, what?”
“You’re thinking the worst of me.”
I don’t want to think the worst of him, but I kind of do. “How do you know what I’m thinking?”
He gives a dry laugh. “By the fact that your face is as transparent as it is pretty. I’ve seen that look before.”
I almost touch my face, wondering just what in my expression is giving away my thoughts. “So why do you need someone to lie about where you were?”
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” he says. “I asked you to explain to someone why I was there in the first place. Because you texted me.”
&nb
sp; Except I hadn’t. “Someone like who? Your parents?”
“Hardly.”
“Then who?” He doesn’t answer, so I push it. “If not your parents, then who? The cops? Or … what?”
“What,” he answers softly, the little break in his voice so surprisingly vulnerable it catches me off guard.
But what—who—does he mean? “Does not compute.”
He shakes his head again, finally taking a step backward. “Never mind, Mack. Forget I asked.”
Like that was going to happen.
He stuffs his hands in his pockets, sighing and eyeing the parking lot, probably looking for the next female victim he can coerce to lie for him. I follow his gaze, watching the ever-widening circle of crying, singing girls.
“It’s sad, isn’t it?” I finally say.
He nods. “She was a nice girl,” he says.
“Did you know her … well?”
“Pretty well, yeah.” He almost smiles and I get the distinct feeling “pretty well” could loosely be translated into “intimately.” Which is strange, because I would never have put those two together. I can’t even imagine them talking, let alone …
“We went out last spring when I first got to Vienna.”
Dating.
“Hey, Kenzie.” At the sound of a guy’s voice, I turn and spot Josh shouldering his way through the cars, heading toward us.
“I better go,” Levi says, surprising me by touching my chin ever so softly to keep me from looking at anything but him. “See you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” He still wants me to tutor him?
“Yeah, nothing’s changed. Please be there.”
I don’t answer, but I can’t look away.
“I want to see you again,” he whispers. “I need to.”
“Kenzie!” There’s more urgency in Josh’s call this time.
Before I can answer, Levi slips behind me and takes off without even acknowledging Josh.
CHAPTER IX
Josh looks like he might have been crying, and that trips my heart a little. Levi certainly wasn’t grieving Olivia’s death … just shopping for alibis with fake texts that were never sent.
And still the spot on my chin kind of burns from where he touched it.
“What are you talking to that kid for?” Josh asks as he approaches, his open varsity jacket making his shoulders look even broader. He’s so tall I have to look up to meet his gaze, and I suddenly feel very small.
I open my mouth to tell him everything, then stop myself. Some innate sense that I don’t understand tells me to stay quiet about the Levi situation right now. I don’t know why, but no one feels trustworthy at the moment.
“I was talking to him about …” I give him a simple smile. “How sad this is.”
He chokes softly, as if he doesn’t believe Levi could understand sadness. “Kid’s a problem, you know?”
“How’s that?” I ask, hoping to hear something concrete and not just another piece of Levi Sterling folklore because so far, he wasn’t exactly living up to his bad-boy rep.
“Well, look at him.”
That’s pretty much all I’ve done for the last ten minutes. “What about him?”
“He’s a fu—freak, Kenzie. He’ll be lucky if he graduates and doesn’t end up in prison.”
“Why is everyone so certain Levi Sterling is going to jail?” I demand.
His blue eyes spark. “You like him?”
“I don’t even know him.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. He’s bad news and I don’t want him …” His voice trails off and his cheeks flush.
“You don’t want him what?” I really, really want to know.
“I don’t want him near you,” he finishes.
I feel my jaw loosen, a hundred different emotions going to war inside me. Resentment, excitement, shock, and maybe just a little anger. “You don’t want him near me?” I repeat, changing the emphasis entirely.
“I don’t …” He shakes his head and tries to shrug off the topic. “Never mind.”
“So, were you friends with Olivia?” I ask, just as happy to have the subject of Levi closed for the moment.
“I knew her, sure. We had Spanish together for two years and her father’s company has done some construction work on my house.” He looks off into the distance, his eyes moist. “She was a really cool girl.”
I nod sympathetically, supposing that’s a legit enough connection for a guy like Josh to shed a few tears. Levi didn’t seem to be in mourning, and he dated the girl.
“How about you?” he says. “Good friends?”
Was he kidding? Girls like Olivia and the rest of them on that list didn’t hang out with nerds like me. But guys don’t always know that. “Just well enough to say hi,” I tell him. “We nodded to each other yesterday, after …”
“The list came out,” he supplies when I falter.
“Yeah.” ’Cause now we’re in some kind of club.
“Yeah,” he agrees, the moment suddenly awkward because he’s looking at me too intently for a boy who’s never said more than a few words to me before yesterday. I muster up the courage to ask him about that. Why now? Why me? I open my mouth, but am silenced by his arm around my shoulder, a strong hand pulling me into him.
“I missed you last night,” he says right into my ear, with a secret, sexy voice that should have every cell in my body jumping up and down. “Where were you?”
“I had …” Movie night with Mom. “Something else to do.”
A flicker of distaste crosses his expression as he considers what could possibly have been more important than his game, and his gaze shifts in the direction where Levi had been. “Out with your parolee?”
“I was not with him.”
“Good thing, ’cause they’re saying he was there and was having a deep and heated conversation with Olivia before she died.”
Really? “Who said that?”
He eyes me. “Ready to defend him?”
“Just trying to find out what happened last night.”
He relaxes his hand on my back, sliding it down, the touch too familiar and unsettling. “Good thing you weren’t with him.”
I look up at him, my throat dry. “Why is that good?”
“I can take my shot with you,” he says with a wink.
I don’t answer, not sure what to say.
“And I never miss a shot,” he adds. “Listen, I know it’s not going to be really fun under the circumstances and all, but a bunch of kids are getting together at my house tonight. Will you come?”
The invitation throws me for so many reasons. My first instinct is to say no, of course. My mom and parties? Not happening. But then I remember that I’m staying at Molly’s and her mom is … normal.
“I’m hanging out with my friend Molly tonight,” I say. And boy, would she love an invitation.
I know he’s flipping through whatever he knows about Molly and deciding if she merits an invite. Whatever he says, it’s going to make it or break it with this guy. I don’t care how cute he is, how popular, how crushworthy. If he says—
“Bring her along.” He underscores the perfect answer with the perfect smile. “I want to be sure you show up this time.”
“Okay.”
He leans forward and surprises me with a soft kiss on the forehead. “See you tonight, Fifth.”
God, I hate that nickname even more than I hate Mack. Can’t these guys call me by my name? But I see Molly watching impatiently and I’m eager to deliver the news that we’ve been invited to a party at Josh’s house, so I just nod and smile. “See you tonight.”
It’s hard to imagine Molly’s room any messier, but getting ready for a party where we want to fit in and yet look like we really don’t care takes a lot of work. We’ve got her music playing loudly, and she’s kicking discarded tops around the floor to make space as she models wedges and skinny jeans.
“Yes?” she asks.
“Maybe a little too dressy.” I glance down at my
own jeans—well, a pair I’ve borrowed from her—and a simple navy T-shirt, also borrowed.
“Only ’cause you’re in sneakers and you don’t want me to dress up.”
“Only ’cause I can’t fit in your tiny shoes. I’m fine in these.” I lean back on her desk chair and wiggle my worn Nikes.
“We could swing by your house and—”
“No!” There’s no way in heaven or hell I’m going home to get clothes or shoes. “And alert the worry police? Once she’s done fainting and listing all the things that can and will go wrong at a house party, she’ll follow us there.”
Molly giggles as if I’m actually kidding. “You must get so sick of that, Kenz.”
“You have no idea.”
The door pops open with a loud noise. “Are you guys deaf?” Molly’s twelve-year-old brother screams at us. “We’re eating!”
“Get out of here, Hunter!” Molly lunges at him. “We’re changing clothes, you freakazoid!” She slams the door in his face. “Oh my God, I hate him.”
But I know better. There’s no hate in the Russell family. There’s noise and laughter and friendly teasing and a lot of love.
A few minutes later, I can practically taste all that stuff as I sit in the chair usually reserved for Blake, Molly’s eighteen-year-old brother, who left for Ohio State this fall. Of course, he was friends with Conner, so I’m always relieved when he’s not here. I don’t like to imagine what Conner would be like now, in his first year of college.
Around the table, I’m joined by Hunter and nine-year-old Kayla and Molly’s amazing parents, who never pass each other without a quick touch or even a kiss.
Not going to lie: Molly’s family makes my shattered home look even worse than it is.
After we pray and the rush to scoop up lasagna and salad begins, Mr. Russell turns his attention to Molly. “A party, you say?”
I feel myself tighten; is he going to talk us out of going? That’s what would happen at my house. But this is the Russell home and the rules—and conversations—are different here.
“At Josh Collier’s house,” Molly says, a bit of pride in her voice, as if she’s longed to go to a party like that since we got to high school.
“Oooh,” Molly’s mom coos. “I’m jealous. That is a gorgeous house.”
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