by Cj Omololu
“I’ve been telling the truth!” I say. “But nobody believes me.”
She leans against the door. “I need to know what you’ve said so that I’ll know where to begin your defense.”
Her gaze stays on me as I quickly recount how Ava and I work Alicia, and what happened that night, from the time when Casey and I left the restaurant until I drove away. “And then the cops showed me pictures of some girl who was nearby right around the time he was killed, but it wasn’t me.” I can feel hot tears pressing against the backs of my eyes. “I swear it wasn’t me.”
The display of emotion seems to have no effect on her. “Okay. So you say that Casey was never in your car?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Never.”
She lifts her eyebrows but otherwise doesn’t react. “So there would be no reason why his fingerprints would be there?”
I sniff a little bit. “No. I’m sure of it.”
“Okay,” she says. “You might not like this, but I’m going to suggest that you let them keep your car. You already gave them an explanation about the keys, and it’s fairly believable.”
“It’s believable because it’s true!” I say.
She waves that comment away as if the truth has nothing to do with it. “If we let them have the car now, it’ll save us time later.” She glances at me. “They’ll only get another warrant and tow it down here in a few days. This way, it will look like we’re cooperating with them, and we can get your car back to you by tomorrow. Hopefully your backpack too.”
Ms. Alvarez makes it look like she’s in control, and for the first time all afternoon I feel a little bit relieved. “Okay. I swear this is all a big misunderstanding.” I hesitate but decide that I have to trust her. I don’t really have much of a choice. “Listen … I have to tell you the truth. Ava went out with Dylan. Not me.”
She looks puzzled. “Who’s Dylan?”
I stop, my heart in my throat. She doesn’t know about Dylan. “A guy who was killed this morning.” I can’t even look at her when I say the next part, it sounds so bad. “Another guy who went out with Alicia Rios.”
She lets out a deep sigh. “Apparently we have some more talking to do,” she says, looking around the room. “But not here.” She sits down on the corner of the desk. “I have to tell you, the detective was right. They don’t need a warrant for a felony, and from what I can tell, they’re going to arrest you today.”
I start to panic at her words, my eyes filling with tears. All I can picture is a cold jail cell with a toilet in the corner. I can’t go to jail.
“Don’t worry.” She leans forward and puts one hand on my shoulder. “They’re just going to fingerprint you and take some photos, and I’ll have you released in an hour under an 849(b) into my custody. You won’t go to jail today.”
I nod as the words sink in, and I wipe my eyes on my sleeve. “Thanks.”
She looks down at her jeans. “I was volunteering at the shelter when I was called away, and I need some time to get the details of the case. We can meet in my office in a couple of days. I’ll answer any charges for you, and I’ll make sure there are no more surprises.” She opens the door. “Let’s go.”
I like that it feels that someone is on my side, even if she doesn’t totally believe my story. “Was my dad mad?” I ask as I follow her out the door. “When he called you?”
She turns back to look at me, a slightly confused look on her face. “Your dad? I don’t know if he’s angry or not.” She shrugs. “I was sent by Zane Romero.”
Dad’s driving so fast, I’m pressed against the soft leather seat of his car as he accelerates up the hill. Neither of us has said a word since we left the police station. I wish he’d get mad or yell or something. Staring straight ahead in silence is killing me.
“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks and seems to evaporate into the air.
Dad chews his bottom lip and glances out his window. “I know.”
Those two words give me some courage. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
He stares straight ahead. “You didn’t pull an Alicia on anyone? You didn’t lie to me about it? Or to the police?”
“Okay—”
“For God’s sake, Lexi—I had to come and pick you up at a police station!” I can feel him ramping up. “All this crap has been going on while I was away, and you didn’t even tell me? I’m your father. What if you’d been hurt … or killed? All because you didn’t want to tell me what kind of trouble the two of you were in!”
“I’m fine,” I say quietly, facing the side window. “Thanks for asking.”
I see him flinch at my words, and I’m glad. He glances at me. “Good,” he says, the harsh edge to his voice softened somewhat. “That’s good. As soon as we get home, I’ll get in touch with a few lawyers I know, and we can get rid of that two-bit ambulance chaser you met with down at the station.”
“Ms. Alvarez?” I ask. “I like her. And Detective Naito said that she’s one of the best defense attorneys in the state.”
Dad winces as I say the detective’s name. “I’ll tell you one thing, young lady. From now on, I’m in charge. I say who you talk to and who you don’t. Keeping this to yourselves is what let it get so far out of control in the first place.”
I wish I could just hand everything over to him and Ms. Alvarez in a neat little package. There’s nothing I’d like more than to take myself out of the equation. But I know I can’t. “I was only trying to help,” I say, figuring this is what he wants to hear right now. “I thought I could fix it before anyone found out.”
“And how’s that working for you?” he asks, pulling into the circular driveway. “You’re busy fixing it while I get a frantic phone call from your sister that the cops have taken you away in handcuffs.” Dad shakes his head as he reaches for the door handle. “I don’t want you talking about this with anyone. Not even Cecilia. She’s already upset enough.”
I walk toward the stone steps that lead down to the patio, glancing once at the space in the driveway where my car should be. I hope Ms. Alvarez is right and I’ll get it back tomorrow. I feel trapped not having any way to get around. Not that Dad’s going to let me out of his sight.
“Lexi!” Ava shouts as soon as I walk in the door. She runs up and throws her arms around me like I’ve been gone for months. “Thank God you’re okay.”
“You wouldn’t have to thank anyone if the two of you hadn’t been screwing around in the first place,” Dad says, glaring at us.
Anger wells up inside me. “We weren’t screwing around. I’ve been trying to deal with this since the first time the cops came to the door.”
He looks surprised. “Which is right when you should have called me! I could have fixed this in two minutes, but now I’m going to spend money on lawyers and have to take time off work.”
And there it is. “You can’t fix everything, Dad,” I say, my voice surprisingly cold. “Even with all the money you have to throw at the problem, you can’t get me into Stanford and you can’t make this problem disappear.”
Dad looks around, and for a split second it feels like he’s going to throw something at me. I’ve never talked back to him like this before, and I feel a weight lift off my chest. I recognize the look on his face as he struggles to speak—it’s powerlessness. Ava just stares at us.
“This isn’t about money,” he says, his voice gruff and low. “This is about trust. And apparently you don’t have any in me.”
Cecilia appears from the kitchen, but she won’t even look at me. Her face is drawn and pale, and I know it’s not all just worry about her sister and the mysterious Rubi. For the first time since Dad picked me up, I feel ashamed of what we’ve done and the lies we’ve told to get here. I wonder if she thinks I really did it, if she thinks that someone she knows as well as she knows herself really is capable of murder. I know the sick feeling those thoughts leave in your stomach.
“There’s some food on the counter,” she says—her version of a peace offering to
try to get things back to normal.
“Like I could eat,” Dad says, brushing past her. He turns to me and Ava. “You’re grounded until I say you’re not.” He storms out of the room and we hear his door slam at the other end of the house.
“What happened?” Ava finally asks. “I was so freaked out when I saw all those cops in the office. I totally can’t believe they took you to the station—in handcuffs.” I watch her hands as she talks, punctuating the air with fingers wearing chipped pink polish. Could they really have held a knife? Could she really kill someone in cold blood?
I pull myself away from these thoughts. “Seriously, Ava,” I say, walking back toward the kitchen. “Calm down.”
“Zane totally had everything under control,” Ava continues, ignoring me. “He talked to one of the detectives after he saw your car on the tow truck, and in two seconds he was on the phone—said he was talking to some kind of family friend.”
“He got the lawyer for me,” I say, wondering why he’d go to all that trouble. “She’s cool, even though she let the police keep the car.”
She puts one hand to her mouth. “Oh my God! They took your car.”
“It’s going to be okay.” At this point, it seems like the least of my problems. “My lawyer said I should be able to get it back tomorrow.” My lawyer. So weird saying those words.
“Are you hungry?” Cecilia asks, lifting the lid on a pot on the stove. Her hand is shaking.
“Starving,” I answer honestly. Usually my stomach rejects food in the middle of trouble, but it feels like I haven’t eaten in a year.
Cecilia carries a bunch of parsley to the cutting board. “Let me just get some of this—Dammit!” The knife clatters to the cutting board as she sticks her finger in her mouth.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Cut myself. It’s no big deal.” She grabs a paper towel off the roll and wraps it around her finger.
I nod, but I know she’s lying. It is a big deal. In all the years I’ve known her, she’s never once cut herself in the kitchen. Maybe Dad’s blaming her for not watching us carefully—no wonder she’s upset. Now I feel even worse that I dragged her into this mess. No way can he fire her. I can’t imagine not having her around.
Cecilia dishes out some chicken and rice with her good hand, and I take my place at the counter, with Ava right beside me. I’m not sure if it’s excitement or guilt that’s got her so wound up. She’s still talking about this afternoon while I take a few bites of dinner.
“So what did they say about Dylan?” she asks. “Did they give you any details?”
I watch her, alert for anything in her voice that might give her away. “Not really. Just that he was killed sometime around dawn by the gym. The same way Casey was killed.” I wonder where she was early this morning. She came into the kitchen and got coffee right after I did, but that doesn’t mean anything. Her alibi is as good as mine. Which means it sucks.
Ava’s biting her lip, and she looks lost in thought. “You mean stabbed?”
“In the back of the neck,” I confirm. I watch her face carefully.
She looks at me. “What’s going on?”
“That’s what I need to figure out. One dead ex-boyfriend might be a coincidence. The cops think two means there’s a serial killer.”
Cecilia drops a plate in the sink with a clatter and turns around to face us. I can see she’s rattled. “There are two dead boys? And they think you had something to do with it?”
I look over at Ava, but she’s not giving anything away. “They think Alicia did. All I know is that it wasn’t me.”
Ava’s eyes narrow. “So what are you saying? That I’m involved somehow? Go on—say it.”
I want to believe she had nothing to do with all this. I mean, come on, this is Ava we’re talking about, not some assassin. But there’s a tiny nugget of doubt that isn’t sure what to think anymore. All clues seem to lead to Alicia, and there are only a few things that I know for sure, and the main one is that I didn’t do it. “No,” I finally say, although I’m not sure I believe it. “But there are a bunch of cops in a brightly lit building that think that one of us might.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Ava says, turning away from me.
I reach over and grab her arm, spinning her around. After all I’ve been through, she doesn’t have the right to walk away from me. Not now. “Then explain it to me, will you? Why do the cops have a photo of a girl who looks suspiciously like you in that neighborhood right around when Casey died? Wearing a red leather jacket that just happens to be hanging in your closet?” I look into her face, a face that’s more familiar to me than my own, and realize that it’s not the deaths that have me so upset. It’s the fact that she could hide something from me so well. She has to know how our DNA got onto Casey.
“That’s not evidence,” Ava says, angrily shaking my hand off her arm. “At most it’s a coincidence. Look, I had issues with Dylan, and whatever happened to him and Casey sucks, but I had nothing to do with it.” She takes a step toward me. “And what about you? You act all innocent, but how do I know it wasn’t you in that surveillance photo?” Her voice is getting louder with every word. “Maybe instead of just scratching Casey with the keys, you took it a step further?”
Anger boils up inside me. I could have let them take Ava down to the station in handcuffs, but instead I volunteered, and this is the thanks I get? “How dare you—”
Cecilia steps between us. “Girls! Stop it this instant!” She pushes us apart roughly, looking from me to Ava in a way that suddenly makes me feel guilty. “This is no way to act. Whenever one of you is in the tiniest bit of trouble, you always pull together, and now you’re out here screaming just when you need each other the most.”
Ava is shaking. “I don’t have to stand here and take Lexi’s crap,” she says.
My crap? Doing her a favor is what got me into this in the first place.
Cecilia puts Ava’s hand in mine and clasps ours with her own. She doesn’t say a word, but looks us both in the eyes and then turns to open the refrigerator. The feel of my sister’s hand in mine makes the hard lump inside soften a little bit. That is, until she yanks her hand away.
“So the only piece of evidence you have is some stupid jacket that’s hanging in my closet? I bought it at the mall a couple of weeks ago. Like hundreds of other girls.”
“Show me your arms,” I say evenly.
“My what? What for?”
“Somehow our DNA got under Casey’s fingernails. The cops think he scratched one of us just before he died.”
“You’ve seen my arms a million times!” she shouts. “We were just at the beach together, for God’s sake.”
“I wasn’t looking for anything then.”
Ava pulls up the sleeves of her sweater to show me her unbroken skin. When I don’t say anything, she pulls her shirt over her head and twirls around in front of me in her bra. “Look closely,” she says. “You won’t find anything because I wasn’t there.” She grabs her phone off the counter and throws it at me. “Take my phone. Go ahead. Check the texts, the call history, anything you want. The only thing I know for sure is that I was here, asleep in my bed, when Dylan was killed this morning.” I see tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. “But apparently my word isn’t good enough for you anymore.”
And that’s the sentence that hurts. Since we were born, it has been the two of us against the world, and I’ve been more alone these past few days than I’ve ever been before. The reality of it is that I don’t think Ava could hurt anyone. Drive them crazy, maybe. Talk behind their back about their fashion sense, definitely. But kill someone? “Sorry,” I say quietly.
“You bet you’re sorry!” Ava continues, the heaviness of the moment obviously lost on her. “You come home, accusing me of—”
“Ava!” Cecilia says sharply.
Ava’s mouth shuts abruptly, and she pulls her shirt back over her head. “Fine. Whatever.”
“Don’t be such a poonc
h,” I say quietly.
The edges of a smile appear on her face for a quick second. She looks at my plate. “Are you going to finish that drumstick?”
“No,” I say, pushing my plate toward her.
“You sure you don’t want it?”
“I’m sure,” I say, watching her take a bite.
Maybe if we say normal things to each other for long enough, it will all get back to normal.
Maya gives me a sad smile as she walks me to my locker. All I can see of Ava is the back of her head as she rushes in front of me. So much for getting back to normal. “Are you going to be okay today?” Maya asks me.
I try to focus on getting my books into the backpack I borrowed from Ava, and not at the way everyone’s staring at me. “I guess,” I answer. “It’s better than sitting around at home waiting for the lawyer to call. Plus, Dad thinks that going to school is some kind of punishment. But it’s good to get out of there. It’s like everyone at home is just holding their breath waiting for the next bad thing to happen. School can’t be worse than that.” At least, I hope not. I need something to get me through the next eight hours until we meet with Ms. Alvarez.
Maya glances over her shoulder. “You should know what you’re walking into.… People are talking.”
I wince, although I’m not surprised. It’s not like yesterday’s events went unnoticed. “I figured,” I say. “It’s not every day that someone gets led out of the school in handcuffs.”
“Not our school, anyway.” She smiles but doesn’t look happy. “But most people say they don’t believe you did it.”
“Well, that’s comforting,” I say, watching people swarm the hallway. A girl I don’t know in a swim team hoodie glances at me and then grabs the girl in front of her so she can look too. I wonder if they actually think I did it.