“What took you so long?” Samantha hisses. “Hurry up and get in the car.” She stabs her thumb in the direction of the backseat. I follow her directions, opening the door and climbing inside. As soon as the door closes, she makes a U-turn and drives away.
Regina is sitting in the passenger seat. “You guys, I feel really bad for doing this to Scotch. Did you know his mother has lung cancer? He was really opening up to me.”
Lung cancer. Is that what he was talking about in the car? That’s why he was feeling so fragile? Maybe it wasn’t just a line. God, I am such an asshole.
“Just because his mother has cancer doesn’t make him any less of a douche,” Samantha says. She glances at me in the rearview mirror. “How did it go?”
I look dully at her. The image of Scotch’s mangled body looms before me. Suddenly, I become manic. “Stop the car! Stop the car! We have to go back!”
Samantha slams on the brakes. “Jesus, Vee. What’s wrong with you?”
“We have to go back,” I say. “Scotch is hurt. Maybe dead. We have to call 911. We have to get help.”
Samantha stretches around to look at me. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I cradle my head in my hands. Samantha and Regina don’t know about my sliding. How do I explain what happened? I end up telling half the truth, as it would have occurred if I were in my own body.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s all kind of a blur. I was standing at the edge of the cliff, and Scotch came at me. And then . . . the next thing I remember is waking up on the ground. He must have fallen . . .”
“He fell?” Regina asks, her eyes wide. “How could Scotch just fall off a cliff?”
I stare at her in horror. She’s right. It’s very unlikely that Scotch, an athlete, would accidentally fall over the side. So what does this mean? Could whoever slid into me have pushed him? The thought makes me feel like puking.
Regina starts rocking back and forth and crying. I search for my phone and start to dial 911. Samantha reaches over the seat and grabs the phone out of my hand.
“You can’t call the police,” she says. “How are we going to explain what we were doing? If Scotch is dead, it’s our fault. . . .” Her voice trails off, but the accusatory look she gives me makes her thoughts clear. If Scotch is dead, it’s my fault.
Regina sobs even harder.
“But we have to get help,” I say weakly.
Samantha’s right, though. If we call the cops, they’ll want to know what happened. What if they try to pin Scotch’s fall on me? I cover my face with my hands.
Samantha grabs my wrist. “Vee, you’ve got to pull yourself together. I know you didn’t mean for Scotch to fall, but that doesn’t mean the police will see it that way. I don’t want you to go to jail for this.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Regina says, and she pushes open her car door. I hear her retching into the weeds.
“What we need to do now is go home and act like nothing happened tonight. If anyone asks, we’ll say we hung out at my place and watched movies. Jake is at college, and my parents are on a cruise, so no one will know we’re lying.”
I feel myself nodding. What Samantha is saying makes sense. Her parents are nice enough, but they’re always going on some vacation and leaving her at home by herself. As long as the three of us vouch for one another, no one should get suspicious. It’s the perfect alibi.
I rub my temples, my head aching.
What’s wrong with me? I need an alibi?
“Regina. Did you hear what I just said?” Samantha demands.
Regina wipes her mouth. She doesn’t say anything.
“Regina,” Samantha repeats.
“We should call the police.”
“Regina, get real,” Samantha snaps. “Do you want Vee to go to prison?”
Regina cowers in her seat, not responding.
“I swear to God, Regina, if you say a word to anyone about what happened tonight, I will personally make your life a living hell.” Samantha is seething, and I know better than to cross her when she’s this angry.
Apparently Regina knows better, too, because she assents. “Okay, Samantha. I promise. I won’t say anything. Okay? Are you happy now?”
“Tell me where we were tonight,” Samantha orders.
“Your place. Watching movies.” Regina won’t look at either one of us. I wonder if she’s telling the truth. Will she really keep this quiet, or is she just trying to appease Samantha?
I want to do the right thing. I want to call the police and tell them to send an ambulance right away because, even though I loathe Scotch Becker, he doesn’t deserve to be lying in the dark. Dying. Or dead.
I always thought I was a strong person. A good person.
But, when it comes right down to it, I’m afraid this will be pinned on me. What if I go to prison for the rest of my life? For something I didn’t mean to do?
I’m a coward.
I don’t say anything.
“Okay, then.” Samantha puts the car into gear. “Let’s get out of here.”
When I get home, Mattie is sprawled on my bed, fully clothed and snoring. I stare at her for a minute, wishing I could put off breaking the terrible news to her. I don’t want to, but I have to tell Mattie. She’s part of this, too.
I sit down on the bed beside her and gently shake her shoulder. “Mattie. Pssssst, Mattie, wake up!”
She stirs, and when she sees me, she bolts upright. “Ohmigod, you’re back. Tell me everything. Don’t leave out a single detail.”
“Mattie,” I say, and my somber tone quells her excitement. “Something bad happened. Something really bad.”
She shakes her head. “What? Oh no. Did something happen to Regina?”
“Not to Regina,” I say. “Something happened to Scotch.”
I explain what happened. When I get to the part about him lying at the bottom of the cliff, Mattie puts her hand over her mouth. She looks like she’s going to be sick.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Mattie, you know I’d never joke about something like this.”
“Scotch is . . . dead?”
I think about Scotch, lying alone and cold at the bottom of the cliff, his limbs twisted in unnatural ways. He has to be dead. There’s no way someone could survive that fall. “I’m pretty sure he is.”
Thinking about Scotch, all alone in the middle of the night, his body turning stiff in the cold air, makes me feel ill. Suddenly, I don’t care what happens to me. I can’t just leave him there. I pull my phone out of my pocket.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Mattie asks.
“I’m calling the police.”
“Don’t,” Mattie says, panicked. “Don’t use your phone to call, Vee.”
“I have to.”
“Please,” she says. “What if the police find out about our prank? We’ll be in so much trouble. Let’s just wait until tomorrow. We’ll make an anonymous call. From somewhere it can’t be traced to us.”
I sigh. I can’t stand to see Mattie so scared. Finally, I give in.
“Let’s get some sleep.”
She nods and lies down, but I know she’ll be awake for the rest of the night.
Just like me.
We don’t talk after that, but we both toss and turn into the early morning hours. I know we’re both thinking about the body at the bottom of Lookout Point and wishing that we never, ever met Scotch Becker.
Chapter Fifteen
By the time I drag myself out of bed, Mattie has already gotten up. I look bleary-eyed at my alarm clock. Rollins will be here any minute.
All at once, the night before settles over me like a fog. I rush to the bathroom and throw up twice. After I rinse my face, I look at myself for a long time, wondering how I became a girl who could cover up a murder. Because if the person who slid into me pushed Scotch over the edge, and he is indeed dead . . . that’s what I am, right? A murderer. At least, technically. Does it matter that I wasn’t in my body
when the crime was committed?
In my room, I pull on a pair of tattered jeans and a purple sweatshirt before going downstairs. Lydia and Mattie are sitting at the kitchen table. My father is nowhere to be seen. Mattie’s hair is disheveled and she has deep circles under her eyes.
“Your dad had to leave early,” Lydia explains. “I told him I’d take care of breakfast.” She gestures to a place across from her. There’s a plate loaded with bacon, eggs, and toast slathered with butter. It makes me feel like I’m going to be sick again. I grab a clean coffee cup from the cupboard and fill it to the brim, avoiding eye contact with Lydia. Screw my no-caffeine resolution, at least for today. I take a long drink.
“You look like you didn’t sleep very well,” Lydia observes.
I try to catch Mattie’s gaze, but she looks away.
A car honks outside.
“It’s Rollins,” Mattie says. I get up without saying anything, grab my backpack, and follow Mattie out to the car.
“So did you listen last night? Seriously, like ten people called in. It was so amazing,” Rollins says as he brakes at a stop sign. A couple of little kids with bright jackets walk in front of Rollins’s car.
I haven’t had time to think about what I’m going to tell Rollins. If my plan had worked out, I’d be giggling about how Scotch had to walk home in the nude. What would Rollins say if I told him the truth? That what was supposed to be a prank turned into a nightmare, ending in a horrific accident? I know that Rollins would do a lot to protect me, but would he keep this secret? Would I even want him to?
Mattie jumps in. “Vee actually went to bed early last night. She wasn’t feeling well.”
Rollins’s eyes flicker toward me. “You okay?”
I cough. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just tired. Sorry I missed your show.”
“No problem.” Rollins shrugs. “I’m glad you got some rest. You’ve been looking kind of . . . um . . . haggard lately.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say.
In the school parking lot, Scotch’s usual spot is empty. I can’t stop staring at it. My sister spots Regina walking toward the school building and mumbles something about needing to talk to her. After she’s gone, Rollins pulls the keys out of the ignition and slides them into his pocket.
“What’s going on with you?” he asks quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“You just haven’t been yourself lately. Is there something you want to talk about?”
In that moment, I’m filled with the need to spill everything that happened last night. It feels wrong to keep such a huge secret from Rollins, the guy who’s been my closest friend for the last year.
But before I can answer, someone raps at Rollins’s window. We both look over to see Anna standing next to the car, beaming at Rollins. Her hair is gleaming in the early morning light, and her cheeks are rosy from the fresh air.
Rollins shoots a look as if to say, Last chance. Wanna talk?
I turn away.
Rollins sighs and opens his door. “Hi, Anna.”
“Hi, guys,” she says brightly, smiling at Rollins and then me. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
I shake my head vigorously. “Nope. Nothing. In fact, I’ve got to get inside. I forgot to do my Government homework. If I hurry, I’ve got just enough time to finish it before class starts.” After spouting my lame excuse, I escape from the car and walk briskly toward the school. I hear Rollins calling my name, but I don’t slow down.
Once inside, I start feeling sick again. I have to walk through the cafeteria to get to my locker, and the smell of rubbery eggs has me gagging. There are only a few lone souls eating breakfast.
The pay phone at the far end of the cafeteria catches my eye.
It’s time.
I can’t avoid it any longer.
I have to call the police.
Making sure no one is paying attention, I discreetly pick up the receiver with the sleeve of my shirt pulled over my hand, just in case the cops try to dust the phone for prints later, after they’ve found Scotch. Again, I wonder how I became this girl—someone who worries about leaving fingerprints.
Taking a deep breath, I dial the numbers.
9. 1. 1.
A woman answers, sounding not much older than me. “911. What is your emergency?”
I make my voice as low as it will go. “Yes, I’d like to report an accident at Lookout Point. Please send an ambulance.” As soon as I finish, I hang up the phone and walk away as quickly as I can.
I head straight for the girls’ restroom, hoping it’s empty.
Inside, Regina stands in front of a sink. The faucet is running, but Regina isn’t washing her hands. She’s just staring at herself in the mirror. I know the look in her eyes, the haunted stare of someone who’s overcome with shame.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She doesn’t respond.
I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her I know how she feels. It’s like something out of a horror movie, to know someone might be dead and not be able to say a word about it. I want to tell her I couldn’t fall asleep last night, either. I want to ease her mind. Before saying anything, though, I check beneath the stall doors to make sure no one’s lurking, listening.
“I called the police from the cafeteria,” I say. “They should be headed to Lookout Point right now.”
Without looking at me, Regina turns off the water.
She pushes past me, her shoulder butting into mine. “Leave me the hell alone.” With that, she disappears into the hallway.
Before English class, I see Samantha getting a drink of water. I stand behind her, waiting for her to finish. She jumps when she turns around.
“Jesus, you scared me.”
“Sam, we have to talk about what happened.”
Sam claps her hand over my mouth and looks around. “Not here.”
I peel away her fingers. “But I have to tell you something.” She may never forgive me for making that phone call, but she needs to know about it.
“Later,” she insists.
The bell rings.
“Come on,” Samantha says, hurrying across the hall to Mrs. Winger’s classroom. “We’re late.”
Mrs. Winger doesn’t say anything to Samantha or me as we dart to our desks. Instead, she passes out a story called “Young Goodman Brown” by Nathaniel Hawthorne. She tells us we’ll want to pay special attention to the symbolism of different elements in the story that represent good and evil. I have no idea how I’m going to concentrate on the story.
She lets us pick partners to work with, so I wordlessly take the desk next to Samantha. Partners in crime, I can’t help but think. She sits with her eyes glued to the badly photocopied story.
“Let’s get this over with.” Sam hunches over her desk and begins slowly reading aloud the story of Young Goodman Brown, a sort of regular guy who goes walking deep in the woods one night and comes across a dude I’m pretty sure is the devil. Brown sees all these people he knows from the village doing some kind of satanic ritual. The kicker is when he finds his own wife, Faith, participating.
“Duh, okay, so that’s a symbol right there. His wife’s name. Write it down. Faith. He lost his faith when he went walking with the devil.” Samantha points at the empty notebook in front of me. I write down her suggestion.
It’s hard to explain, but the story makes me feel really weird. I’m pretty sure it’s about loss of innocence, and I can’t help but feel like I went walking with the devil in the woods last night. Except I’m not sure if the devil was Scotch or whoever slid into me or maybe even me, because I left a boy in a ditch to rot.
“Okay, put your desks in a circle for discussion,” Mrs. Winger calls out. Everyone groans and maneuvers their desks to line the perimeter of the room. She draws a big T-chart on the board and asks for us to name some of the symbols we found.
“His wife,” Samantha blurts. “She represents his faith.”
“Okay,” Mrs. Winger says, scribbling
on the whiteboard with a dry-erase marker. “What else?”
“The dark man,” someone else says. “Clearly he was the devil.”
“Good,” says Mrs. Winger. “Why do you think Goodman Brown went walking with the devil, even though he was supposedly a decent fellow?”
I speak up. “Because everyone walks with the devil at one point or another. Even Goodman Brown’s perfect little wife, Faith, was hanging around with the rest of the townspeople in the forest, worshipping Satan. It just means that everyone makes bad choices in their lives. No one’s perfect.”
Especially not me, I think. What if the hours I let pass before telling the police meant the difference between life and death for Scotch?
Samantha looks over at me. “Yeah, but Goodman Brown let it destroy him. If he had just let it go, he would have been so much better off.”
“Interesting,” Mrs. Winger says, tapping the marker against her chin. “You girls really seem to have gotten into the story. I’m impressed.”
The bell rings, and Mrs. Winger scrambles to pick up the photocopied stories.
Samantha and I stay in our seats, staring at each other for just a second. She passes her story to Mrs. Winger and then scoops up her books. She leaves the room without waiting for me.
Chapter Sixteen
The day seems to go on forever. Finally, the last bell rings. I trudge toward my locker, my textbooks feeling heavier than they normally do. It takes me three tries to get my locker open because my eyes keep blurring when I stare at the little numbers. I am beyond exhausted.
“So Regina is totally pissed.” Mattie leans against the locker next to mine.
“I told her I called the police using the pay phone,” I say wearily. “I don’t know what else she wants me to do. Turn myself in?”
“She keeps talking about how Scotch was misunderstood and really was a good guy underneath it all.”
“Ugh,” I say. Though I feel bad that Scotch’s mom has cancer, I’m fairly certain he’s not a good guy.
“Pretty much. I’ll try talking some sense into her at practice. Are you going straight home?”
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