Barney wandered near the road, and she called for him to come back. The last thing she needed was for her new grandmother’s dog to get hit by a car the first time she was entrusted with him. Barney ignored her and kept sniffing the seam where the asphalt met the grass, testing the boundary lines. She walked over to the dog, cussing under her breath as she did. She’d been trying out cursing recently. It seemed time to learn to talk like her peers, even though her mother said it was classless and the sign of a low intellect. “Only limited minds use cheap substitutes,” she always said.
Cursing had never come natural to Violet anyway. She was like an impersonator: she could make herself sound like her peers, but she wasn’t. With a pang, she thought of Nicole, how effortlessly she spat curse words, peppering her speech with them like any other word. Nicole had started swearing back in the seventh grade, one of the first signs she was leaving Violet behind. But of course Violet hadn’t known that then.
As she got close to Barney, she said, “Stupid-ass dog,” when really it was Nicole who was the stupid ass. Or maybe Violet was the stupid ass.
Barney stopped his sniffing and looked up, responding to the moniker as though it was his actual name, as though he’d been called it many times before. Violet smiled at the thought of Polly calling the dog a stupid ass. Perhaps she and her grandmother were alike in some ways. Perhaps she would find out how they were alike while Polly was staying with her. She would find out, and she would tell her mom what she’d discovered when she got home. Then, thanks to Violet’s insight, her mom and grandmother would make up, and something good would come of this ordeal.
As her mind wandered, a girl seemed to appear on the street out of nowhere. The girl grabbed Barney’s collar. Violet started to call out to say, “Hey, let my dog go!” But when the girl looked in her direction, she saw that it was Casey Strickland. Their eyes met, but there was something . . . off-center in Casey’s gaze. Warning bells pinged inside Violet.
“Hey, Violet!” Casey called, tugging on Barney’s collar. “I found a stray!” She laughed like this was hysterical.
“It’s not a stray,” Violet called back. She motioned for Casey to bring Barney to her. “It’s my grandmother’s dog.”
Barney, confused as to who had grabbed him, charged toward Violet, and Casey, not ready for the sudden movement, jerked forward. A panicked look crossed her face just before she fell down onto the asphalt. Violet raced over, grabbing Barney’s collar as she looked down at Casey crumpled face-first on the asphalt. Her shoulders were quaking, and Violet feared she was injured and crying. She tightened her grip on Barney and glanced back at her house, wondering if her grandmother had noticed what was going on outside.
“Are you OK?” she asked Casey, her eyes still on the house as she waited for Casey to stop crying. But then she realized Casey wasn’t snuffling but snickering. “Casey?” she asked. Barney pulled against her grip, and she knew she needed to either let him go or take him inside. The dumb dog still hadn’t peed.
Casey used her hands to lift herself up, twisting around so that she could meet Violet’s gaze. “I’m fine,” she said, laughing. “I can’t believe I just busted my ass like that!”
Violet noticed a scrape on Casey’s chin. “You’re bleeding,” she said. With her free hand, she pointed to the scrape.
Casey looked alarmed and swiped at her chin, then winced with pain. Then she laughed again, though Violet didn’t think any of this was funny. Casey still had that off-center look in her eyes, and suddenly it made sense.
“Casey,” she asked. “Are you . . . drunk?”
Casey laughed harder at this and wagged her finger in the air at Violet. “Nothing gets by you, Violet Ramsey. I always said you were a sharp one.”
“But . . . how?” She almost asked why, but stopped herself.
Casey moved closer to her, still grinning. “Beer,” she stage-whispered, then laughed again.
Violet looked up the street in the direction of the Strickland house. But Casey had come from the opposite direction. “How’d you end up here?” Violet asked her. Barney grew disinterested with the conversation and flopped down.
“I was trying to walk it off,” Casey said. “Before I went home,” she added. “I got dropped off, and somehow I’m gonna have to go back for my car.” She rolled her eyes. “That’ll be fun to explain to Bess.” She shook her head. “First I gotta sober up.” Violet watched as an idea bloomed on Casey’s lovely face, her eyes lighting up against the fog of inebriation. “Maybe you could get me some coffee?” she asked, and pointed at Violet’s house. “You know, before I have to go home?”
Casey’s phone sounded, and she looked momentarily confused about what the sound was.
“Your phone,” Violet said, growing bored with this whole scene.
Casey looked down at her phone, and her face went from amused to panicked. “It’s my mom again. She wants to know where I am.” She gave Violet a desperate look. “Can I tell her I’m here hanging out with you?”
Since this was the truth, Violet said she didn’t see why not. The phone had stopped ringing, but Casey fished it out of her pocket, fumbled around with it for a few seconds, then presented it to Violet. “Will you please text her? You know, pretend you’re me? I’m all thumbs.”
Not knowing what else to do, Violet accepted the phone. Barney lifted his head and watched the transaction.
“Say I came to check on you,” Casey said, then nodded to herself, pleased with her lie.
Violet squinted at the phone screen, saw several missed texts from Bess, most of which said some form of Where are you? and used the word disrespectful. She wrote a text that she hoped would get Casey out of trouble. She pressed “Send” and handed back the phone.
Casey waved it in the air like a trophy. “You’re the best!” she said, too exuberantly.
“Let’s go see if we can get you some coffee.” Violet started walking toward the house, hoping her grandmother wasn’t still in the kitchen. She didn’t want to explain this situation to her. But when they got inside, the kitchen was empty. Violet could smell the lingering aroma of the country-style steak her grandmother had made, now mixed with the scent of dish soap. Barney trotted off in search of Polly, and Violet set about popping a pod into the Keurig.
Casey slumped into a chair at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands. “I fucked up,” she said, too loudly.
Violet spun around and shushed her. “My grandmother is here,” she said, her teeth clenched and her eyes wide. The last thing she needed was for Polly to think that Violet hung out with drunks. Ever since she and Nicole had stopped being best friends, Violet didn’t hang out with anyone. And with the news about her mother circulating through the school, it wasn’t likely she was going to be finding a new bestie anytime soon. Other than whispers and pointing and the occasional slur against her mother, no one acknowledged her at all.
“Sorry,” Casey said, and looked rueful.
Violet set the coffee down in front of her. She didn’t offer cream and sugar, as she’d seen people in movies give drunks black coffee. Casey obediently took a sip. From the back of the house, Violet heard her grandmother call her name. She and Casey gave each other panicked looks.
“Yes?” Violet responded, making her voice sound level and measured.
“Did Barney go?”
“No,” Violet called back. “It seemed like he just wanted to explore the yard.”
“OK,” came the reply, then a sigh. “I’ll take him out again in a little bit.”
Violet wanted to avoid Polly coming in and striking up a conversation that would surely give Casey away or at the very least raise questions. She picked up the coffee and whispered, “Let’s go up to my room.” Casey stood up and followed the coffee. “I’m going to go study,” Violet hollered out in the direction of the downstairs guest room. “Got a big test tomorrow!”
“OK!” her grandmother called back.
“I think the last time I was here I was maybe ten?” Casey said as t
hey climbed the stairs. Her tongue seemed to trip over her s’s.
“Mm-hmm,” Violet responded, concentrating on keeping the coffee from sloshing over the rim of the mug. They made it up the stairs and safely into Violet’s room. She directed Casey to have a seat on her bed, then handed over the coffee and shut her bedroom door. She took a seat at her desk and looked longingly at her psychology book. She hadn’t lied to Polly. She really did need to study. She hoped she could get Casey out of there in short order and get cracking, as her mom liked to say.
Casey’s phone rang again, and this time she didn’t seem surprised. She dug into her pocket and pulled it out. She examined the screen, shrugged, and put it back into her pocket. “I’m not talking to him right now,” she said. She looked at Violet as if it was her turn to talk.
“Talking to who?” Violet asked, more out of obligation than real interest. Violet assumed it was some suitor from her college, pining away because Casey wasn’t there.
“Eli.” Casey gave her a sly grin. “That’s who I was with today.”
This was news, and Violet could tell that Casey knew it would be. Their breakup at the end of last year had spurred almost as much gossip as Micah’s party. Eli and Casey were the couple most likely to last forever. No one—least of all Eli—had seen the breakup coming. People had their theories as to why it had happened. Some said Eli had cheated on Casey. Some said Casey just had never loved Eli, that it had all been an act and with the end of high school came the end of the act. Some speculated that one or the other or both were addicted to drugs. Some said that Casey was gay and was going to come out in college. Violet herself had wondered what had made Casey do it. But of course she’d never imagined she’d be in a position to find out.
“Why were you with Eli?” she asked, feeling her pulse rate elevate slightly as she went there, to that curious, some might say nosy, place. But why not ask? Casey had come to her, asked her for help, used her house as a place to hide from her mother. Casey had sought Violet out, not the other way around, and now it seemed like she wanted to talk about it with someone. Why not be the someone? If nothing else, it would be satisfying to know something about Nicole’s very own sister that Nicole herself had no hope of knowing. It would be nice to know a secret.
Drunk, Casey’s inhibitions were gone. They had learned about that in psych, how alcohol affected your brain, removing your “gatekeepers.” Casey didn’t seem to care that she was spilling a secret. Of course, Violet didn’t have anyone to tell, so she could do very little damage to Casey. She was, actually, a safe space.
Casey leaned forward and lowered her voice. She tried to focus on Violet but was unable to. Instead she set down the now-empty coffee cup on Violet’s nightstand and looked down at Violet’s comforter, tracing the floral design with her finger. “We ran into each other,” she said to the comforter. “At the pizza place. It wasn’t planned.” She glanced up at Violet to make sure she was listening, or to make sure she believed her, Violet couldn’t tell. So she just nodded.
Casey dropped her eyes back to the comforter and went back to running her finger along the flowers. There were a lot of flowers on Violet’s comforter; it would keep Casey busy for a while. Maybe as long as it took for her to tell her story.
“So he said we should maybe get together while I’m home. Have lunch. It was very . . . safe. No big deal, you know?” She glanced up a second time, and for a second time Violet nodded. “But it kinda went wrong,” Casey said. Her voice went small. She sounded younger than her years.
“So you got drunk because it went wrong?” Violet guessed.
Casey smiled. “No, the getting drunk went right. He has a fake ID. I asked him to get us some beer. I thought it would be . . . fun. You know, we could relax a bit. At lunch we were like two people who’d just met. I . . . felt bad. I didn’t want it to be like that.” She stopped talking, her finger stopped moving. But she didn’t look up this time. “He was so sad when we broke up. I feel responsible. I thought if we had a nice time, things would be . . . better.”
Violet cast about for something to say, but she couldn’t think of anything, so she kept quiet. She did not know about being in love, or breaking up, or what it felt like to be drunk. Except for last Christmas Eve when her mom had let her have a whole glass of champagne and she’d gotten what her mom called “tipsy.” It had been a not-unpleasant feeling, but it hadn’t lasted long.
“So we went back to his house, and his mom wasn’t home, and we were drinking too fast, and too much. And the next thing I knew, we were . . .” Violet watched as Casey pulled her knees to her chest and threw her arms over her head, hiding her face between her knees. From underneath the covering of her arms, she let out a frustrated, embarrassed groan. “I’m so stupid!”
Violet tried to make her feel better. “Well, you weren’t stupid alone. He was stupid, too.”
There was silence for a while, and Violet thought that perhaps she’d made a good point and Casey was taking in the wisdom she had offered, maybe even deciding Violet had been the exactly right, if not unlikely, person to talk to. Finally, she raised her head, eyeing Violet. Violet waited for the thank-you that was surely coming. She waited to hear, You’re so good to talk to. Really wise beyond your years. No wonder my sister liked you so much. She’s an idiot for letting you go. Maybe you could be my best friend now.
Instead Casey just looked at her. This time her eyes were able to focus. The coffee had begun to work. “You don’t understand,” she said. “I’m not stupid because I had sex with him. I’m stupid because it was a stupid thing to do. I thought I could handle it, and . . . I kind of freaked out.”
“Did he . . . force you?” Violet felt righteous indignation rise up in her. No means no. You can stop at any time, and your partner should respect your needs. The truth was, if any boy ever wanted to be with her, she didn’t think she would stop it, because she would be so amazed, so flattered. This was not something she was proud of. It was not the kind of thing an empowered woman would do. A voice inside her—a mean, condemning one—said, But it is the kind of thing the daughter of a whore would do. The word whore pinballed through her whole body, and she recognized the voice inside her: it was Nicole’s. She spoke up, if for no other reason than to drown out Nicole’s uninvited opinions. “If he forced you, you had a right to freak out. No matter what.”
Casey just shook her head sadly. “It’s not like that,” she said. “It’s . . . a long story. One I shouldn’t be telling you. You’re just a kid.”
Offended and hurt, Violet sat up straighter. “I’m not a kid. I’m a sophomore.”
Casey gave her a sympathetic smile. “I thought the same thing when I was your age. Thought I knew so much, was so grown up. I had no idea. And you don’t, either.”
Angered by the dismissal, Violet spread out her arms to indicate the room they were in. “Excuse me, but am I not sitting here in a house that was recently searched by the police, living with a grandmother I’ve never met, while my mom’s in jail? I think I know a few things about life being hard or whatever.” She could feel her breath escaping from her mouth in quick, angry puffs. Casey had some nerve. She thought of all the times Nicole had railed on her sister, calling her entitled and spoiled and clueless. In that moment, she agreed with her ex–best friend.
Casey stood up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She picked up her coffee cup from the nightstand. “I’ll just go.” She lifted the mug like a concession. “I’ll put this in the kitchen sink.”
Too angry to respond, Violet just nodded but wouldn’t look at her.
In the doorway, Casey paused, listing slightly to the side even as she attempted to stand still. “Thank you for being there for me tonight.” She held the mug up like someone toasting. “For the coffee.”
“You’re welcome,” Violet mumbled.
“Can I come by tomorrow maybe? Go for a walk again or something? You’re right, you do know way more at fifteen than I did. You’ve been through a lot. I�
��m sorry if I made it sound otherwise.”
Violet lifted her head, grateful for the acknowledgment. She looked over at Casey framed in the doorway. “I guess,” she said, like she didn’t care. But the truth was, she cared a lot. Casey felt like a friend, which was perhaps why her callous comment had hurt so much.
“I think we’re both dealing with a lot right now?” Casey said it like it was a question, but of course it wasn’t. Perhaps, Violet thought, if they hung out some, Casey would tell Violet why she had freaked out, why it was her fault and not Eli’s that whatever had happened between them went wrong. And maybe, if Violet got the chance, she could tell Casey what she knew about the night of Micah’s party that no one else did, get Casey’s advice on what to do about it. And maybe she could actually talk to her about her mom’s arrest, try to uncover if what people were saying about her mother was true. She could tell Casey how it felt to hear kids in the hall whisper terrible things when she passed by. They whispered and pointed, whispered and pointed. But not one of them ever spoke directly to her.
“So . . . tomorrow?” Casey asked.
Violet couldn’t tell if she was asking because she felt bad for what she’d said, or because she really wanted to hang out with her. She didn’t care. She did her best to sound nonchalant as she said, “Sure.” But she felt like Casey could feel the weight of the word, just as much as she’d felt the weight of whatever Casey hadn’t said as she sat on Violet’s bed, tracing the flowers with her finger from sepal to petal to stamen to carpel, over and over again.
Nico
October 8
He parked in the driveway of Norah Ramsey’s house, feeling like an interloper, knowing he was not welcome yet compelled to return, if not to get answers, then to keep the scent that told him he was close to his brother. Ever since he’d linked Norah to the spa that Matteo had been talking about on the last day he had seen him, Nico had been convinced that she was the key, that she would lead him to his brother. In Norah Ramsey’s house, he could smell Matteo as if he had only walked out the door moments before. He knew that Matteo had likely never been to Norah Ramsey’s house, but the two of them were linked in his mind now. When he was at her house, he felt closer to Matteo. The longer the investigation dragged on—the longer his brother stayed missing—the harder it was to differentiate between the real and the imagined.
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