“It didn’t sound like studying.” Derrick’s voice, usually so friendly, was accusatory.
“What did it sound like?” Mattie asked, before he could think better of it.
“I think we both know what it sounded like.”
Oh God. Mattie’s heart hammered. “What—I wasn’t studying yet. We were on our way. And we stopped. It was storming.”
“Stopped studying?”
“No. Stopped in the car.”
“So are you studying now?” Derrick asked.
“Uh, no. We decided to ditch studying since we just had a test and we, uh, hit up a movie.”
Derrick sighed heavily on the other side of the phone. “Really. You planned a study session after a test.”
Panic rose in Mattie’s chest, threatening to choke him. He cleared his throat. “The class is really hard, Derrick.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
There was silence—a thick, pregnant silence that pounded in Mattie’s ears, smothering him.
“I think I’m tired of talking, Mattie.”
“I’m sorry.” The words burst out before Mattie could stop them.
“Oh? Why are you sorry?”
Mattie paused. “I—I’m sorry that you’re upset with me.”
“Yeah. Well, me too.”
And then—nothing.
“Hello?” Mattie asked.
He was gone.
Mattie put his head in his hands. How much did Derrick know? How much had he heard?
What had they said?
Part of Mattie wanted to call him back, to beg his forgiveness.
But maybe . . . maybe Derrick was angry for another reason.
Mattie felt sick. Incredibly, invasively, deeply ill.
He had promised himself a million times he’d never, ever lie to Derrick again.
And he’d just done it.
“Here,” said the girl at the concession stand. She slipped him a box of Swedish Fish. “Sorry about your girlfriend.”
Mattie didn’t bother to correct her. He tried to smile as he took the box, and he slipped back into the theater.
With the rest of the criminals.
Kinley
Sunday, June 14
Kinley rolled over in her bed, her covers wrapped around her waist. She’d gotten up yesterday. She’d gotten dressed and braided her hair and talked to her mom and dad. Her dad had given her a couple applications for scholarships and smiled at her and she’d filled them out and given them back.
I’m going to be okay, she had thought. Everything is going to be okay.
But today was different.
She’d gone to bed last night and stared at her ceiling. She stared at the little stars her mother had glued there—one for every perfect test. Her eyes followed the crack that spidered out from the corner of the wall. She eyed the trophies and medals that glinted faintly, lining every empty space of the room.
She’d worked so, so hard for a perfect life. And she’d had it. She’d had everything.
Her father had been proud. She was following in his footsteps. She was going to be just like him.
She wondered what her father would say now.
It was two in the afternoon and she was still in bed. Exhaustion dragged its heavy claws across her, but she couldn’t sleep. She kept seeing it happen.
Why hadn’t she moved her feet? She’d seen Cade throw the punch. She’d seen Stratford fall back. She’d watched his feet as he stumbled.
And she hadn’t moved.
She’d just let him stumble. She’d let him fall.
She was the reason his head had hit the chalkboard tray. She was the reason he’d fallen to the floor like a rag doll.
And maybe that meant—
Maybe that meant she was the reason he was dead.
And somehow, amid all that darkness and pain and guilt, there was a fierce gladness.
No one had found the body yet. It would have been all over the news. Right? But sometimes cops held news back, if they thought there was foul play.
If they were trying to get someone to come forward.
Her phone pinged beside her. The stolen phone. The one Tyler had gotten her. She picked it up.
Tyler.
What are you doing?
For one fierce moment, she wanted to tell him the truth. That she was miserable. That she was suffering. And that somehow, she was still glad she didn’t have to deal with Stratford ever, ever again.
She glanced over at her notebook that held the extra work he’d given to her. The work she’d spent hours upon hours on. The work she’d been unable to finish.
She couldn’t have succeeded with Stratford. Now, she didn’t have to.
Nothing, she typed back.
Guess where I am
She smiled a little. Where did Tyler hang out? In purple Jeeps? In shady parking lots?
A dark alley.
Look outside
Kinley’s chest did this crazy thing where it tightened and expanded all at once. For the first time all day, she pulled herself out of bed and went to her window.
And there he was, standing outside, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans. When he saw her, he pulled a hand out and gave her a salute, and then pointed at her window. The question was clear: Could he come up?
Kinley bit her lip. No. No, he couldn’t. Girls like her did not have boys in their rooms. Especially not boys like Tyler Green. Boys were a distraction. She couldn’t afford distractions.
Still, she slid open her window. The hot summer air kissed her skin.
“Come on,” she said, and sighed, and before she could change her mind, an actual guy had pulled himself up on the windowsill and slung a leg over. He shifted and dropped onto the carpet.
“Tyler,” she said. She was extremely aware of herself—mostly the fact that she hadn’t brushed her hair today. Or her teeth. And that she was wearing giant flannel pants and a huge T-shirt with two crows sitting on a branch that said ATTEMPTED MURDER.
“That’s funny,” he said, pointing to her shirt.
She touched the fabric and smiled a little, impressed that he got it.
“Uh, can you give me a second? I just have to—”
And then she left him there and escaped to the bathroom that she shared with her two little brothers. She brushed her teeth quickly and dragged a comb through her ratted hair. She grabbed a pair of jeans, a tee, and most important, a bra from the hamper and pulled them on.
She looked in the mirror. There. She didn’t look so bad. Today, she looked almost normal. Except there was something different about her face. She leaned on the counter, peering closer. Something strange and old.
Maybe that was what happened to you when you accidentally killed someone. Something changed, deep inside, and it changed the outside.
Maybe no one else would notice.
A knock on the door made her jump.
“Kinley, get out! I have to peeeeeee!”
It was Leon, her littlest brother. She groaned, shoved her pajamas into the hamper, and opened the door to where he was dancing, his hands clutching his privates.
“Thanks!” he cried, rushing past her, and was peeing before she was even out the door. She rolled her eyes and closed the door after him.
And then she went back into her room.
Where Tyler was sitting.
On her bed.
She’d never had a boy near her bed. In fact, other than her brothers, a boy had never even seen where she slept.
“Nice digs,” he said. He eyed her outfit. “I liked the pajamas better, I think. Easier to get out of.” He winked at her—actually winked, like a boy in a novel—and grinned.
She grinned back. She couldn’t help it. She’d gone from complete innocent to having a boy in her bed in no time.
But there was a thing in the air that hung heavy between them.
Kinley could get past it, though. She could get past anything. That’s what she told herself.
&n
bsp; “How did you know where I lived?” she asked.
“Your parents are retro. They’re still in the phone book.” He pushed himself off the bed. “And besides, everyone knows who your father is, being a politician and all. I’m surprised he’s listed.”
Kinley wished they weren’t. A few years ago, a group of activists had thrown eggs at their house, screaming obscenities until the police had finally shown up. One had thrown a rock, and it had crashed through the dining room window.
Her father had installed an alarm system after that. And a fence. As if it would stop people who wanted to throw worse things than eggs and rocks.
Kinley didn’t know what to say. She shrugged.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about you,” Tyler said. He began to walk around her room. He rubbed a purple ribbon between his fingers, and checked his teeth in the distorted reflection of one of her trophies. “I wanted to see you.”
“I—I’m glad you’re here.” Kinley’s voice wavered. What was wrong with her? How could she be so cool during what happened Friday and lose it during this?
It was like that hadn’t been her. It was like a cooler, more suave, better Kinley had taken over, and now she was back to awkward perfectionist. Daddy’s little girl.
Who really, really wanted to kiss Tyler again.
What was wrong with her? Had being completely devoid of a boyfriend made her totally desperate?
She moved toward him a step, tentatively, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. He flipped it open and drew a long, pale cigarette out with his teeth.
“You aren’t smoking that in here,” Kinley said. “I mean, are you?”
Tyler lifted a shoulder. “Does it bother you?”
It did.
“No. I just . . . I think that maybe . . . with all the trouble we’re in . . . could we be . . . We should toe the line, right?”
Tyler smiled, and the cigarette pointed up in his mouth. “No.”
“No?” Kinley took another step toward him, and felt her body heat spread from her chest to her neck. She thanked God she wasn’t born white and pale. Her blush would have been so much more obvious.
“Don’t you think we need to act like ourselves more than ever?” Tyler said around the cigarette.
Kinley reached out and plucked it from between his lips. “Why?” she asked.
“Well,” he said, reaching out and sliding a hand along her elbow, “if you start dressing in black leather and doing hard drugs, you might get some extra attention, right?”
She nodded.
“And if I become a choir boy and swear off all the things I love the most, well, that’ll make me look suspicious, right?”
A giggle rose in Kinley’s throat. “You’d make a terrible choir boy,” she said. “Can you even sing?”
“No,” he said. “But I can do this.”
What he did next had absolutely nothing to do with being a choir boy.
He slid one hand down the small of her back. And he kissed her. He kissed her hard. And pushed her back onto the bed.
She bounced once, and she felt her hair spreading out around her, and suddenly he was on top of her, kissing her with such intensity, she could barely stand it. And then her hands were on him before she realized was she was doing, rubbing over him, reaching for the gap where his shirt had ridden up. His skin was smooth and warm, and she wanted to touch more of it.
And then she pushed him away and sat up quickly, wiping her mouth on the neck of her T-shirt.
“What?” Tyler asked, squinting at her.
She was panting, heavily, sucking in breaths like she couldn’t get enough air.
“I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Tyler
Sunday, June 14
He stared at her.
God, he wanted her.
He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to jump back on top of her and rip her clothes off and make her beg for him. He wanted to kiss her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
Tyler Green liked Kinley Phillips.
Weirder shit had happened.
“Is that okay?” Kinley asked, drawing her knees up to her chest like she was trying to put a barrier between them. Tyler stepped back.
“Of course.” His voice was soft. He wanted her, but he could wait. “It’s whatever you want to do, okay? No pressure here.”
Of course, he’d just thrown her onto the bed and tackled her like a linebacker. Maybe that could be considered pressure.
But he’d needed a distraction. Something to turn his mind off. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten. When his parents tried to speak to him, he couldn’t even remember how to answer.
He couldn’t think of anything but that.
He’d needed Kinley.
He sat down in her desk chair and watched her from across the room. Her hair was frizzed around her. It looked beautiful. She looked like a queen.
“You okay?” he asked.
She relaxed her legs a little. “Uh, yeah. Sorry. I’m not used to”—she motioned between them—“this.”
Tyler rubbed the back of his neck. “I get it.”
He didn’t want to get it. He wanted something else. He wanted to be an asshole. His eyes traveled to her neckline, and then below, and then he looked away before he tackled her again.
Her room was like a museum. It was cluttered, sure, and kind of small, but it was absolutely perfect. Every trophy was perfectly spaced. The countless ribbons created a strange tapestry against the wall.
Where there wasn’t evidence of Kinley’s academic perfection, there were books. Lining every wall. Overflowing bookshelves. The extras were stacked, knee high, in perfect piles, largest to smallest, near her bed.
On her nightstand was her psych book.
He averted his eyes quickly. He couldn’t think about that. If he thought about it too much—
“Are you okay?” Kinley’s voice cut into his thoughts.
Tyler started at the question. It had pierced right through him. “Yes.”
It sounded like a lie, even to him. Kinley cocked her head, considering him.
He couldn’t let her see.
He turned away, his eyes searching her desk. His hands settled on wires, thin, spindly wires, and a small flash drive, all connected to what looked like a miniature earpiece. He picked it up, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “What’s this for?”
Kinley’s eyes widened. “State secrets,” she said. “Um—”
“No, seriously,” Tyler said, unable to let it drop. He couldn’t have her go back to talking about that. About Friday. “This looks high tech. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You’ve never seen a flash drive?” Kinley asked, narrowing her eyes. “I knew you were a slacker, but I never realized the extent.”
He forced a chuckle. “Yeah.” He went back to looking at the flash drive. For some reason, he couldn’t look at her. “This is weird.”
He didn’t know why he said it. He just wanted to say something. Anyway. He had to stay away from that.
“Tyler.” Kinley’s voice was sharp. “Put that down.”
But before he’d even set it back on the desk, Kinley leaped off the bed and pushed herself into his arms. She lay her head on his chest for a moment, and he put his hand in her hair, holding her tight.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, but he wasn’t sure if it was for her benefit or his. “It’s okay, Kin.” He breathed her in deeply. She smelled a little like sweat and the sharp-sweet scent of freshly applied deodorant. He liked it.
She burrowed further into his arms, and before he realized what was happening, she was kissing him again, pressing him backward with as much urgency as he had pushed her onto the bed. He half stumbled onto the chair, and she straddled him, her hair falling over him as her lips touched his. Her tongue, tentative, tasted his own.
She tasted good. Her body was lovely and warm against him, and his hands wandered without meaning to.
Slow, he told himself. Don’t scare her. So he forced his hands to stay above her clothing, forced himself to kiss with tenderness, with patience.
She was so goddamn perfect.
And she filled his mind completely. She was everything and he never, ever wanted to leave the moment.
“What the hell?”
Kinley tore her lips away from his and froze. Tyler turned, his arms still around Kinley.
Her dad was framed in the entrance of the room, a look on his face like murder.
Her dad.
The famed politician. The bulldog of the current senatorial race.
Kinley jumped off of Tyler’s lap, her hair everywhere. “Dad!” she screeched. “Do you knock?”
Her dad stared at Tyler, his eyes huge. His arms were making big, wild movements, like he was trying not to punch him. “You’re that Green kid, aren’t you?” he asked through his teeth.
“Uh. Yes. Yes, sir.”
Tyler started to stand, but then thought better of it, staying stuck to the chair. Kinley retreated slowly backward until she hit the bed and wobbled, looking in horror at her father.
“Dad! Stop!”
Her father ignored her. “I never—never—want to see you around my daughter again. Got it? You could take some notes from that brother of yours, you good-for-nothing failure.” He blew a hot breath of air out, and he reminded Tyler of a bull before it charged.
Tyler slowly rose from the chair, palms in the air, and slid along the wall. “Um, I think I’ll be . . . I’ll be going.”
“Goddamn right,” Kinley’s father said, and then grabbed on to the collar of his T-shirt and hauled him, by the neck, out of Kinley’s room and clear to the front door, his horrified daughter trailing after him and squealing, “Dad! Stop it!” every few feet.
“Stay away from my daughter!” Mr. Phillips said, his voice low and deadly, his breath stinking of onions and fish.
And then he gave Tyler a giant shove out the door. Tyler stumbled down the front steps, overbalanced, and crashed onto the cement.
Behind him, the door slammed shut, and he could hear Mr. Phillips yelling behind it.
Tyler slowly pushed himself up on scraped palms. Pain shot through his knees. His jeans were ripped and his skin was filled with a fine gray gravel.
Secrets, Lies, and Scandals Page 9