Secrets, Lies, and Scandals

by Amanda K. Morgan

  Mrs. Stratford’s face crumpled, all the anger and suspicion gone from it like air from a popped balloon.

  Daniel, who Ivy hadn’t heard come out, grabbed her arm. “Go inside, Ivy.” His voice was firm. “Mrs. Stratford, I need you to leave my home. Immediately. And I understand that you’re going through a difficult time, but if you spend one more moment talking to my sister, then I have no problem filing a report at the station.”

  Ivy took a couple steps back, letting Daniel put himself between her and the car.

  Mrs. Stratford spat out the car window and drove off, her car backfiring as she went. It sounded like a gunshot, and Ivy jumped.

  Daniel turned to his sister. He rubbed his forehead.

  “Having your brother as a cop doesn’t mean you’re above the law, you know.” His voice was quiet, somber. It was like he’d drawn into himself.

  “I know,” Ivy said. “I don’t know why that old bitch is following me!”

  Except she did.

  God, she knew.

  It was because Mrs. Stratford, somehow, could see what everyone else was missing: Ivy’s guilt.

  Daniel considered her for a moment. “I think we really need to talk about this, Ivy. I think we should see you down at the station.”

  Mattie

  Friday, June 26

  “Bet you thought you killed me, didn’t you?” Stratford pushed at his glasses, made foggy with moisture. “Bet you thought throwing me in that river was the last time you’d see me.” He laughed, and a trickle of muddy river water escaped the corner of his mouth.

  “You died,” Mattie whispered.

  But he hadn’t. He was standing in front of Mattie in soggy loafers, with mud and leaves stuck in his sparse hair. “Wake up, Mr. Byrne. Next time you take part in a murder, make sure you do it right. You should have dismembered me. Just a few swings with an ax—”

  Mattie sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat and breathing hard.

  There was no one in his room with him. Early-morning sun streamed in through his window, leaving long, bright rectangles on the floor. But, still, it was empty. No one else there.

  Not Stratford, not anyone.

  Except a cat. (His aunt’s favorite cat, Macbeth.)

  Mattie groaned and clicked on the lamp sitting on his bedside table. The cat mewed at him, and Mattie picked him up and set him on the bed.

  The cat purred his approval and rubbed his head against Mattie’s hand. Mattie pet him obediently, willing his heart to slow.

  Stratford was still dead. Still in the river, probably, since no one had found him.

  And no one knew Mattie had anything to do with it.

  No one except the others.

  (And maybe Derrick.)

  Mattie’s whole body hurt. He hadn’t been sleeping well. The night before, he’d tossed back some NyQuil, which had finally, finally forced him into sleep.

  And into dreams.

  Dreams worse than waking thoughts.

  Mattie realized he was shaking. He was shaking with the same fear he’d had in the dream, with Stratford trailing mud all over his room, reaching for him, shaking like there was a dead person still with him.

  The cat purred louder now, arching his back and kneading Mattie’s shoulder with his paws, pulling him just a little further away from his nightmare. Mattie realized he didn’t want the animal to leave.

  “I should do something,” Mattie whispered to the cat. “I should confess, shouldn’t I?”

  The cat mewed at him.

  “I need to,” Mattie said. “I’m talking to a cat, which has to mean something. I’m . . . I don’t know. But according to Cade, this is all going to fall on me. And I can see how he’s right. Can’t you?” He hesitated. “What if . . . what if I just took the blame? If I confess early, the police might be more lenient. . . .”

  The cat didn’t respond. Instead he circled and found another soft spot on the bed. He curled up and mewed softly.

  Mattie didn’t say what he was really wondering: that with Derrick hating him, with his parents sending him away, with no friends to speak of, would anyone really miss him if he went to jail for the rest of his life?

  Maybe not.

  And maybe that’s where he deserved to be.

  Mattie pushed himself out of bed and showered quickly. He needed to get out of the house. He needed a walk, or something. Anything. To see that the world outside was still the same. Still some semblance of normal.

  After dressing and wandering through the almost-silent house, Mattie walked down the driveway and clicked in the code that would open the gate. That was when he saw it.

  His bike. Just inside the gate. Hidden partially by the climbing plant that concealed the grounds from prying eyes.

  The bike that had gone missing after the . . . event.

  The bike he hadn’t seen since that night.

  But here it was, tucked away, like it was waiting for him.

  Someone had left it here.

  Someone who must have taken it that night, or soon after.

  Someone who must have been there.

  Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t take a single breath. He sunk to his knees, sucking in deep gasps of air that hurt his lungs. Someone knew. Someone knew what he was hiding. Someone knew and was screwing with him.

  Was it Derrick? Would Derrick have driven all this way? Was it Mrs. Stratford?

  It was someone. Someone who knew him, or knew of him. Who knew where he lived. Who had watched him long enough to know it was his bike.

  His head spun. It spun him around and around and around until he wasn’t sure which way was up or down or where he was or where the bike was and his chest hurt like he was dying. He knew what was happening: he was having a panic attack. (Could he die from a panic attack?)

  He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t live like this. Not anymore.

  He was going to confess.

  Mattie left his bike in the bushes and half walked, half crawled back up to the house and made it to his room. He closed the curtains, blocking out the sun.

  He lay back down in bed and pulled his covers up to his chin. The cat climbed on top of his stomach and closed its eyes.

  But Mattie kept his eyes open and listened to his heartbeat. It sounded like a thunderstorm in his ears.

  If he confessed, everything would fall on him. But then he wouldn’t have to worry about it any longer.

  Kinley

  Saturday, June 27

  “Nice pad,” Kinley said approvingly as she walked through Tyler’s house. It was surprisingly normal. Kind of like her own, only a little bigger and a little less plagued by politicians.

  “Thanks.” Tyler grinned. “What did you expect? Posters of creepy hard-rock bands and a temple where I worship at the altar of delinquents past?”

  She laughed. “Something like that.” She was happy Tyler was talking to her again. After almost completely ignoring her for a couple of days, he’d finally texted her. He’d wanted her to come over to his house. She didn’t know why, but was willing to find out.

  “We’re so pleased you’re here!” Mrs. Green had said when she answered the door. “I’m Ariana Green, and this is my husband, Jared. We’ve been begging Tyler to bring home a good girl since, I don’t know, he was born!” She’d laughed, but in that weird way where Kinley could tell she was actually completely serious.

  Then his father had actually hugged her, and suggested that Tyler and Kinley become study buddies. As if he didn’t know that being study buddies was something students only pretended to do as a pretense for making out.

  “I think your parents are planning our wedding,” Kinley told Tyler when they were finally in his room with the door firmly closed (and locked). “They love me.” She looked around the room, which was surprisingly neat and clean. The bed was made carefully with a neat blue bedspread tucked in on the sides; a desk, clean of papers, squatted beneath the window. There were no posters on the wall, and only a single picture of Tyler and
a boy who looked like his brother taped on the bedroom mirror.

  “Don’t be too flattered. They love anyone without tattoos.” Tyler smirked. “Speaking of which . . . I haven’t been able to thoroughly check you for those.” His eyes roamed over her body, and she felt warm and nice for a half second. But she was here for a reason, and she couldn’t get distracted. No matter how cute he looked right now in his ripped jeans and Metallica T-shirt.

  “So,” she said, running her fingers over his chest. “I sort of came over to get that flash drive we talked about. It has some college prep materials that I need.”

  Tyler put his hands on her hips, and one of his thumbs dipped below the waistband of her jeans, sending delicious little chills through her body. He cleared his throat. “I kind of . . . well, I lost it. I know it’s around here somewhere. I put it aside to do some cleaning and now I can’t find it. But I’m sure it’ll turn up. Eventually.”

  Kinley sucked in her lips. She couldn’t let him see her panic. She breathed very, very slowly, willing her jackrabbit heart to follow her lead. He could not know what was on that flash drive. He could not.

  “Well, I need it to record the psych classes now, so could you please look for it?” She kissed him once, very lightly, and then looked up at him through her eyelashes. “It’s very important. I’d . . . reward you.” She purposely cast a look toward the bed.

  This was so weird. And so not Kinley. She didn’t seduce or flirt her way into things. She outsmarted people. And when she couldn’t do that . . . well, she cheated.

  Was Tyler even buying it? Would he really believe that a virgin like Kinley would be bribing him like that? Maybe she should draw it back a notch. She didn’t really know what she was doing, anyway.

  Tyler kissed her then. He kissed her hard, and his arms tightened around her. “Anything for you,” he whispered in her ear. “Anything.” He put a hand on her chest. “Why are you so scared, baby? It feels like your heart is going to explode. Is there something you want to tell me? Maybe something you forgot?”

  Kinley flinched. He knew. Didn’t he? Why would he steal the flash drive, anyway, if he wasn’t going to immediately listen to it?

  Pressure built inside of her chest. Kinley wanted to push him away. She wanted to scream. But instead, she covered his hand with her own. “It’s just being around you that does this to me.”

  “Mmmmm,” he said.

  She was a liar.

  Maybe he was too.

  Maybe they were perfect for each other.

  But how would he know what was on the drive? Maybe he’d heard the first portion of study notes she’d recorded and turned it off. She knew she’d be able to tell if he had listened. After all, Tyler was always in trouble. That had to mean he wasn’t that great at hiding his crimes. That he wasn’t a great liar. And Kinley was smart. She would know if he was hiding something. He wouldn’t be able to kiss her if he knew. And he definitely wouldn’t be touching her like this if he realized what she had done to him.

  To all of them.

  If he realized what was on the flash drive that he’d “lost,” he’d hate her.

  And if he’d really, truly lost it . . . well. She couldn’t think about what that meant.

  “I really need it, Tyler. Please? Please find it for me?” She pouted, sticking out her lower lip.

  “Don’t you make copies?” he asked, trying to kiss her again. “Or save the information on your computer . . . for safekeeping?”

  She moved her head slightly, so his kiss landed on her cheek. And then he was kissing her neck.

  “Not this time,” she said. She put her hands on his chest. “Look, Tyler . . . they weren’t just study materials, okay?”

  He stepped back a little bit and took a look at her. “Then what was on there?”

  She looked down at her shoes. “I spent two hundred dollars on the Internet for what this guy promised was the answers to the SAT test. I recorded them to the device.”

  Of course, if Tyler bothered to study for the SAT, he’d know you couldn’t just buy the answers. But since he wasn’t the most promising academic, Kinley was counting on him not exactly knowing the ins and outs of serious test-taking.

  “So just re-record them.”

  “I deleted all communication after I recorded them,” Kinley said slowly. “I didn’t want to leave a trail.”

  It sounded somewhat sensible when she’d recited it on the way over.

  So why didn’t he look like he was buying it?

  “I’ll tell you what,” Tyler said. “I’ll look extra hard if you promise to do something for me.”

  “Anything.”

  “So, my brother’s been . . . threatening me a little.” His face changed slightly. “He’s trying to get me in trouble for something he did. Something that could really put me in the spotlight with my probation officer, and ergo, the cops. Which would clearly be a bad idea right about now.”

  “What is it?” she asked. Tyler could not be in trouble with the police right now, especially not if he had the flash drive somewhere, lost or otherwise. If they got their hands on that—they were all doomed. She played with the end of her braid—a nervous habit she’d been trying to quit. Lately, her fingers found their way there more and more often, and the tips of her hair were fraying into split ends.

  Tyler winced, and walked to his window. “Do you mind if maybe we don’t talk about that? It’s personal. And I don’t want to change the way you think of me.”

  Kinley’s heart did this funny swelling thing that felt good and hurt all at the same time. Was he being honest with her? She hesitated. “Can . . . can I help?” She crossed the room and touched his shoulder. She wanted to trust him so bad. She wanted to be his and for all of this to be behind her. Like really his . . . a real girlfriend who would go out on real dates and kiss him in public and wear his sweatshirts home at night.

  But she also wanted to shake him until all of his secrets spilled out.

  “I want to record his threats. So if he ever does anything with them for real, I can bring the recording to my probation officer and show him I had no choice.” He flexed his fingers into fists and then stretched them out. “I always get blamed, Kin. But I can’t be that guy anymore. Not now.”

  “I’ll help,” she whispered. “I promise. Just do one thing for me, okay?”

  He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers. “Of course.”

  She studied him, wanting to give into his touch.

  “Find the flash drive.”

  Tyler

  Saturday, June 27

  “Wait, Kin,” Tyler said. He stopped her at the door.

  Tyler’s parents looked up. They’d both been giving Kinley these big, huge hugs, and saying things like how they hoped she’d be around more. They were basically adopting her as a third child. They didn’t want to let her go, and neither did he. He couldn’t let her leave just yet.

  He had something else he needed to talk to her about. Listening to the flash drive had given him an idea, and he wanted her help.

  At least, he told himself it was her help he wanted, and ignored the weird little part of him that wanted to protect her, even after everything.

  “Do you want to run to the Dairy King and maybe get shakes?” Tyler asked.

  Kinley blinked, and Mr. and Mrs. Green exchanged hopeful looks, like they were hoping Kinley and Tyler had potential. It was the kind of look they usually gave each other about Jacob, when they were happy or proud, like, Look at our amazing favorite son and all the amazing, fantastic things that he does.

  It drove Tyler crazy.

  In any case, it had been a long time since Tyler had seen anything like it directed at him.

  And all it took was the hottest, most manipulative, smartest girl that he’d ever met. A girl he was secretly afraid he was no match for.

  Kinley ducked her head a little bit. “Yeah, sure,” she said, her voice small.

  “I think that would be fun,” his mom said, glowing so much she
was practically blinding everyone in the room.

  Jacob made a choking sound behind them.

  Everyone ignored him. For once.

  “You two have a great time!” his father called, and his parents did this weird giggling thing and shut the door behind them as Tyler and Kinley walked out and climbed into Kinley’s car. For a second, Tyler felt like his life had transitioned to a 1950s television show. Milk shakes and dates that were practically parent-chaperoned.

  And murder.

  “I take it you don’t have girls over often?”

  Tyler actually felt his face heat up. “I don’t really have anyone over. Life of a delinquent and all.”

  Kinley smiled.

  He loved when she smiled.

  Ugh. What was wrong with him? He knew she wasn’t the shining star of an individual that she pretended to be. She was what his grandmother called slick. She was an evil genius.

  And she never, ever got caught.

  And that, he had to admit, was sort of hot.

  “Do you really want to get milk shakes? Or is that some lame metaphor for making out or getting high?”

  Tyler laughed. “Nah. Let’s indulge my parents’ fantasies about how good and wholesome we are and get milk shakes.” He smiled, a little deviously. “I want chocolate mint.”

  “No way!” she said. “Chocolate mint is my favorite!”

  “Seriously?”

  She turned onto Main Street. “Ugh. No way. I like strawberry. Are you kidding me with the mint? That’s like saying, ‘Ruin my chocolate with a side of VapoRub, please.’ Gross.”

  Tyler laughed. Under any other circumstances, he could really have fun with her.

  Under any other circumstances, they could rule the world. With his underworld knowledge and her badass intelligence? They’d be unstoppable.

  A few minutes later, Kinley was licking strawberry ice cream off of her straw and Tyler was scooping out messy spoonfuls of chocolate mint, and he felt almost normal. Like someone who really did these things with no ulterior motives.

  Except he had one.

  “Kin,” he said. “It wasn’t our fault.”