Asher’s impatient expression doesn’t wilt.
I glance behind me at the street and drop my voice. “The real reason we weren’t at the funeral is because we were trying to find Melody’s necklace. Brandon has it.” Asher frowns, but I keep talking. “He told me he hated her. And then a couple days ago, I saw him with her necklace.”
“Is this about Laura Gellman? Cass, I told you—”
“I’m not making this up! Gideon believes me, don’t you?” I turn to see Gideon’s gaze lower to the pavement, his teeth clamped onto his bottom lip. He renders a curt nod.
“I see,” Asher says, lugging the shovels to the garage. He walks off, leaving Gideon standing with his dirt-encrusted hands in his pockets, and me with my fists balled.
This ends today. Right now, I’m going to sneak back into bed and finish pretending to be sick. But the first chance I get, I’m confronting Brandon. I’m done with everyone believing that guy over me. “I’d better go inside,” I mumble to Gideon. “See you later.”
“Cass,” Gideon says, but he doesn’t attempt to follow me.
* * *
Once I’ve settled under the covers, a book I have no attention span to read in hand, there’s a knock on my door. “Come in,” I call, expecting my mom.
But it’s Asher. “How are you feeling?”
I roll my eyes and pull the covers up higher. “You don’t need to come in here and tell me not to blab about Brandon. I promise I won’t say a word”—I cough and mutter—“until after I find that necklace.”
“I wasn’t going to mention Brandon. Maybe it was too soon to stick the two of you together.” He shrugs. “You did seem to be getting along well. There were sparks and everything.”
“Gross.”
“So it’s back to Gideon, then.”
My teeth clamp. “Did you tell Gideon he shouldn’t date me?” A startled expression crosses Asher’s face. “Don’t deny it. I saw how you made him feel terrible just now. You must’ve said something to him.”
Asher steps closer to the bed. “Cass, it’s not like that. I was just upset that you two ditched the funeral.”
“You made him promise not to date me.”
“Not exactly,” he says, cheeks flushing.
My head tips forward.
“I was worried. Your freshman year, after Brandon…”
“Went to the dark side,” I offer.
“Yeah. I started hanging out with you and Gideon, and everything was great. Then he told me how he felt about you, and”—he shrugs—“I just told him to be careful.”
“You what?” Heat courses through me, half rage at Asher, half a warm thrill hearing Gideon’s feelings confirmed.
“You’d been through so much with the fire, and things were good between you two. Between all of us. I didn’t want it to fall apart. You could’ve gotten your heart broken and lost your best friend at the same time. It would’ve been too much.”
“I hate you, Asher.” And I hate Gideon for telling Asher about us. But then my brother’s fingers graze the scars on his left wrist, and my anger fizzles.
“Because you know I’m right.”
I press my lips flat. Asher may have wrecked my chances with Gideon before, but a sliver of hope grows now, pushing my spirits skyward. Maybe Gideon still feels this way.
Asher starts wandering the room. He twists the crank on the little music box he gave me for Christmas one year. “You Are My Sunshine” plays while he flips open a book from the shelf and returns it. I wonder, as he fingers the edge of one rugged, white hardcover, if he remembers the hours spent on this floor, reading Fox in Socks. I lean back against the headboard, listening to the music swirl around the room, until a chanting breaks out over the notes: “When beetles battle beetles in a puddle paddle battle and the beetle battle puddle is a puddle in a bottle…”
I crack a smile. “‘They call this a tweetle beetle bottle puddle paddle battle muddle.’ That was my favorite part.”
“It is the most enthralling scene, no one can argue that. Though I’m pretty sure I can quote the entire book, thanks to you.” He moves on down the line, giving the rocking horse a nudge. When he gets to the porcelain doll, he stops and turns to me. “Edna’s chipped,” he says with a note of hurt. He picks up the doll and examines the tiny hand that cracked during an earthquake. “Do you want me to fix it?”
“No, Asher, it’s fine.”
“It would be a simple fix.”
It gnaws at me that I didn’t take better care of Edna. The doll was a gift from Asher to replace the one the playhouse fire consumed. Asher named her after the neighbor down the street who used to complain about her sciatica on a daily basis. As much as I wanted to love that doll, she only reminded me of Sara and the mistake I’ll never outlive. She’s been sitting here beside all the presents I’ve outgrown on the shelf, right next to a framed photo of Sara and me. The photo rubs at a raw spot in my heart, but I won’t take it down. Forcing myself to look at it is the least I can do for her. “Sure, Asher, that’d be nice.” I never remember to stay mad at him for long.
Clutching the doll at his side, Asher peruses my collection of volleyball trophies. This doesn’t take long, as it’s one-fourth the size of his own collection. He looks up suddenly. “I’m sorry about Gideon, okay? I know how you feel about me talking to him on your behalf, but if you want—”
“I’ll let you know.”
He shrugs, smiling softly. The creases on his forehead are now smooth. “Fine. Feel better.” He winks before ducking out.
The rest of the evening, Gideon barrages me with coded texts about telling the “doctor” what I told him. But I know the desperate detectives will jump at the first opportunity they get to arrest someone.
Maybe tomorrow. Parents couldn’t get me an appointment today.
??
See you at school tomorrow
* * *
I wake up from a nightmare about the fire so vivid that my eyes are wet and swollen. Asher and I were in the playhouse, where we spent every summer moment before the fire. Where my mind has spent so many nights attempting to replay how the whole place went up in flames. But in the dream, instead of finding myself stuck and crying for Asher to help me, his screams rang out over the crackling and crashing.
The playhouse in the dream expanded so it was longer and larger than any real house. I tried to push through the smoke to find where the screams were coming from. Every time I found my way through a door, the house extended farther so that I stumbled into another cloudy room. My lungs were bursting when I finally caught a glimpse of Asher, pinned underneath a fallen beam. He wasn’t screaming anymore, and his eyes were empty, like glass. I called out to him. I shouted I was coming. When I finally made it through the last door, I was outside on the too-green grass, watching the entire playhouse crumble, engulfed in dancing flashes of red.
I rip off the covers, the overwhelming need to see my brother and hear his voice pulling me from the bed. Quickly, I dress for school, then knock on his door.
“Come in.”
I open the door to find Asher wearing the bizarre combination of house slippers and a suit. “What happened to you?”
He looks puzzled until I indicate his choice of footwear. “Oh.” He grins. “I’ve got a meeting in town later.”
I can’t see any natural connection to what I want to say, so I blurt, “I’m sorry I missed Melody’s funeral. Nothing excuses me. I didn’t sleep much last night thinking about it.” Asher sits down on the bed. “Was it a nice service?”
He nods and fiddles with his tie. But his eyes flood.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, blinking a few times. “I just realized Zombie Bride was on last night and I forgot to set the DVR.” He struggles to smile. “It obviously made me emotional.”
Guilt prickles in my chest. This is all my fault. Not just because
I didn’t help Melody. Because everything I said to Brandon that night at the party—everything I wrote in that notebook—encouraged him. “I’m not sure there’s any real way to get over something like that, Asher.”
He laughs weakly. The front door chimes, and he wipes at his eyes.
“I’ll get it.” I scurry down the hall and through the foyer. I pull open the door to find a familiar parka framed in the doorway. But I can’t find my voice to say hello.
Brandon squints at me. “Hey, Cass. Asher’s expecting me.” He stretches his neck to peer over my shoulder. “He’s home, right?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, sorry. He’s in his room.” I spin around. “Come on in and have a seat in the kitchen. I’ll get him.”
“Thanks.” Brandon steps through the doorway and my limbs shake as I follow him. “Asher!” I yell. I’m not letting this guy out of my sight. “There’s coffee in the pot if you want some,” I say to Brandon.
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“Black.”
Right. Like his murdering soul.
I grip the carafe with trembling fingers and pour Brandon a nice, hot cup. “Asher!” I call again, lifting the mug. But my quivering fingers lose their grasp, and it tumbles to the floor, shattering.
Ceramic shards leap across the tiles and brown liquid pools, branching off through the grout.
I dash to the counter to grab a towel. “Here,” Brandon says, leaning over in his chair. He grabs at the biggest chunk of ceramic, and a small object tumbles from his jacket pocket.
The box.
17
Brandon nearly topples from his chair. The ceramic shard falls from his hand as he snatches the little white box.
I drop the towel to the floor. “What’s in the box?”
“Nothing. It’s just—”
“Show me what’s in there, Brandon,” I demand, taking two quick steps toward him. He lowers the box to his lap, fingers covering it protectively.
“Cass.” Brandon’s eyes plead with me.
“Why don’t you want me to see?” The force and volume of my voice climb.
His chin sinks. “Because you wouldn’t understand.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t understand! You’re still going to show me what’s in there!” I shout, crossing the slippery tiles and lunging at him. I grab his arm and try to wrestle the lid away as he clamps it back over the box.
But I catch a glint.
“Cass, calm down!” Brandon yells.
“I won’t calm down until you show me! You’ve got Melody’s necklace in there!” I’m on him now, scratching and yanking, but his hands tighten on the box.
Footsteps pound in the hallway. “Cassidy!” Asher stomps toward me. “Get off him!” He pulls me back, and I grunt, trying to wrench myself from his grasp. “What are you doing?”
“Brandon has Melody’s necklace! He killed her!”
“Cass.” Asher tries to lay a calming hand on my shoulder, but I twist away.
“I heard him that day in the woods! Brandon did it. The proof is in that box.”
Asher’s eyes are wide. His head swivels to Brandon, whose body hunches over the box. Hope flickers.
Then my brother says, “I’m so sorry about this.” He turns back to me. “Cassidy, get out of here.”
I halt, my espadrille landing on broken ceramic with a crunch. “You’re really not going to make him show us what’s inside?”
Asher’s face is stoic, his tone razor sharp. “Get out.”
“This is unbelievable.”
Asher pushes me toward the door, and I have no choice but to obey. But Brandon’s voice rises over my protests. “Here. You want to see what’s in the box? Go ahead and look.” He tosses the lid to the ground, holding the open container on his lap. I wiggle out of Asher’s grip and dart toward it.
A metallic flash curls my stomach. Inside is the same gleaming thing Brandon held between his fingers outside the diner on Friday. When I see a small, silver bracelet nestled into the bottom corner, my breath catches.
There’s a charm, but it isn’t a musical note; it’s a heart, engraved with Love Brandon.
I was so certain it would be the gold necklace—the one from the posters and the news—that I simply stare at the bracelet, blinking to make sure it’s not some trick of the mind.
“I brought it here to show your brother. It’s for Laura.”
A present for Laura. A present he didn’t want me to see because he knew I’d judge him for trying to win her back. My mind continues reeling, trying to work out how it could be anything but Melody’s necklace. I don’t dare touch it. And I don’t dare look either boy in the eye.
“I-I’m sorry.” My gaze falls to my feet.
No one responds. Brandon looks at me, his body slumped in exhaustion, eyes wide with fear. Asher stares at the wall. I stand helpless, a familiar desire seeping into my veins.
That desire to watch something burn.
* * *
It’s an uncharacteristically cold October in Maribel. Even our sturdy Douglas fir trees seem unprepared as wind knocks their needles to the ground and that frosted layer lingers into late morning.
As kids, Gideon and I despised the colder months because it meant our hideout would be buried beneath the pillows of white. As we’ve grown older and our ventures to the hideout have grown fewer, our hatred has withered into a dull resentment. The cold steals the one place we can escape together.
This year, I barely notice the cold move in. There’s nothing to share, no one to share it with.
It’s been a week since Melody’s body was discovered. The Oregon State Police investigation into the alleged homicide is well underway, but no one feels comforted. No arrests have been made, and regardless of the outcome, it’s too late for Melody. Investigators determined she died before entering the water, putting rumors that she slipped and fell into the reservoir to rest. As long as the investigation is open, the police won’t release information regarding the manner of her death, so the town has been inventing its own versions as to how she was killed. One story claims she was bludgeoned. Another claims her throat was cut. With every version, I remember the chilling sounds from that day. They flood my mind and haunt my sleep.
If there is any evidence, the police haven’t found it. The days plod by, and no leads spring up.
Apart from school and practice, I haven’t ventured from my house much. I spend any spare time with my books. Fictional worlds help take my mind off of everything from the safety of my bedroom. I can’t set foot in town and risk running into Mrs. Davenport, or Gracie. I don’t want to think about how they have to walk past Melody’s empty bedroom, knowing she’ll never sit at her desk or sleep in her bed again.
Asher’s been avoiding me ever since my charming display in the kitchen with Brandon. He decided to expedite his move to town, probably to escape me. During work hours, he hides out in his tiny office kitty-corner to Gina’s Diner. After work, he comes home and pretends I don’t exist.
Gideon refuses to speak to me. He’s upset that Seth is still free and that I’ve kept the threats from the detectives. Plus, Asher told him about the necklace fiasco. Since Gideon aided my Brandon investigation, he was humiliated by association.
I keep texting Gideon that I’ll help him look into Seth. And I push aside my nagging worries about crossing Seth’s path again. If Seth has the notebook and the Election Day photo, I’m in a world of trouble. And if he found out what I did the last time we crossed paths, two years ago, this is personal.
* * *
Monday morning, I drag myself through the double doors of the school, letting its familiar stale scent overtake me. Before I can peel off my coat, Emily, Laura, and a few others surround me.
“Isn’t it freezing out there?” asks Emily.
Laura nod
s. “Yeah. What is going on with this weather? No Gideon today?”
Such a natural segue. My pulse quickens as I walk, hoping for some wormhole out of here.
“Yeah, you two used to be Siamese twins,” Tina says, smacking her gum. “Is something wrong?”
When I don’t respond, Laura fills the void in the conversation in her own, special way. “He came on to you, didn’t he?” Her feigned concern floats through the air like a foul odor.
“We’re fine,” I lie. The truth is that my birthday came and went over the weekend—the big eighteen—and Gideon sent a freaking birthday card. I read the distance between us in his messily scrawled writing.
Hey Cass, hope you have a great birthday. Love, Gideon
It was my first birthday without him in twelve years. “We just… We don’t have to be together all the time.”
The bell rings, startling me. But I soon recognize its rescuing power and rush off to first period.
At morning break, I spot Gideon on my way past the open auditorium door. His words from the day of the funeral reverberate in my head: You look really pretty, Cass. But I remember his eyes glistening with disappointment. I can’t meet those eyes again, so I watch from a distance, my head partially hidden behind the door.
Gideon sits alone on the auditorium steps, handsome as usual, though thinner. Shadows fill new hollows in his cheeks and jaw. I watch a bit too long—knowing Laura and the others will probably catch me—and Gideon does nothing notable.
I’m about to tiptoe away when his head veers suddenly to one side. I follow his gaze until my eyes settle on the reason he seems so still and unoccupied.
Gideon is watching someone too.
He’s watching Gracie Davenport.
Something I can’t identify pricks up in me. Gideon stands, taking the steps down and exiting out the other set of doors, and I follow. He remains focused on Gracie’s blond head, which bobs down locker-lined Hathaway Hall. She continues toward the courtyard doors and Gideon follows behind her.
I stop at my locker and spin the combination, watching from behind its door as Gracie exits, her head downcast and her normally styled waves drooping limply in front of her face. She seems to be operating in a dream state, pushing the door open by memory. I don’t want to risk following the two of them outside on my own, but I have to know what Gideon is up to.
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