Dead Girls Don't Lie

by Jennifer Shaw Wolf

  Her mom doesn’t look like she buys it. “It’s time to call it a night. I promised Jaycee’s dad she’d get to bed early.”

  “Sure, Mom.” Claire is all innocence. “But can we watch a movie while we fall asleep?”

  Claire’s mom glances at me. “Nothing inappropriate.”

  As soon as she closes the door Claire picks up the clothes she picked for me and sets them on the bed in front of me. “So what are you going to do?”

  Taylor fluffs her hair. “I already told Skyler you were coming, but if you want me to take care of him tonight …”

  I look at Taylor, with her perfect body and her perfect blond curls, and then picture her and Skyler together. It hurts just thinking about it. “Fine. I’ll come.” I take the clothes and go into Claire’s closet to change.

  An hour and a half later, the movie, a steamy romantic comedy my dad would have never let me watch, is over. Claire’s mom is asleep, and I’m dozing on the bed, too many sleepless nights getting to me. Claire elbows me. “Time to go,” she hisses.

  Guilt and fear hit me. “I don’t think I should—”

  “Shut up.” Claire puts her finger to her lips. “Your man is waiting.”

  Taylor yawns and stretches. “You’ve totally screwed up your hair,” she says. “And we don’t have time to fix it again.”

  Claire creeps across the room and opens her bedroom door, listens, and then motions for us to follow her. I hesitate, but I really do want to see Skyler. We take the same path we took the night of the last party, down the hall, through the back door, and toward Claire’s huge backyard, illuminated like daylight in the full moon. I look around, feeling exposed, because of the outfit or the moon, I can’t decide which. Taylor nudges me from behind.

  I grip my phone through the pocket of Claire’s shorts and look behind me. As I do, something moves behind the slats in the fence. I can’t see what it is, maybe just a cat. Maybe I’m getting paranoid because of the note and Eduardo’s warning, but I’m positive something or someone is moving with us on the opposite side of the fence. I freeze.

  “What are you stopping for?” Claire hisses.

  “I think someone might be over there.” I say it as quietly as I can, gesturing toward the fence.

  Claire huddles closer to me, but Taylor says, “Where?”

  “Through the fence,” I say.

  Claire moves behind me, but Taylor creeps over to check it out. She’s almost to the fence when she lets out a scream and jumps back. Claire screams too, turns toward the house, and runs. I’m frozen in place.

  Then Taylor laughs. “Peyton Harris, what the hell are you doing hiding behind that fence? What are you, like, some creepy peeping tom?” Claire stops running and turns around. Taylor walks closer to the fence and peers through. “And Mitch Thompson, what are you guys doing?”

  Peyton peers over the fence sheepishly. “Hi.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Taylor stands with her hand on her hip, which is thrust out so it makes her skimpy shorts look even skimpier.

  “We were just wondering if you girls needed a ride to Evan’s house,” Mitch says.

  “Hells, yeah!” Taylor answers.

  Claire walks up behind Taylor. “Quiet, all of you.” She glances back at her house, but the windows are still dark. “Perfect. Now I don’t have to borrow my mom’s car.”

  “Jaycee’s with me.” The voice that comes back through the fence is Evan’s. I didn’t know he was here too.

  Claire and Taylor both look at me, eyebrows raised.

  “I told you that outfit would work,” Taylor whispers.

  “Whatever, just shut up, okay?” Claire hisses. She sounds annoyed, and I don’t think it’s just because we’re all talking too loud. “Look, we have to get out of here now, before my mom wakes up.” Claire and Taylor pile into Mitch’s car, I follow Evan to his dad’s truck.

  “Where’s your motorcycle?” I say as he holds the door open for me.

  “It might rain,” he says.

  “It doesn’t look like it’s going to rain to me,” I answer. “Why were you guys really hiding behind the fence?” Maybe Evan didn’t bring the motorcycle because it was too loud for sneaking around.

  He smiles. “Okay, you caught me. I came looking for you. I wanted to make sure you were coming to the party. You didn’t answer the text I sent.”

  I touch the bulge in my pocket and then I realize he must mean my old phone. I haven’t even turned it on since I got it back.

  He pats the seat beside him. “Why are you sitting clear over there?”

  “I like to look out the window.” I’m trying to figure out his game. Evan is all charm again, obviously he wants something from me. I’m just not sure what.

  “I don’t bite,” he says, putting the truck into reverse.

  “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

  “Ouch,” he says, but he smiles like it’s a compliment. As we drive toward the house he drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the music on the radio. “I like what you’re wearing, Jaycee. You look really good.”

  “Thanks.” I tug my shorts down so they cover more of my thighs.

  “You should have worn that necklace, the one you left in the fireplace. That cross would have been really sexy with that outfit.” More finger drumming, not so in time with the music. “So what was so important in that bag of beads? Why did you hide it in the fireplace all this time?” He’s fishing again, trying to find out if there was anything else by the fireplace. It occurs to me that two can play at that game.

  I turn around and face him, staring pointedly at his arm. “Why do you have a tattoo of the number 18?”

  He shrugs, like it’s casual. “It’s my lucky number, my football number.”

  “But why eighteen?”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “It’s a family number. Dad wore it, and then Eric, and then me.”

  “Skyler?”

  “No, Skyler always has to do things bassackward.” He laughs. “His number was 81.”

  “Oh.” I lean back. He’s so casual about it, I don’t think it could mean what I was suspecting, that Evan was part of a gang. Still, there are a couple of answers I need, answers that I think only Evan can give me. The warning from the note goes through my head, but I push it away. I just have to make sure I don’t sound like I’m trying to get information. I keep my voice casual, conversational. “You said you took digital arts last year, didn’t you?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah, why?”

  “I’m taking it next year, and I was wondering what kind of things you did in that class.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You should get out of it. I took it because it was supposed to be an easy class, but it was actually a lot of work.”

  I nod like I understand. “I hate it when elective classes give too much homework.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He shakes his head. “The final project was a huge pain in the butt. We had to put a bunch of pictures together, and they couldn’t just be random pictures, they had to represent something significant from our lives. Ms. Reeves called it a journey map.”

  “What?” The word catches in my throat. That was the title Rachel put at the top of the page of pictures.

  “Yeah. Stupid, right? And it took forever to do. To top it off, after I thought I was finished, she said we had to pull a picture from someone else’s project and add it to ours to show how all our journeys are connected or some sh—” He looks at me. “Crap like that.” He grins. “Your friend Rachel took one from me. She stuck a picture of my football jersey smack in the middle of her collage. That’s what made me decide to ask her out for New Year’s Eve.”

  I try to think what reason Rachel would have for putting Evan’s jersey on her picture, but I can’t think of anything. We’re almost to his house. I can see lights and hear music blaring. I clench my toes in my borrowed sandals because it reminds me of the night Skyler kissed me, the night Rachel died.

  I’m almost out of time, but he b
rought it up, so I ask, “What happened just before Rachel left the New Year’s Eve party? Don’t tell me you really don’t know why she left.” The conversational tone is gone. I want him to take this question seriously.

  He puts the truck in park and kills the engine. For a minute I think he’s going to get out without answering. Instead he starts drumming his fingers on the steering wheel again, even though there isn’t music coming from the radio anymore. He shakes his head. “I think Peyton must have said something to her. I went in the kitchen to get a drink for us and when I came back he was standing in front of her in the living room. She flipped out, ran in the bathroom, and started puking. He had his shirt off, and I know that Peyton could stand to hit the gym once in a while, but no girl has ever reacted like that before.”

  I ignore his stupid attempt at humor. “Didn’t you ask her what happened?”

  Evan shrugs. “She wouldn’t talk to me after that at all. I told you, she had someone else take her home. Peyton said he was coming in from the hot tub and she freaked out when she saw him.”

  “And you believed him? You don’t think he tried something?”

  Evan looks annoyed at me, like I’m questioning his authority or something. “It was my house, and she was my date. Peyton’s not that big of a jerk or that stupid. She probably just had too much to drink and she was so embarrassed that she hurled that she wouldn’t let me take her home. Anyway, she went out with him a couple of times after that. If he had tried something she didn’t like, do you really think she would have gone out with him?” He opens the door, clearly done with the questions from me. “Are you coming in or what?”

  “Yeah. Give me a second.” I’m trying to think. What would Peyton have done that made Rachel so upset she threw up? Maybe Evan’s right, maybe she drank too much and got sick, but I think it was something else. I never saw Rachel drink, not even once.

  Evan stands with his hand on top of the door, waiting for me. “By the way, Skyler won’t be here tonight. He’s got to get the hay baled before it rains or Dad will kill him.”

  I drag myself out of the truck, miserable already. I’m stuck at a party I’m not supposed to be at, that I don’t want to be at, and now with no hope of seeing Skyler.

  Evan hangs back, walking in with me. “We don’t have to go in. We could just hang out here.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Talk or … something.” I push his hand away and give him what I hope comes off as a death glare, but he just looks confused. “What’s up with you, Jaycee? I’m just trying to be nice.”

  “I’m with your brother. Don’t you get that?” I snap at him.

  He pauses on the front porch. “Okay, not to sound like a jerk, but why?”

  I’m suddenly flustered, not sure how to explain my relationship with Skyler to Evan. “I don’t know. He’s cute and he’s sweet, and …” I gather up my confidence. “Not full of himself, and not fake. Not like some guys I know.”

  Evan looks a little shocked at my honesty, but he laughs. “Okay then. So since Skyler isn’t here what are you going to do tonight?”

  “I’ll probably hang out in his room, text him or something.”

  “Seriously? The party’s out here. You should give us a chance, we aren’t as bad—”

  “I’m positive.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re a hard one to figure out, Jaycee, but I like a challenge.”

  I get out of the truck and slam the door behind me. Talking to Evan is starting to make me feel dirty. He follows me to the front porch. “You’re seriously just going to hang out in Skyler’s room alone?”

  I don’t answer him. Luckily Claire and Taylor are already here. They provide a perfect distraction. Claire has her shirt all the way unbuttoned so I can see the strings and scraps of fabric that pass for her bikini top.

  “Is the hot tub open?” Peyton asks.

  Evan keeps his eyes on the gap in Claire’s bikini top. “Yeah, I’ll go get the cover off.”

  As he heads for the back porch, I have another thought. “Hey, Evan, do you still have your digital arts project?”

  He stops. “Why?”

  I try to sound casual. “I just want to look at it, so I know what to expect.”

  He gives me a funny look, like he’s not sure if he should be suspicious or not. “Maybe. I haven’t gotten around to throwing away my high school stuff yet.”

  “Evan, weren’t you going to open the hot tub?” Claire sidles up beside him and puts her hand on his arm.

  He looks down at her and hesitates only a second before he says, “Right,” and goes outside.

  As soon as they’re on the back porch I head for Evan’s room. I want to see if I can find his project and compare it with Rachel’s. I need to hurry. If this party is anything like the last one, Evan’s bedroom won’t be vacant for long.

  I pick his room out pretty easily. It’s a disaster, exactly the kind of room I’d expect a guy like Evan to have. His bed is torn apart and covered with dirty clothes. A pile of dirty dishes is stacked next to the bed, and the garbage can is overflowing with pop and beer cans. The walls are decorated with sports stuff and pictures of girls wearing even less than what Claire is wearing. Guys can be so gross.

  His desk is covered with papers. It looks like the assignments from his entire high school career. I shut the door behind me, lock it, and then get started on the pile on the desk, not caring too much where the papers end up after I look at them. I think the only thing that would look suspicious in this room would be if I cleaned it.

  The pile is like a reverse history of Evan’s high school career, starting with unaddressed graduation announcements and letters from colleges. I can’t help but skim the letters as I set them aside. They all start with the words, “We regret to inform you …”

  I finally reach some actual classwork: essays, math papers, and notes. I’m about a third of the way into the pile when I see it, poking out from below a pile of old school newsletters. I grab the journey map, scattering the rest of the pile onto the floor.

  I turn on the desk lamp and lean forward to study it. The back of Evan’s jersey is the first picture on this one: the beginning of a journey instead of the middle, like on Rachel’s. It’s the same picture, down to the three words above it, “making the cut.” The rest are pictures of Evan playing football. They go from his freshman year to the end of his junior season, when they went to the state championship. Except for a couple of pictures taken at practice, Evan’s senior year isn’t here at all. The last picture is one that Rachel had on her picture, a black broken heart, maybe symbolizing the state championship game they lost junior year, the entire wreck of a senior season, or maybe the scholarships he didn’t get. At the top is the grade, a big red A. I guess the whole thing is kind of poetic in a self-centered, poor-me kind of way.

  I go back to the first picture and the three words above it, “making the cut.” That part still doesn’t make any sense to me. The football team doesn’t do cuts, everyone makes the team. Maybe he meant that he got to play varsity his freshman year. Did Rachel mean to include the whole picture, words and all, or did she just plunk Evan’s jersey picture in the middle of her collage to fulfill the assignment?

  The door handle shakes, like someone is trying to come inside. I scramble to my feet. Someone knocks. “Occupied,” I yell, stuffing the collage in the only place I can think of to hide it, in the front of my bra. Thanks to the push-up feature on my borrowed tank top I actually have a gap to put it in. I pile the papers back on the desk, wondering how hard it would be to get the screen off Evan’s bedroom window and get out that way. Another knock.

  “We’re in here,” I yell back, hoping it will discourage whoever is at the door if they think there’s more than one person in the bedroom.

  “Jaycee?”

  I freeze halfway to the window. It’s Skyler.

  “Is that you?”

  I stare at the door, weighing the consequences of Skyler catching me in his brother’s room against sneaking o
ut the window, but the window is next to the back porch and the hot tub. I’m sure someone will see me climbing out. I tuck the paper farther down my bra and go to the door.

  “Jaycee.” He looks dumbfounded when I open it. He looks over the top of me. “Who is in here with—”

  “I’m by myself. Hiding out.” I try to look casual, but I know I’m not pulling it off. “I thought you’d be here, so I came with Claire and Taylor, but Evan said you had to finish the hay.”

  “I broke down. Something’s messed up with the baler. I don’t know how to fix it, and I can’t get ahold of my dad, so I came home.” He looks kind of dazed. “What are you doing in Evan’s room?”

  “Your room was occupied?” It comes out as more of a question than a statement.

  He shakes his head. “They aren’t allowed in my room. Ever.”

  I can’t tell if he’s hurt or angry or something else. Everything he says comes out cold and measured. He just keeps looking at me, like he can’t believe I’m here.

  “And why are you dressed like that?” he finally says.

  “Claire and Taylor … these are Claire’s clothes … they …” I suddenly feel really stupid for letting them dress me.

  “I don’t like it. It isn’t you at all. Unless”—he looks beyond me, maybe still looking to see who I was sharing the bedroom with—“you aren’t who I thought you were.”

  I lean against the door frame, so tired of trying to hold everything in and keeping secrets. Wanting to somehow erase the look on his face and prove to him that I am whoever he thought I was. Finally I settle on the truth. “I was looking for this.” His eyes get big when I reach into my bra, but he looks away. When he looks back again, I smooth out the paper to show him.

  “But why?” he asks.

  The sounds of the party—loud music, squealing girls, splashing from the hot tub—suddenly feel too close. “Can we talk about it somewhere else?”

  Skyler waits so long to answer that I think he’s going to say no. Finally he sighs, “I guess so.”

  I follow him out of the room and into the hall. Peyton and some girl I’ve never seen before are coming from the opposite direction. He has a towel around his waist and his skin is bright red, like he just got out of the hot tub. I start to turn away, not sure if he’s wearing anything besides the towel. Then I see his chest.