Dead Girls Don't Lie

by Jennifer Shaw Wolf

  “You two leaving?” He grunts to Skyler.

  I don’t hear how Skyler answers. I’m too busy staring at Peyton’s chest and the number 34, standing out against the red, a scar carved into his flesh.

  Chapter 24

  “What’s up with Peyton’s chest?” I whisper to Skyler when we’re outside on the way to the darkroom. It looks like the number I saw in the pictures, only it isn’t the same; that one was 20.

  Skyler’s eyes get icy and cold, like it bothers him that I noticed Peyton’s chest. “Guys like him do stupid things.”

  When it comes to describing Peyton, “stupid” is usually a corrective adjective, but I get the idea that there’s more going on than that.

  “Why thirty-four? Wasn’t that his jersey number? Why would he, why would anyone—” I’m a breath away from admitting what I saw in the darkroom. “Is that part of the whole hazing thing that happened a few years ago?”

  Now Skyler looks scared. “How do you know about that?”

  I backtrack. I can’t tell him I was snooping in the darkroom. “My dad helped Coach with the case, I remember him talking about it. Is it still going on?”

  Skyler lets out a disgusted but shaky breath. “We aren’t supposed to say, but since I don’t have any loyalty to any of them anymore, I guess I can tell you.” He turns around to see if anyone is listening. “Yes, it’s still going on. They call it ‘making the cut.’”

  I catch my breath, gripping the piece of paper tighter in my hand.

  “They take the players that, according to them, are the least worthy to be on the team to some secret location. Then they make them do stupid things to get on the team, one of which is carving their jersey number into their skin. ‘Supposedly’”—he makes air quotes—“the coach knows nothing about it.”

  “That’s insane,” I say. “Did you have to do it?”

  “No.” His voice goes cold again. “If you’re good enough, and you have someone to vouch for you, then you don’t have to do it. Lucky for me, I had Evan.” He says “lucky” like it has a bitter taste to it.

  “But Peyton was pretty good, right? And Evan has a tattoo with his number on it, and a scar. I’m sure he didn’t—” I stop when I see the icy look Skyler gives me.

  “No. The great Evan Cross didn’t have to ‘make the cut.’ He did it voluntarily.” He shakes his head. “Peyton too. Most everyone on the team does it at some point, out of some twisted sense of loyalty. I didn’t want to. I was never much of a team player. Maybe that’s why Evan jumped me so hard in practice.” He rubs his wrist, like the memory actually causes him physical pain.

  I stay back, afraid of the anger I see in him. “Wait. Evan was the one who broke your wrist?”

  “Stupid, freak accident, at least that’s what he told Dad.” He keeps his eyes straight ahead. “But I knew the real reason. He didn’t want me on the team. He didn’t want me to screw up their perfect season.”

  “But they didn’t have a perfect season. They lost every game.”

  “I know. Ironic, isn’t it?” Skyler flips the lights on in the darkroom, shuts the door behind us, and crosses his arms. “Any more questions about my brother and the football team, or are you ready to tell me what’s really going on? Why were you in Evan’s bedroom anyway?”

  I hold out Evan’s assignment. “I found this. It’s just like the paper Rachel left for me.”

  Skyler takes the paper from me, but he barely glances at it. “Yeah. They were in the same class. So?”

  “She put that file on a micro-SD card, hid the card in her necklace, and left the necklace in a place only I could find it. It has to be important.” I’m talking fast, trying to convince him that I’m not completely insane.

  He looks at the paper again, licks his lips, and then talks slowly, like he’s worried about hurting my feelings. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Digging up stuff about Rachel, trying to figure out what happened. It could be dangerous, and I don’t want—”

  “I can handle it,” I snap at him. He’s starting to sound like Eduardo.

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t. I just think …” He sighs. “Rachel is dead, Jaycee. Nothing you do is going to bring her back.”

  “I know that.” But when he says it, I wonder if somewhere inside I thought figuring things out would bring her back.

  “Why don’t you just take all this to the police and let them figure it out?” He waves the paper in the air like he’s annoyed.

  “It has to be me. I’m the only one who …” I don’t know how to explain it to him. His brother is the sheriff. I can’t tell him Rachel didn’t trust the police, or that I’m not sure if I do either.

  “I know you and Rachel used to be close, but that doesn’t mean—”

  “She asked me to help her. She tried to call me the night she died, but I ignored her because I was—” I cover my mouth. I’ve said too much. Now he’ll know how horrible I am.

  “Was with me,” he finishes.

  I nod, afraid if I open my mouth I’ll start crying.

  He sets the paper down on the table and puts his hands on my shoulders, his blue eyes soft with concern. “That doesn’t mean it’s your fault that she died.”

  “What if it is?” I grit my teeth to keep the tears from falling.

  He pulls me against him, even though I go stiff and don’t return his embrace. He breathes into my hair. “No. It’s not your fault. I promise, it’s not your fault.”

  “But I have to do something. I can’t just pretend it never happened. I can’t let everyone condemn her and say it was her fault. I can’t—” I close my eyes and lean against him to keep from crying.

  He holds me for a long time without saying anything. Finally he kisses the top of my head. “Okay.”

  “Okay what?” I look up at him.

  “Okay, I’ll help you. I’ll help you find out what happened to Rachel.”

  I pull away, shocked. “What? Wait. No. You don’t have to—” I think about the note in my room and the symbol on Dad’s door. I can’t drag Skyler into this mess too.

  He puts his finger on my lips. “Yes, I do. To keep you safe. Besides, I have access to things you don’t. Things like crime scene photos and coroner’s reports and—”

  “Wait, you can get that kind of stuff?” The idea scares me and excites me at the same time.

  “Remember how I said I wanted to be a crime scene photographer? Eric lets me look at that kind of stuff sometimes. I don’t think he’s supposed to but … he does, and anyway, I know where the files are in his office. I might be able to get you what you need.”

  “You’ll help me?” I feel like a huge burden has been taken off my shoulders. If Skyler helps me with this, I don’t have to be all alone.

  He smiles, but it’s kind of a sad, resigned smile. “On a couple of conditions. First, don’t do anything stupid without me. I mean it.”

  I nod. His concern makes my stomach do flips. “And second?”

  “Give me tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Forget about all of this, just for tonight, and be with me.”

  “I can’t …” Now my stomach is doing an entire tumbling routine.

  “Not like that.” He ducks his head. “I just want to spend time with you, away from all of this.” He sweeps the room with his hand, but I get the idea he means more than just the room or even Rachel’s death.

  I look around, thinking about how nice it would be if I could forget, even if it was only for one night. “Okay.” I breathe.

  “Great.” His smile gets bigger. “But first, will you please change out of that outfit and wash off some of this?” He brushes his hand across my cheek. “You don’t need it, any of it.”

  I’m not sure how to take that. “What am I supposed to wear?”

  “Hold on.” He goes to the back of the room, moves aside the backdrop, and opens a drawer under the cupboard. He pulls out a white dress. “This was my mom’s
.”

  “Oh.” The idea of putting on his dead mother’s dress kind of freaks me out.

  He must realize how strange this is for me. “Not hers hers. She used it as a costume for some of the pictures she took, but I think it will fit you.”

  “Why do I have to—”

  “Trust me. You’ll see.” He hands me the dress and then heads toward the door. “You have ten minutes and then I’m coming in, whether you’re ready or not.”

  I still feel stupid, but it feels good to slip out of the too-tight shorts and suffocating tank top and pull the dress over my head. It’s soft, flowy white cotton with a round neckline and a wide blue ribbon that I cinch tight at the waist because it’s too big. I retrieve my phone from the pocket of Claire’s shorts, frown at the time, 12:45, and slip it into the pocket of the dress.

  Then I walk over to the sink and use a paper towel and some soap to scrub off the layers of makeup that Taylor so carefully applied. I look in the mirror above the sink to make sure I don’t have streaks of mascara. My skin looks even paler against the white dress, and the sloppy bun Taylor made is falling out and looks frizzy. I wish again for Rachel’s sleek dark hair and tan.

  “I’m coming in,” Skyler announces. I notice Evan’s paper, still sitting on the cabinet. I pick it up and slip it into the dress pocket. The door swings open and I turn. Skyler stands at the door and whistles. “You look amazing.”

  “Thank you.” I feel my face get hot, but for once it feels good.

  He crosses the room, wraps me in his arms, and kisses me for real, finally finishing where he left me yesterday. “You ready?”

  “Since I don’t know what we’re doing, I guess so.”

  “Cool.” He reaches behind the door and gets his camera. Then he digs around in a cupboard under the sink and gets a couple of small cylindrical, yellow canisters.

  “What’s that?” I ask suspiciously.

  “Film for the camera.” He opens a hatch in his camera and puts the film inside.

  “What are you planning to do with it?”

  He gets an evil glint in his eye. “Trust me.”

  “I don’t want to—”

  He stops me with a kiss. “Remember, you promised, tonight is mine.” He shoulders his camera bag, puts one arm around my waist, and we walk out of the darkroom.

  We walk away from the noise of the party, behind the shed and up a little path. He stops. “How’s your ankle?”

  “It’s good,” I answer.

  “Let me know if I go too fast.” He pulls me behind him, clinging to my hand. It’s still bandaged with my scarf.

  The little dirt path leads to a hill on the far end of the Cross property. I huddle next to Skyler as we pass the duplexes that serve as temporary housing for the migrants that work on Skyler’s dad’s farm. Most of the lights are out, but outside one of them is a little knot of men talking, their cigarettes glowing red. Their eyes follow us as we walk away.

  I stumble as the path gets rougher, and Skyler stops. “Is it your ankle?” I shake my head and show him my bare feet. He laughs. “Where are your shoes?”

  I look down, embarrassed. “I left them in your darkroom.”

  He shakes his head. “I guess I have to carry you again.”

  “You can’t. I’m too—” I start, but he picks me up before I can finish. I cling to his neck as he carries me the last few steps up the hill. At the top he sets me down in the middle of a bunch of white wildflowers. I fall back on my butt. Embarrassed, I scramble to get up.

  “Wait. Stay there,” he says.

  “What?”

  “No, seriously.” He takes the camera out of the bag. “You look great.”

  I rise up on my knees. “Remember, I hate pictures. I always come out looking horrible.”

  “But I’m a great photographer, remember?” He kneels down next to me and twists a piece of my hair between his fingers. “Besides, your looking horrible is not possible. Just relax.” He pulls out the bun Taylor spent half an hour on and runs his fingers through my hair. “The moonlight behind your hair makes it look like a halo. Lie back.”

  “What?”

  “Trust me.”

  I lie down among the wildflowers. He brushes through my hair with his fingers until it circles my head. “Relax. You look like you’re in pain.”

  “There’s a rock under my head.”

  He laughs. “Pretend it’s a pillow. Close your eyes.”

  I close my eyes and try to relax. He runs his finger over my lips, and I open my eyes. He shakes his head. “Eyes closed. Pretend you’re having a really great dream.” I close my eyes again. “Are you dreaming about me?”

  “You!” I open my eyes and beat my fist on his chest.

  He stops my fist and then holds my hand against his chest. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. Please close your eyes and stay still, for me.” His lips curve into a sexy pout that makes his dimples stand out again.

  I lie back down and close my eyes, but I can’t relax. He’s taking forever. “Any day now,” I say with my eyes scrunched shut.

  “Hold on a second more, I’m waiting for the perfect expression. This is film, so I don’t have unlimited pictures.”

  I try to think of something nice, something that will make me look like I’m having a good dream. All I can think of is how cold the ground is, how hard the rocks are under my head, and what will happen if my dad finds out I went to another party, or worse, that I’m here alone with Skyler. Then he kisses me. As soon as his lips touch mine, everything else rushes from my head. I smile and he takes the picture.

  “Perfect,” he says.

  “Mmmm, yeah,” I murmur. Then I sit up, embarrassed. “How will you know if it’s perfect until you get it developed?”

  “That’s the fun part of taking real pictures, the anticipation.” He puts the camera in the bag and lies down next to me. “And if it doesn’t work, we’ll come back again.” He slides his arm under my head, cradling it against the rocks. “And again.” I snuggle up next to his body and forget about being cold. “And again.”

  “That sounds nice,” I say as he nuzzles up against my cheek.

  He kisses my cheek. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “But I want a picture too, and I’m not as patient as you are.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and then lie down on his arm again. I hold it above us and snap a picture. I look at it. I don’t look stiff or horrible in this one either, just happy.

  He reaches for the phone. “Let me see.”

  I hold it out of his reach. “If I have to wait, so do you.”

  “Oh yeah?” He buries his face in my neck and blows on it. It tickles, so I start laughing. He reaches for my phone again, straddling my waist and pinning one of my arms against my body. I’m trying to get away, trying to hold the phone out of his reach, and laughing so hard that I’m crying. He leans over so his face is close to mine. I stop laughing and look into his eyes. He brushes the hair out of my face, curling it around my ear and sliding his hand down my cheek. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says.

  His expression is so intense that I don’t even close my eyes when he leans in and his lips touch mine. I kiss him back, dropping my phone and wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me. He relaxes his body on top of mine so our legs are tangled together, my bare toes sliding against the cool leather of his boots. He moves his hands down my back, and I close my eyes, letting go of everything—all the pain of losing Rachel, all the frustration at not knowing what happened, all the pressure of being the good girl who always does everything right.

  I let it all go, just for a few seconds, just until I feel something desperate about the way he’s kissing me, and I feel it in the way I’m kissing him back. I want to keep going. I want to close my eyes and melt into him and forget everything. But I can’t. I’m too afraid that this will get out of my control like everything else.

  “Stop.” I push his mouth away from mine. His lips move down my neck, leaving feathery, butte
rfly-wing kisses that churn up everything inside me again. “Stop. Please.”

  He finishes one last kiss on my shoulder, so soft and tender that for a heartbeat I regret pushing him away. He rolls onto his back and stares up at the sky, breathing hard. “I’m sorry, Jaycee. I don’t want you to think that’s the reason I brought you up here. I just …” He breathes out. “Wow.” He rolls over on his arm and his expression changes. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah … I just … we need to do something else.” I stand up, brushing dirt and dried grass off my back.

  He picks up my phone and hands it to me, his hand lingering on mine. “I have an idea.”

  “What?” I say. His eyes are full of mischief again.

  He picks up his camera bag and twists it over his arm. “You want to go into the darkroom with me, see what develops?”

  I laugh, glad to get rid of some of the tension. “Is that some kind of photographer’s pick-up line?”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what it is. I actually heard Evan use it once. So, do ya wanna?”

  “Do I wanna what?”

  “Go to the darkroom with me.” He indicates his camera. “I could show you how to develop the film so you could see for yourself how beautiful you are.”

  “How long is that going to take?” I ask.

  “About a half hour, depends on how fast of a learner you are.”

  “Sure,” I say. “I’m always open to new developments.”

  “Ugh.” He rolls his eyes. “That one was worse than mine.”

  “You have to hook the leader on the little tabs, here.” Skyler is trying to guide my fingers, but I can’t seem to make them work right.

  “Does it have to be so dark?” The darkroom is so black I can feel it pressing around me like a fog.

  “Absolutely pitch black, or you’ll end up with a black strip and no pictures.” He moves my hand to the other side of the plastic film roller. “There, I think you’ve got it. Start turning the crank.”