Dead Girls Don't Lie

by Jennifer Shaw Wolf

  He still has the gun.

  The curls of smoke are taking over my consciousness, but I can’t black out. Eduardo is yelling something in a mix of Spanish and English at Evan. Evan is standing over Skyler, curled up in a ball at his feet. My heart lurches with fear and relief at the same time. We all made it out, we’re alive, but now Eduardo is going to kill Skyler. I can’t let that happen. I reach for his leg. “No.” But my voice comes only as a hoarse whisper. I pull on his jeans. “No.”

  Eduardo’s eyes are huge and wild. “He tried to kill you! He deserves to die!”

  “No!” I yell it with everything I have left.

  The flashing lights get closer, sirens are wailing. Eduardo points the gun at Skyler. “This is justice.”

  “Vengeance isn’t the same as justice.” It’s her voice, Rachel. She’s standing beside Eduardo, her hand on his arm. “Put the gun down. There’s been too much killing already.”

  Eduardo looks horrified. I know he sees her too. The gun falls and he drops to his knees.

  Rachel morphs into Araceli as she kneels beside me and gathers me in her arms. “Mija, mija, mija.”

  Eduardo is sobbing. Skyler isn’t moving. Evan looks at me. “Are you okay, Jaycee?”

  There’s no way to answer that question. I bury my face in Araceli’s chest as the sirens and flashing lights engulf us all.

  Chapter 37

  My bedroom is full of flowers when I come home from the hospital. “People from the church,” Dad explains. I nod and sit down on the bed. “Everyone has been praying for you.”

  “What about Skyler?” They’re the only words I can get out. The only thing that’s been on my mind since that night.

  Dad and Mom exchange a glance. She was at the hospital when I woke up. I guess her daughter almost getting murdered trumped whatever she had going on at work. She sits on the edge of my bed. “You won’t ever have to see him again. The judge has decided he’s too mentally unstable to stand trial. As soon as he recovers from his injuries he’ll go to some kind of state mental facility for children.”

  “I’m sorry.” Dad is choking on the words. “This is my fault. I knew Skyler had problems. I knew, but I didn’t think they were that … I’m sorry … I should have done more to keep you safe.”

  Suddenly I understand. “That’s why you didn’t want me to be alone with him.” He nods. “And I didn’t listen.” I bury my face in his chest. “I’m sorry, Dad. I should have told you about Skyler and the phone and …”

  Dad wraps his arms around me, dissolving into tears. “I should have listened more. I should have—”

  Mom wraps her arms around both of us. “You can’t blame yourself. No one knew how sick he really was.”

  I look up at her through my tears. “Is anyone praying for him?”

  Mom looks at Dad again, her face full of doubt. “One of the hardest things I’ve learned working as a lawyer is that some people just can’t be saved. Sometimes they’re just too far gone.”

  Dad leans over and kisses my forehead. “Yes, baby, we’re praying for Skyler.”

  I nod. “I’m glad.”

  Mom takes a breath and sits back. “I think”—she glances at Dad—“we think maybe it would be best if, after you’re feeling better, you came home with me to get away from everything here. You could stay as long as you want to.”

  “I can’t,” I start.

  “Please, it would make me feel better if you were close.” Her voice is desperate and she looks so scared, vulnerable even. I’ve never seen her like this before; my mom is usually the tough city lawyer that no one can touch.

  I look from her to Dad, thinking of all the times I wanted her attention, all the times I wanted her to acknowledge me, to show me that she did love me. Maybe it was always there but I didn’t see it. Maybe I didn’t give her the chance. I look back at Dad and imagine him all alone. I don’t want to hurt either of them, but there’s really only one choice. “I’m sorry, Mom, I can’t. I belong here.”

  She looks down, fingering my satiny bedspread. “I knew that’s what you would say, but the offer stands. You can come live with me anytime.”

  I reach for her hand. “I know.”

  Life moves on without me. Mom has to go back to DC and Dad has to go back to work, so Araceli comes to stay with me during the day. She and Dad talk a lot in the kitchen, when they think I’m asleep. Sometimes I catch them holding hands.

  Somewhere outside the fields turn gold and get shredded by monstrous machines, the air gets thick with dust, and the moon turns fat and yellow. For me, time stands still. The person I was is buried in the ashes of the old house. I don’t think I have the strength to create someone new. Sometimes I think about going to live with Mom and just starting over, someplace where no one knows me, but that didn’t work for Manny.

  I’m not sure if it’s been days or weeks or just hours when Araceli comes to my door. “You have a visitor.”

  There have been lots of visitors, shuffling in and out, people from the church or from town, bringing food or just checking in. But she hasn’t ever brought them to me.

  Sometimes I imagine that I died in the fire and that the people who come are here to comfort my dad, to tell him how sorry they are for his loss and to find out what really happened. That I’m not here anymore, that I’m a ghost.

  But it hurts too much for me to be dead.

  My hands are still wrapped in white bandages to cover the burns and the cuts from the glass; my legs are burned and scarred.

  My heart hurts the worst.

  Every night I dream about fire, about burning, and about Skyler. When I wake up, I wonder if we’ll end up together after all. If the purple walls around me will close in and dissolve into flames, and if what’s left of my mind will collapse in on itself. If I’ll end up next to him in the “facility for mentally ill children.” Not quite the escape he planned, but maybe we’ll be together after all.

  Araceli is still standing at the door, waiting for me to say something. I’m searching for the voice to tell her that I don’t want to see anyone, but Eduardo’s head appears above hers. She steps aside.

  He’s holding a soccer ball.

  He nods toward the ball. “I thought we could go outside, kick it around for a while.”

  I stand up. It’s such a strange concept, so normal—going outside to play soccer—that I don’t say no. But I don’t want to kick the ball around. Soccer was Rachel’s thing, and it hurts too much to think about doing it without her. “Can we go for a run instead?”

  Eduardo nods.

  Araceli smiles, bends over to help me put my shoes on, and says to Eduardo, “Be careful of her hands. They aren’t healed yet.”

  He comes back every day. We run without talking, just our feet pounding together and our breath moving in and out. At first I don’t even make a mile, my burned lungs and my sliced legs refusing to carry me as far as they used to. We build up our distance, little by little, as the last bit of summer fades away.

  Finally it’s the last day of summer vacation. Our run is over, and Eduardo and I are passing a bottle of water back and forth. He clears his throat and then finally asks the question that’s written in everyone’s eyes, the question that even Dad won’t ask. “How are you?”

  I shrug and turn away, but he touches my leg, just below the burn on my thigh and above the cuts on my knees. “Tell me what you’re feeling, boba.”

  I take a deep breath as the thoughts swirl through my brain and refuse to come to order. In the beginning it’s only single words. “Betrayed.” Breathe. “Used.” Breathe. “Hurt.” Swallow. He nods. Then he waits. Something roils through my stomach and into my throat. I try to swallow it away, but it sticks and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. “Jealous,” I finally say and kick at a little rock under my foot.

  He watches my foot, giving me the chance to get control. “In a crazy way, I’m still jealous of her, jealous of Rachel.” I look up, waiting for his reaction, for him to condemn me, but his f
ace is down and masked by my shadow. “I’m jealous that everyone wanted her; jealous that Skyler wanted her, jealous that he loved her first.”

  Eduardo shakes his head. “He didn’t love her, boba. Obsession isn’t love”—he puts his hand over a bandage on his back that’s in the same place where the tattoo was—“any more than vengeance is justice.”

  I look up at him. “Where did you read that?”

  He ducks his head like he’s embarrassed. “Just made it up.”

  “That’s really profound.”

  He smiles. “Thanks.”

  Across the lawn I watch the people going into church. A twist of guilt mixed with longing knots my stomach. I haven’t been to church since the day with Skyler in the parking lot. Dad hasn’t pushed me to go with him, but I know he wishes I would. I miss it, but I don’t know how to face all those people who know everything about me and everything that happened.

  Skyler’s gone away, but Evan, Eric, and the rest of them are in big trouble. After the fire, the truth came out about everything. I think the biggest shock for the whole town was that the “bad element” they were looking for turned out to be homegrown.

  “I’m sorry,” Eduardo says.

  “For what?” I turn and face the pain in his eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have left you that night. I shouldn’t have—”

  “But you came back when I needed you. You saved my life. Besides, it was my fault you left. I shouldn’t have told Sheriff Cross. I should have—”

  He holds up his hand for me to stop. “I didn’t give you any reason to believe I was innocent. I didn’t give you any reason to trust me.”

  “Yes, you did.” I put my hand on his leg. “You gave me every reason, but I couldn’t see it.” I turn back toward the church. “I didn’t let myself see a lot of things.”

  “I didn’t, either.” He drops his hand to the water bottle beside him and grips it hard. “I know what you’re feeling because I feel it too.”

  I reach over and put my hand over his, thinking about what I saw on the video. “Because you loved her—you loved Rachel—and she loved him?” He looks surprised that I figured it out, but he nods. “But you didn’t ever cross that line, even after he was dead.”

  He looks at the ground. “No. But I thought about it. I thought about it a lot.”

  “You know you’re the most loyal person I’ve ever met?” I say. He shrugs off the compliment, and I laugh. “We’re kind of a mess, aren’t we?”

  He turns his hand over and takes mine, gently. “We’re alive. After everything we’ve been through, that’s something.”

  “I’m not sure I want to be alive.” I lie back in the grass and close my eyes. “I’m not sure I can put the pieces back together and be something okay again.”

  He slides his fingers along the bandages on my hand. “I was wrong. You aren’t boba. You aren’t stupid or naive. You just see the good in everyone because you’re good. Whatever you learned from all of this, don’t lose that.”

  He reaches into the drawstring backpack he’s brought with us every day but never opened until now. He pulls out a necklace, half of Rachel’s cross, on a leather string with beads surrounding it. He holds it up and lets it cascade slowly into my hand. Then he touches the other half, strung on a leather strap around his neck. “I decided that this was the best way for us to remember her.”

  I sit up and look at the church. The doors are closed; everyone inside is probably singing the first hymn; then there will be a prayer, and the sermon. Suddenly, more than anything I want to be part of them again. To forgive, even if I can’t ever forget.

  I stand up quickly. “I need to go.”

  Eduardo stands up too; he looks almost scared. “Where?”

  “Church.” I point at the building. I’m sweaty and gross, wearing no makeup, and my hair is in an unflattering ponytail again, but I don’t care what I look like. I just want to go back.

  “Church?” Eduardo says it like it’s a foreign word.

  “Yes. Church. I have to go back. I need to—” I look at his perplexed expression. “Come with me.”

  He backs away, shaking his head. “I can’t go in there.”

  “What? Are you afraid?” I tease him, hoping to get a reaction.

  He doesn’t answer, but he looks almost more scared than he did outside the old house.

  “Please, I need to go back, but I can’t do it alone.” I reach for his hand. “Come with me, just for today, and I won’t ever ask you for anything again.”

  “I doubt that,” he says, but he takes my outstretched hand anyway. I grip it tight so he can’t run away this time.

  We make quite a scene when we walk into the church. Two sweaty, grubby teenagers in shorts and T-shirts, the former gangbanger and the school goody-goody, walking hand in hand right in the middle of the opening hymn. More than once I think Eduardo is going to bolt, but I hold his hand tight, not caring who sees. Whispers follow us as we walk to the front. This time I don’t listen to what they’re saying.

  We sit down in the front row, and Dad takes my other hand without saying anything, almost like he’s been expecting me. I hold his hand and Eduardo’s and close my eyes. I listen to the music and think about me and about Rachel.

  She was my best friend for nearly fourteen years, but after she died I thought I didn’t know her at all. I think about everything Rachel trusted me with—the soccer goal, her secrets, and finally, finding out the truth.

  Maybe it was me I didn’t know yet.

  I know I’ll miss her every single day, but the memories she left won’t haunt me anymore. I’ll remember the girl who never wore shoes, and our blood promise to always be friends. I’ll remember girls who loved and trusted each other, protected each other, and sometimes even hurt each other.

  I’ll remember a friendship that will never go away.

  Acknowledgments

  If I thought one book under my belt would mean I needed fewer people to get to this point, I was wrong. Not only do I have all the people who held my hand the first time around, I’ve gained another dozen or so whom I couldn’t have made it through my second book without.

  First, always, is my amazing husband, David, who still believes in me even when I don’t. Close behind him are our kids, David (the younger), Sabrina, Zach, and Daniel, who provide me with endless inspiration. Then there’s my extended family: my parents; my sister, Kristin Amrine, and sister-in-law, Angela Morrison (both of whom know this process all too well); my brothers and their wives; and the wonderful family I married into.

  Special thanks go out to Guille Brooks for sharing with me her early life as a migrant farm worker, and to the lovely Silem Hernandez for being my Spanish tutor, Facebook buddy, beta reader, and one of the happiest, sweetest girls I’ve ever met; also to my brother Stacey Shaw for beta reading/fact-checking and to my cousin JoLynn Hansen for all her Washington farm-girl expertise. Thank you to Monica Renda and Christie Carlson, my teen and teen-at-heart beta readers.

  Something beyond thanks (I’m not sure what it is, but I assume it involves chocolate) goes out to my amazing editor, Mary Kate Castellani, for presiding as midwife over this process, and to Sara Megibow for believing in me and refusing to let me jump off the ledge. You’re both amazing at your jobs, and I’m in constant awe of your insights and support. Thank you to everyone at Nelson Literary and at Walker Books for Young Readers for helping me through this process and for being the often unsung heroes who get great stories into the hands of the people who love them.

  I could not have made this happen without the tireless (if not tearless) support of my critique group—Val Serdy, Blessy Matthew, Anastasia Carl, Joan Wittler, and Sarah Showell. I love you guys 99.9 percent of the time. I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to the fabulous Class of 2K12 for saving me a fortune in therapy bills and for helping me realize that it’s okay (and even normal) to be a little crazy.

  Thank you to all the other writers whom I’ve met and been inspired by, including the
members of the Apocalypsies, the Harbingers, ANWA, SCBWI, and LDS Storymakers. It’s so nice to know that I’m not the only one who hears voices in my head.

  Finally, thanks to the Divine Creator and Author of the universe. I know I am nothing without you. I have been truly blessed.

  Also by Jennifer Shaw Wolf

  Breaking Beautiful

  Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Shaw Wolf

  All rights reserved.

  You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  First published in the United States of America in September 2013

  by Walker Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.

  E-book edition published in September 2013

  www.bloomsbury.com

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to

  Permissions, Walker BFYR, 1385 Broadway, New York, New York 10018. Bloomsbury books may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at specialmarkets@macmillan.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Wolf, Jennifer Shaw.

  Dead girls don’t lie / by Jennifer Shaw Wolf.

  pages cm

  [1. Murder—Fiction. 2. Secrets—Fiction. 3. Best friends—Fiction. 4. Friendship—Fiction. 5. Dating

  (Social customs)—Fiction. 6. Single-parent families—Fiction. 7. Washington (State)—Fiction.