This is WAR

by Lisa Roecker

  “I don’t really see the point in doing anything here,” the guy said.

  “But it’s an antique. It’s rare and expensive,” Sloane insisted.

  “It’s antique. Antique junk. It’s a fake.” The jeweler scrunched his face a little, knowing the truth hurt. “You still want me to fix it?”

  What the hell? Sloane couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat. She shook her head instead and gathered the watches together, stuffing them back into the fanny pack.

  The door jingled as Sloane pulled it open, a notification buzzing on her phone as it slammed behind her.

  Another bid. This time only one came in. CCG1927. $30,000.

  Fewer than six hours and twenty-three minutes until the auction closed.

  It made her brain hurt. Did the Captain know the watches were fake? If he knew, why would he bid the thirty grand? And what about the boys? Would supposedly selling their watches for cash on eBay even be enough to get them cut off? The fact that Sloane didn’t have any of the answers made her feel even more dumb than usual. It was like playing rock, paper, scissors. Sloane hated that game because she could never remember what was supposed to beat what so she always ended up playing rock. Rocks were hard. Rocks could smash. Rocks should always win. But the other girls must have figured out her strategy because they always played paper. She hated the feeling of one of their hands enveloping her fist. It wasn’t fair. Paper was weak. Paper shouldn’t beat anything. Not ever.

  And now she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had somehow messed up the rules of the game again. That she’d thrown rock only to have the Captain wrap his wrinkled hand over her fist. Money was made of paper, and money was power. In the rock, paper, scissors game they played at the Club, the Captain always won.

  Chapter 22

  We did it!

  Sloane sat at the ice cream counter, staring at the text. Clearly Madge had seen the $30,000 bid from the Captain. Madge thought they had this locked up, but Sloane knew better. She picked up the cracked watch she’d put on the sticky Formica next to her phone, willing the jagged lines to fuse back together. No dice. At least she was alone—except for the pimply kid behind the counter who had long since retired to the back to do whatever one does with a freezer full of ice cream and far too much time on his hands.

  “Who the hell passes down a fake watch?” she whispered.

  The bell attached to the door jangled in response.

  “I thought that was you.” Rose had managed to control that weird habit she had of making everything she said sound like a question. Her long brown hair curled and frizzed in a million different directions but there was no denying she was beautiful—especially today, wearing a strappy sundress instead of her usual cargo shorts.

  “Celebrating with a double scoop?” Rose slid onto the stool next to her.

  “Not even close.”

  “A triple then?”

  “No, I mean I’m not celebrating.” Sloane felt her cheeks flush. “I mean, I think I’ve messed everything up. Bad.” She handed Rose the watch.

  Rose held it up to the light and ran her finger over its cracked face. “They can fix this you know. I know it looks bad, but they’ll replace the glass, and you won’t even know it happened.”

  “It’s not the crack.” Sloane took it and slipped it back into her fanny pack.

  “Then what?” There was an edge to Rose’s voice. Her patience was wearing thin.

  She swallowed. “They’re fake.” It wasn’t the whole truth, the important truth. But it was something.

  “What do you mean?” Rose’s face darkened.

  “I mean, they’re fake. The watches. Not real.”

  “But … why?” Rose shook her head.

  Sloane suddenly had a vision of what she must have looked like at the jewelry store, like a woman who found out her engagement ring was made of paste or a guy who discovered his fiancée was really a dude. “I have no idea.” She poked at her ice cream with a plastic spoon. “And it doesn’t explain why the Captain would have bid thirty Gs on them this afternoon.”

  “Unless he didn’t know they were fake.” Rose sat up a little in her seat. “Maybe the boys already sold them.”

  “You think?” Sloane’s mind was still turning over the idea in her head, letting it play over and over again until it started to make sense.

  “We could always check the police files. I could have sworn I saw something in Trip’s about a watch.”

  Rose stood. Sloane just sat there staring at her ice cream melting, wondering if the truth even mattered anymore. “We’ll figure this out, right?” She so badly wanted Rose to tell her that they would fix this together. That they’d make this right for Willa. That there would be justice.

  “Yes.” Rose placed her hand on Sloane’s shoulder. She sounded so confident. So sure. “Sloane, listen to me. We’re in this together. Let me help you, okay?”

  Half an hour later, they were sitting side-by-side on Rose’s bed, flipping through the details of Trip’s escapades. Sloane was struck by the strangeness of it all. That not a mile from her house, Rose’s stood, cramped and dingy, minutes away, worlds away. She hadn’t even known Rose existed before the War, and now she depended on her the way she might have depended on Willa if she were still alive. The understanding made her dizzy.

  “There’s nothing here about a watch.” Rose sighed and tossed the file onto the floor. “I know I saw something though.”

  Sloane grabbed a thick document from the bottom of the pile, and she forced herself to read the words on the cover: LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT. She needed to focus. “What’s that doing in the police files?”

  “Dunno. But I’m glad it’s here. My dad saves all kinds of crap from his investigations. He must have been holding onto it for reason.” Rose paged through the ridiculously long document, and Sloane closed her eyes for a moment.

  “Tell her I don’t remember.”

  Goddamn James again. The second she closed her eyes he was there. Taunting her.

  “Wait, here’s something.” Rose’s voice momentarily vanquished James from Sloane’s brain. “ ‘To my Grandson Trip, who makes it impossible to forget. Because of this, you have already received your full inheritance from me. Including the Cartier watch handed down from my brother Victor. Don’t bother selling it. It’s fake. Gotcha.’ ”

  “I had no idea they could use words like ‘gotcha’ in a legal document.” Sloane couldn’t keep the note of wonder out of her voice.

  “I might have added that for color,” Rose admitted with a laugh.

  Sloane’s mind raced. “So the Captain knew all along they were fakes. But why bid on them on eBay? Sloane still wasn’t making the connection. It didn’t quite make sense.

  “I think the Captain just likes to mess with people … because he can.” Rose flopped backward on her double bed with its threadbare flowered duvet and matching ruffle pillows. It looked like the room of a fourth grader, not that Sloane would say that out loud. “Besides, it’s not like he can really do anything about it now. He needs them to wear those watches so people don’t realize the true extent of his asshole tendencies.”

  “So, now what?”

  “We wait,” Rose said with authority. “We’ll know right away if the Captain is on to them.” Rose smiled to herself. “Once he finds out, James will be done. Over. Finished.” She probably would have continued providing synonyms about ending someone for at least another ten minutes if Sloane hadn’t jumped in.

  “Do you ever wonder what really happened that night?” It was a dangerous question, but Sloane knew there was no one else she could ask.

  The smile on Rose’s face faded. “Every day.” Her dark eyes burned into Sloane’s.

  “He doesn’t remember.” Sloane’s voice was barely above a whisper. “He wanted me to tell you that he doesn’t remember.”

  Rose’s face went white, her eyes wide. Sloane found herself standing. Her knees wobbled. She wanted to bolt from this bedroom before she broke apart i
nto pieces. Nothing made sense anymore. Not James or Rose or the watches or the Gregorys. And this time there was no one to help her cheat, no geek she could pay to tell her the truth and make her look smart. This time Sloane was on her own. The fresh tears in Rose’s eyes confirmed it.

  “I should go,” Sloane said.

  “Yes,” Rose choked out. “You should.”

  Chapter 23

  First the repair. Then the packaging. Sloane had sent the watches as promised to the highest bidder, omitting a return address. An anonymous account had been created, the money transferred and withdrawn, only to be tucked back into the safety deposit box where it belonged. The score had been evened; what was lost to Mari was returned by the Captain. Over the past five days, Sloane had followed all the rules. Yet she felt emptier and more confused than ever. Maybe that’s because the only thing left for the girls to do was watch the boys and wait for the other shoe to fall.

  Rose offered a hand to Sloane as they climbed the jagged rocks lining the beach. “How do you even know he’ll be here?” she whispered, swiping her hand across her forehead. “Doesn’t he usually hang around the Club during the day?”

  Sloane knew because ever since her collision with James at the driving range, she’d felt a pull she couldn’t explain and kept ending up on the beach. And without fail she’d spot him there, punishing himself. Sometimes he sat for hours, staring at the great expanse of blue. Other days he’d run the rocky shoreline only to return an hour later, his face dripping with sweat or tears; Sloane could never be sure which. She suspected both. It looked an awful lot like penance. The silence. The running. The drinking. On repeat. She promised herself that she’d report to Madge, explain her findings, and inquire if Trip’s behavior mirrored James’s. If they were both self-destructing maybe the girls should just sit back and enjoy the show. Maybe it would be safer that way.

  Today James was stripped bare. Literally.

  Sloane and Rose crouched low, peering from behind the rocks. He lay face up on the sand, no blanket beneath him, completely naked. The sun beat down on his body, sweat beaded on his chest. He was still.

  “Should we …” Rose’s light brown skin had turned pink. “I mean, do you think he’s okay?”

  Sloane knew she should hate Rose for whatever history she had with James. After all, Willa was in love with him, too. It was her one big flaw, her one true weakness. Willa Ames-Rowan wasn’t perfect, either. She’d always had a crush on him, and this year it had seemed more heightened, more acute somehow. But Sloane had to admit they made sense together. She couldn’t say the same for Rose and James. They came from completely different worlds. Not exactly a solid foundation on which to build a relationship. Sloane knew a thing or two about faking and passing. In the end, it destroyed you from the inside.

  “He’s always out here. Ever since …” Sloane let her words trail away.

  James struggled to push up on his elbows, sand clinging to his back. He unearthed his cell phone from the pile of clothes strewn next to him, dropping it into the sand once and retrieving it. After rubbing his eyes, he stumbled to his feet to dress in his shorts and T-shirt.

  Cautiously, the girls followed. In his state, they didn’t even have to keep that much of a distance. James was completely wasted as he lurched back toward the Club. Sloane couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone who cared enough to escort him home, to put water by the side of his bed and wait until he sobered up to work through the entire, tangled mess. But no one seemed to notice. No one waved or smiled or stopped to chat, not even when James struggled at the gate, his body leaning into the iron. No one questioned him when he laughed hysterically after pushing into the French doors when he should have been pulling.

  But Sloane knew there were whispers. They followed him everywhere he went. Hushed words about his sobriety, his grandfather, and his guilt. Sloane would self-destruct, too, if whispers followed her like a shadow. That’s why she guarded her secrets so closely. Theoretically she’d actually have to say something out loud in order for people to start whispering about her. Being quiet was safer. Smarter.

  James stumbled by Rory O’Neil on the back terrace. Rory smirked as he passed. Sloane’s eyes narrowed. He was sitting with a girl wearing large, black sunglasses, her thick hair arranged into an oversized bun on top of her head. God only knew what he was up to. She slowed.

  Rose pulled Sloane’s arm toward a different entrance. Apparently she was avoiding the table as well.

  “Liu!” Too late. Sloane pretended not to hear. She gulped when Rose scrunched her forehead in confusion. She had no pills for Rory’s sister and hoped he’d get the hint and leave her alone.

  “What does he want with you?” Rose whispered. “Stay away from him. You saw him in those pictures Lina took. He’s a drug dealer.”

  Sloane just shook her head, hanging close to Rose. But as she gripped the ornate handle of Hawthorne Lake’s French doors, Rose’s words echoed in her brain. The picture Lina took. James paying Rory on the basketball courts. “Drug dealer. Drug dealer. Drug dealer.”

  “I’m going after James,” Rose hissed. “Ditch Rory.”

  Sloane raced down the hall alone, fleeing Rory’s insistent “Liu. Liu!” At least Rose wouldn’t have a hard time trailing James. He dropped breadcrumbs in the form of a tipped vase, some bills and change—even his cell phone—which Sloane watched Rose bend to retrieve before she rounded a corner out of sight.

  “What do you have for me? This is good shit, Liu. Nice work.”

  The words played on repeat. Sloane had to steady herself against the wall, the knots in her stomach twisting when she visualized the picture Lina had snapped. James handing money to Rory. He couldn’t be … They couldn’t have been … They weren’t hers …

  “What do you have for me? This is good shit, Liu. Nice work.”

  Rory’s voice added even more knots, sharp pain shooting within her gut. Coupled with James’s words, she doubled over.

  “I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember.”

  The walls shifted and began to close in on her. She slid to the floor and fumbled for her phone, hands shaking. Slowly she typed the word “narcolepsy” into her search bar, unable to remember the name of the little white pills she’d given to Rory. In her mind, the medicine would be abused by nerds who wanted to stay up all night to study for some big exam. She reminded herself of this as her phone pulled up results, reminded herself that those little white pills would never make James forget, would never make Willa … she couldn’t even finish her thought.

  “What are you waiting for?” Rose peered around the corner, waving Sloane over. “This is it!”

  Sloane shoved the phone back in her pocket and got to her feet. Her mind was in a fog. Rose wasn’t alone. Lina and Madge stood near one of the windows. Nadia dusted baseboards and Kira washed walls around the corner. Every soldier in the War was here—right outside the Captain’s office. It could only mean one thing. The Gregory clan had converged.

  The Captain’s office was obscene, more like a library really, with rows of rare books lining the mahogany shelves. The door was closed, but if they stood close enough, they could catch the gist of the conversation inside. Lina grinned wickedly. Sloane felt sick. But she smiled back, because it was easier. Because she had to.

  “It’s working, you guys!” Madge whispered. Her smile was too big. Sloane had never really understood what people meant by the term crazy eyes, but looking at Madge, she totally got it. Harsh words floated through the cracks as the Captain screamed about watches, family history, and pride. He yelled at the boys for getting into trouble and selling the watches. He yelled at them for having to buy them back. Trip’s muffled voice was hard to understand, but Sloane could hear that he was confused, mumbling about theft and trying to convince his Grandpa that they hadn’t done anything wrong. James, of course, was silent.

  And then they heard a crack. And a whimper. And a crash. And James, slurring something.
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  It played like a movie in Sloane’s head. She couldn’t see it, but the violent noise told the story. First the Captain hit Trip, then Trip fell to his knees and James stepped forward to protect him. Although maybe the last part didn’t happen, considering James’s condition. Madge pushed her fingers to her lips to stifle laughter, and Lina’s eyes grew round.

  “It was stupid,” James barked loudly. The girls pushed their ears closer to the door, to be sure they heard correctly. “We shouldn’t have sold them. It was dumb and it won’t happen again.”

  The Captain had some choice words to say in response, but even from behind the heavy wood, they all knew the worst was over. The boys were off the hook, yet again.

  Sloane couldn’t work out how she felt. She knew she should be furious, but she was kind of relieved that James hadn’t been disinherited because of their stupid prank. Part of her felt like this whole situation was spiraling out of control. What were they doing? Who were they punishing? Sloane forced herself to look into the eyes of her friends. They all looked tired. They were losing the War.

  “Maybe this is a sign,” she whispered.

  Madge didn’t hear her, or maybe just pretended not to hear. She merely took a deep breath and said in a strong, clear voice, “We’re going to need a new plan.”

  Nobody said a word. They all backed away from the door.

  “But how do we even know for sure that James did it?” Rose whispered.

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sloane was scared for her.

  Madge moved in for the kill. “We know because I saw him on a boat with my sister. And for the record, his asshole brother was the one who helped them both get into the lifeboat. So, yeah. I’m pretty damn sure.”

  Rose just stood there. She looked Madge in the eye. Shockingly enough her cold silence seemed to work. When Madge spoke again, almost all of the frustration was gone.

  “He did it, okay? And I need the people who killed my sister to pay. I just …” She grabbed Lina’s hand and then Sloane’s, begging Rose to understand. Rose placed her fingers on top. “I just need to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.”