I exhaled. Devin had made up her mind, and in the end I always went along. “Fine,” I said. Maybe this time it would be different. Maybe. “But you owe me a movie.”
“You’re the best, Cass-girl, the best. I really mean it.”
Even though I’m pretty sure she didn’t mean it, I still held on to her words because she had given them to me and so they were mine.
“My dad’ll drive,” Devin said.
“Okay,” I said, trying but failing to get my voice up to that excited, sparkly octave.
“It’ll be fun,” she said. “I promise. That’s my promise to you.”
“Sure,” I said. Devin’s promises weren’t worth much these days, unless of course, you were Chad.
“Okay, gotta run,” Devin said. “Mom’s taking me shopping. Gotta find something cute to wear.”
“Have fun,” I said, even though shopping with my mom was the exact polar opposite of fun.
“I will,” she said, confident, like a person who actually found cute clothing that fit. “You might want to find something to wear, too.”
An arrow to the gut. “Yeah, I know.” I pulled on the waistband of my cargo pants, the only pants I owned that didn’t create a giant muffin top.
“Talk to you later,” she said, and hung up.
I flopped down onto my bed. Fate sealed for another Saturday night. My mother knocked on my door, and I knew she’d been listening.
“What?” I said. I picked up my guitar and played a few chords.
She pushed open the door. “Something you’re working on?” she said.
“I guess so.” That wasn’t why she was there, of course. She’d never been that into the guitar thing— especially since my dad was the one who got it for me.
“Where are you and Devin going this weekend?”
“The mall,” I said, striking another chord. “Where do we ever go?”
Her face puckered. “Alone?”
I knew that she knew what we were doing because she’d been eavesdropping. But I was annoyed, so I made her pull it out of me slowly.
“No,” I said. “Devin’s dad is taking us.”
She leaned against the door. “I assume he’s not staying.”
“Of course not,” I said. I kept playing. “That would be pretty loserish, don’t you think?”
“Interesting word,” she said, shaking her head. She moved farther into my room. “And the boys you’re meeting? Are they staying?”
“You guessed it, Mom,” I said. “There are boys.” I shrugged and rested my hand on the guitar. “But it’s not a date.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s the party line.” She sat down on my bed. She didn’t look at me but instead reached for Pinky, my one-eyed stuffed koala. She smoothed his worn fur with her hand. “I wonder if perky Susan Rhodes knows that her daughter runs around with so many boys. Then again, it’s not surprising.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said. I strummed lightly, just a little melody without a chorus. My mother couldn’t stand that Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes were happily married. She took their lack of misery personally.
“You live in a community, you hear things.”
What was my mother trying to say? Mrs. Rhodes was a model mom. All PTA-ish and Girl Scout-y.
“You don’t talk to anyone,” I said.
She frowned at the dig. “Never mind. I spoke out of turn.”
I wanted to know what she meant, what she was really saying about Susan Rhodes, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of asking.
“All I know,” she added, “is that you wouldn’t act like that.”
It made me mad that it didn’t even occur to my mother that I might, as she put it, “run around” with a boy. She saw my fat as some sort of modern-day Great Wall that no boy warrior, no matter how horny or sex-crazed, would ever scale.
“It’s one guy and his friend,” I said. Then I lied: “They seem nice.”
“You met them?” she asked.
“Sure,” I lied again.
“Would you put that thing down for a minute?”
I obliged and placed the guitar beside me.
My mother sighed. She didn’t believe me. “It’s not that I have a problem with you dating,” she said. “I mean you’re fifteen for goodness’ sake. When I was your age…” She laughed softly, then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Your father put an end to all that.”
“So there’s no problem,” I said, which was ridiculous given how I felt about going. But I couldn’t stand when she took digs at Dad. Even though, well, he’d left me, too.
“You don’t have to go,” my mother said. “In fact, I’d rather you didn’t.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know and I know.” I kind of wished I could say to Devin, “Sorry, but my mom found out we’re meeting two strange boys at the mall and she said I can’t go.” But Devin would never have accepted that and then, well, I didn’t want to go to that place in my head, that place where I said it, and she got angry, and I was left alone. I didn’t want to be the next Gina or Lizzy. And at least they still had each other.
My mother sat up straighter but still kneaded Pinky between her fingers. “Why don’t you go to the mall with Gina and Lizzy, instead? I’ll bet they know nice boys.”
I raised my eyebrows. “We’re not even speaking to them.”
“I’m sure that’s not your fault.”
I wondered sometimes if Gina and Lizzy would forgive me. I didn’t think so. I hadn’t fought for our friendship—just stood there mute as Devin tore it apart. “It’s only a movie, Mom,” I said. I picked the guitar up and started to play again, louder this time.
“Do what you want.” She tossed Pinky onto the bed. Then she got up and headed toward my door. Just before she left she turned back to me. She stared at me, and my stomach twisted around itself.
“Aren’t you tired, Cass?” she said. “Aren’t you tired of playing second fiddle to Devin? Of always being her shadow? Aren’t you just done with all of this?”
“It’s not that way, Mom,” I said. But it was. It so very much was. And I hated my mother for putting it out there. Her words hovered in the vast space between us. I stared back at her, into her green eyes like mine. “Just go,” I said
She shook her head but didn’t say a word. Then she left my room, shutting the door behind her.
I picked up my guitar again and played and played until my fingers ached and the light from outside my window all but disappeared.
AFTER
MY MOTHER BRINGS OUT a fresh pot of coffee. “Would you like some?” she asks Detective Williams.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he says. “Had my fill this morning at the station.”
She looks annoyed. My mother’s not used to people refusing things from her. “I’ll pour you a cup anyway,” she says. “In case you change your mind.”
The detective smiles, clearly a little uncomfortable, and accepts the steaming cup. He takes a polite sip, then places the coffee on a waiting coaster. My mother smiles—the detective has good manners. She’d flirt with him if he were any older. Lucky for us all, he’s not.
“Let’s keep going,” he says, leaning forward. He stares at me with his large brown eyes. “When was the last time you saw Devin?”
“At the mall,” I say. I sit up and hug the throw pillow close to my body.
Detective Williams writes again in his notebook. “That seems to be what everyone says.” He sighs and shakes his head.
“Well,” says my mother, “whoever helped her into the ravine isn’t going to admit it.”
I look up at her. Her arms are folded across her chest, as though she thinks this is all a waste of time. She thinks Detective Williams is way off the trail, ice cold. Arctic cold. She’s wrong.
Detective Williams raises his eyebrows but keeps his cool. “Thank you, Ms. Gilbert,” he says. “We’ve considered that.”
She shrugs and takes a sip of coffee.
“So you play the gui
tar?” he says to me.
“A little,” I say.
“What do you mean ‘a little’?” says my mother. “You play all the time.” She turns to the detective. “It’s like an appendage.”
I glare at her. “I don’t feel much like playing anymore.”
“Of course.” The detective nods. “Was that something you did with Devin? Something that reminds you of her?”
“I guess,” I say, but that’s not what it is. The last time I played wasn’t for Devin.
“I understand.” Detective Williams nods. “Must be painful.”
I shrug.
He leans forward. “That’s a nice necklace you’re wearing.”
Without thinking I bring my hand up to my neck and cover the charm. “Um, thanks.”
“Who has the other half?” he says.
“What?” I say.
“My kid sister has one of those. You get half; your best girlfriend gets the other. Am I right?” He’s smiling, and his teeth are beyond white. Of course he’s right. And he knows it.
I bite my lip.
“I guess Devin had the other half?”
“Yes,” I say, looking away. I play with a loose thread on the throw pillow.
“Where’d you get it?” he says.
By the look on her face, my mother’s wondering the same thing. She knows I wouldn’t dip into my guitar fund. “Devin’s parents paid for it.”
Her eyes grow wide. “You let them? We are not a charity case, Cass.”
“We charged it to their store account,” I say, looking back down. “I’ll pay them back.”
“Which store account?” says Detective Williams.
“Cordeau Jewelers.” Instinctively I reach for the charm and twirl it around, between my fingers.
My mother’s face relaxes. In the end I think she doesn’t care where it came from as long as she didn’t spring for it.
“Right, the place in town,” he says. He writes something in his notebook. “Do you know if she was wearing it the night she died?”
I nod. “She was.” I roll over onto the throw pillow. “She always wore it.”
“We haven’t found it,” he says. “We’ve been looking,” he says, leaning back onto the couch. “Devin’s mother, Mrs. Rhodes, told us about it, told us she would’ve been wearing it. Told us it was important to Devin, that it meant a lot.”
It did. It meant everything. There could be only one reason why it was missing. “I don’t know why,” I say. “Maybe it fell off?” Please don’t ask anymore, please.
He nods. “Maybe. But then I think we might’ve found it nearby.”
I grip the throw pillow more tightly.
Detective Williams nods. He leans forward again and clasps his hands together. “Would Devin have taken it off herself?”
I shrug. “I don’t think so—I mean, I don’t know.” Please, please stop asking. “You’re not supposed to take them off.”
The detective nods. “You two have a fight?”
“A fight? I—”
“A squabble, disagreement? I know how teenage girls can be. Like I said, I have a kid sister. She’s always getting into it with her friends. A lot of drama.” He turns to my mother. “Teenage girls, right, Ms. Gilbert?”
My mother purses her lips. “One-sided, maybe. Cass is very level-headed. Thankfully she takes after me.”
“Aw, come on, Ms. Gilbert,” says the detective. He picks up the cup of coffee, but then puts it down again without taking a sip. “There’re two sides to every story. Especially when boys are involved.”
I squeeze the pillow against my chest. I don’t like how he’s painting us, painting Devin and me into some melodramatic teen-girl stereotype. We weren’t like that.
“Look,” he says. “Right now we don’t know how Devin ended up in Woodacre Ravine. But we do know that sometimes when people are emotional, they do things they wouldn’t normally do.” He leans forward. “Do you understand, Cass?”
“I guess.” My heart definitely understands. It’s starting to pound at my chest because it knows—I know—that Detective Williams is closer than he probably thinks.
“Where’d you last see her, Cass?” he asks. “You can tell me. I just want to make everything right. I know you do, too.”
“I told you, at the mall. I…” Air rushes through me and out of me. My breath speeds up, and blood pulses in my ears—the sound is deafening. My heart keeps going faster. I lean over and cover my ears, but I can’t stop the sound. I can’t.
My mother moves closer. “Cass?” She touches my head, but I push her away. She stares at me. “What’s wrong, Cass?”
Detective Williams moves forward. “Are you okay?” he says. “What’s going on? Is she okay?”
The sounds pass through me, around me. Sounds everywhere, like wind, like air. It’s her. She’s with me. Moving through me. Devin’s here—I feel her everywhere, the chill of her presence. I’m not in her house, but still, somehow, she’s here. Her breath on my neck, just like the other day in her room. Her fingers run through my hair, down my arm. The world and its sounds fade, and I can barely hear anything else. I breathe in and out, in and out, my heart pushing at me.
“Do you hear that?” I look up at my mother, at the detective.
“Hear what, Cass?” says my mother. “What’s going on?”
Again Devin’s fingers—I know they’re hers—curl around my hand and squeeze until I hear the crunch of bone on bone. Over and over. Why can’t they hear her? Why are they staring at me like that?
Her hands, her fingers, move toward my neck. They graze my chain, lingering over it. The air around me freezes.
The hands, her hands, grab onto my chain.
I scramble backward on the couch. I cover my ears and press down hard. She’s angry with me. How could she not be? Wherever Devin is, whatever she is now, she’s angry with me. At me, at me, at me. I curl into the throw pillow and scream.
Before
“I JUST NEED TO RUN IN AND OUT,” Devin said as we neared Dreyer’s Pharmacy and Surgical Supplies. “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to.”
We were on a cosmetics run. Well, Devin was. She was almost out of her trademark brown lip gloss and wanted to restock before the date. “I don’t mind,” I said. I didn’t have anything else to do anyway.
She squeezed me quickly. “You’re the best.”
“Clearly,” I said.
We walked together into the store.
Devin turned to me. “I know you have an aversion to makeup,” she said, “so you can wait here if you want.”
“I don’t have an aversion to makeup,” I said. “God, you sound like my mother.”
“Well, she’s not all bad, then, I guess.”
“Ha, ha,” I said. “I don’t like the way makeup feels.” It always felt sticky and oily, like I was wearing a mask. It just wasn’t me.
Devin rolled her eyes. “It’s not about the way it feels, Cass; it’s about the way it looks. You’ll have to get used to it at some point.” She shrugged. “Besides, it’s all about having the right moisturizer.”
“I doubt that,” I said.
“Look,” she said. “I’ll be right back. Wait here for me, okay?”
“Okaaay.” I was eyeing the candy counter anyway. As soon as Devin disappeared down an aisle, I quickly bought myself a caramel nut bar, then headed back to the front of the store to eat it. I wasn’t supposed to be eating candy these days, so I jumped at the opportunity to do it on the sly.
An old woman, her gray hair all fly-away, reached in front of me for a Dreyer’s circular. “Excuse me, honey,” she said. I moved backward, and she smiled.
She stayed there, just to the left of me, examining each page as though it were a bestseller.
I stood there, people watching, eating the candy bar as quickly as I could so I wouldn’t have to hear Devin’s comments about it when she came back. It slid down easily, in chunks of sweet, salty chocolate.
“You call
this a sale?” said the old woman, looking up from her circular. She clucked her tongue. “Not at these prices.”
I couldn’t imagine ever being so old that drugstore sale circulars were actually interesting. Then again there was something oddly comforting about having nothing else to worry about but clipping coupons.
I smiled at her and shrugged, then licked a stray piece of nut from my lip. I was almost done with the chocolate bar when I saw Devin walking quickly toward me. I shoved the rest of the chocolate bar into my pocket.
Devin hurried over, her hand deep inside her own pocket. She grabbed me.
“Come on,” she said.
“Don’t you need to pay?” I asked.
The old woman looked up from the circular and raised an eyebrow.
“They didn’t have the right color,” she said. “I’ll have to try another store.”
The old woman frowned and went back to her circular.
“Really?” I said. “How many people wear that color? It’s kind of—”
Devin giggled in a weird, un-Devin-like way. “Let’s go, Cass, okay? I told my mom I’d be home by five o’clock, and we’re cutting it close.”
“Fine with me,” I said.
The old woman nodded. “Good girl, listening to her mother.” She hobbled off, circular in hand.
We headed out the store and onto the sidewalk. Devin looped her arm through mine and pulled me down the street.
“What’s the rush?” I said, choking down the hunk of chocolate still in my mouth.
Devin didn’t say a word but kept tugging at me. I almost tripped on a crumbling piece of sidewalk.
“Slow down,” I said.
She didn’t stop until we reached the corner and turned down the next street. Finally she let go of my arm. “Here,” she said, slightly out of breath. She looked around quickly, then pulled her other hand out of her pocket and produced a stick of brown lip gloss.
“But you said—”
“Yeah, I know,” she said. Her cheeks flushed red. “But that old hag with the circular was staring me down. I wasn’t about to tell her I stole it.”
“You stole it?” I said. “Are you crazy?”
“Crazy? No,” she said. “The owner of free lip gloss? Yes.” She opened the top and put some on her lips. She smacked her lips together and smiled. “Looks fabulous, no?”
Devin Rhodes is Dead Page 6