“Correction,” said Marcus. “She rocks the guitar.”
I looked over at him and smiled. He nodded and smiled back. Then I turned back to Devin. “That doesn’t come close to making up for the oinker comment.”
She shook her head. “Stop it,” she said. “Just stop it. You have no idea what I’ve been through. If you did you’d never speak to me this way.”
And we were back to Devin, as always. I was so done with her right now, it was all I could do to stop myself from hauling off and slapping her silly. “I seriously doubt that,” I said.
“Why did you leave me, Cass?” she said. “You said you’d wait.”
“Are you insane, Devin?” I said. “You told us to go.”
“I did not,” she said, shaking her head. “I asked you to come with us. You chose to leave.” Her voice rose, almost panicked.
She was sort of right. I remembered now how it happened. How she’d looked back at me. But I left because I thought she still wanted me to leave. Mostly.
“Where’s Chad?” Marcus said.
Devin was pacing. “We had a fight,” she said. “Your friend is a total jerk. But you probably know that. Thanks for the warning.”
“You’re the one who set this up,” Marcus said. “You two looked pretty cozy before the movie.”
Devin rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, that didn’t last long.”
“What happened?” I said.
“Oh, like you care.”
There was that little part of me, dammit, that did care. “What happened?” I said again.
“Forget it,” she said. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.
Devin pulled her hair away from her cheek and closed her eyes. There was a long red mark on her cheek.
“What happened?” I said, forgetting myself.
“Chad happened,” she said.
“He did that to you?” Marcus said.
Devin sighed. “His hands were everywhere! I couldn’t get away from him. He’s really strong.” She opened her eyes again and looked at me, then Marcus, then me again. “I finally got free and then”—she exhaled—“I left the movie because I couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t stand him anymore.”
“You left the movie?” I said.
“I didn’t know where to go,” she said, shaking her head. “I thought you’d be out here and we’d just go home. I thought you’d at least answer my calls and texts.”
Now my head hurt. The only time I’d ever left her. “Did he leave, too?” I asked.
“Well the jerk followed me outside and got me up against the back of the mall.”
Marcus shook his head. “He probably thought that’s what you wanted.”
Devin raised her eyebrows, along with her voice. “Yeah, well, after I smacked him in the head, he got the point.”
“You smacked Chad in the head?” said Marcus.
“With my phone,” she said.
“Ow.” Marcus’s eyes were wide. “Hey, power to you, Devin. I don’t think that’s ever happened to him before.”
“Well, it should’ve,” she said. She closed her eyes and stomped her foot, looking suddenly much younger, or actually closer to her real age. “Total ass! Look.” She rolled up the sleeve of her jacket and held out her arm. It was red.
“Oh, my God,” I said.
“It’s where he grabbed me,” she said, rolling her eyes again.
My heart thumped inside my chest. “Why didn’t you call your dad?” I asked, but I realized at once that I was glad she hadn’t.
She knew it, too. “What should I have said? Take me home but I don’t know where Cass is? I lost her?” She moved closer to me and held up her phone. “See? He’s already called—twice—and I didn’t answer.” She glared at me. “I look out for you, Cass.”
“That is so untrue,” I said. “You look out for you.”
“Oh, really?” she said. “What would your mother say if I told her where you’ve been?” She held up the phone again. “Maybe I should call my dad now. Tell him to pick us up. Are you ready to go?”
I looked down, then over at Marcus.
“I didn’t think so.” She stuffed the phone back into her jeans pocket. “Besides, you’d be in it deep if I told them what happened—why I haven’t called back,” she said. “Especially since it turns out you were hooking up with this loser.”
“Hey!” Marcus said.
“Whatever.” She sighed. “Okay. I just”—she ran her fingers through her hair—“I didn’t know how I was going to get away from him. Cass….”
I moved closer to Devin and I could see her eyes were glossed over with tears. I hadn’t seen her like this in so long; she was so much like the old Devin. The one I remembered. The one who needed me but not just as a sidekick. I reached for her; it was the only thing I knew to do, but she pushed me away.
“You said you’d be here,” she said. “You promised.”
“I didn’t promise,” I said. “I just said I’d be here. I was a little late—that’s all.”
“Not a little,” she said. “And you did promise.” She shoved the best-friend charm in my face. “This is how you promised.”
My body was warm all over, and I tightened my fists. “You’re mad because I actually had a good time for once and you didn’t.”
“Seriously?” she said, shaking her head. “That’s what you think?” She tightened her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. “You are so immature, Cass.”
“You left me on a bench,” I said. “You do that to me all the time.”
“Yeah, well, you weren’t there, were you?” Devin shook her head again. Her eyes were red now, red and wet. She wiped her nose, about to say something. I wished I could walk away, but I couldn’t.
And then she was no longer looking at me. “Oh, great,” she said, her eyes widening. “This is officially the worst day of my life.”
I turned around. Lizzy and Gina were headed toward us.
AFTER
“I’VE BEEN WONDERING HOW YOU’RE DOING,” says Mr. Cordeau as we merge onto the highway. I tell him that I live only about ten minutes from the mall, just off the highway. In the neighborhood I used to share with Devin. “After I saw you at the Rhodeses’ house,” Mr. Cordeau continues, “I thought, well, you must be in so much pain.”
God, he’s annoying. Why does everyone want to talk? Why won’t they just leave me alone? I watch the exit signs. Only three more until my house. At least it’s a short ride. “I’m doing okay,” I say.
He nods. “Vomiting at the mall doesn’t really look like ‘okay,’” he says. “Neither does running away from your friends.”
I don’t like where this is going. “I told you I’m not feeling well,” I say. “I probably have a stomach virus.”
“Perhaps,” he says. “Or maybe you’re having trouble dealing with what happened to your friend.” He looks over at me. “It would only be natural.”
Natural? Nothing about what’s happening to me is natural. What happened to Devin wasn’t natural. What just happened, what I felt, what I heard, is not, not, not natural! I want to rip off my seat belt and get out of the car. I want to yell at him to stop looking at me, to keep his eyes on the road, and to stop asking me questions I won’t answer. But I don’t. “Well, yeah,” I say. “Of course I’m still upset.”
Mr. Cordeau nods again. We ride in silence for a few peaceful minutes. Gas stations and mini-marts line the highway.
But then the side of my face grows warm, that weird animal instinct we all have, and I know that Mr. Cordeau is looking at me again, really looking.
“Maybe,” he says, “maybe you even feel a little responsible, hmm?” he says. “Responsible for what happened to Devin?”
All my muscles tighten at once. Warm blood rushes through my body. Too close, Mr. Cordeau. Much. Too. Close. Then I think, Does he know something? Does he? Oh, my God, does he? “No,” I say quickly. “No, I didn’t—”
/> “I just mean that sometimes, when someone close to us dies, we feel guilty that we couldn’t do more for them. That we couldn’t, you know, save them.” He takes his hand from the steering wheel and rests it on my hand. I stare at it, unable to move. His hand is smooth and manicured, and one of his gold bracelets brushes against my wrist. I am frozen. Totally frozen.
“We all have a little God complex,” he says. His hand remains on mine, large and spider-like. Then he squeezes my hand and puts his back on the steering wheel.
My hand is still glued to my leg, immobile, likely oozing clamminess onto my cargo pants. I am stuck in this car, on the highway, too far from my house to walk.
“I guess so,” I say, moving over slightly in my seat. Somehow I pry my hand off my leg and stuff it into my bag. I carefully feel around inside for my phone. I’m relieved at the feel of its cool metal surface. “But there’s nothing I can do—” I tug on my seatbelt, which feels as though it might suffocate me.
“No, of course not,” he says. He keeps driving. The noise of the highway is not nearly enough to drown out Mr. Cordeau. He turns to me again. “Not unless you know something that could help the investigation.”
My heart drops into my stomach. “I don’t,” I say softly.
“But you were with her that night.” His eyes narrow, and somehow he continues to drive even thought it seems as though he’s been staring at me for hours. “You must’ve seen something.”
“I didn’t,” I say. “I already told everyone.” I squeeze my phone inside my bag. I need to feel it, know that it’s there.
“Yes,” he says. “I suspect they’ve all been asking. Which makes sense, given that you may have been the last person to see her. Before, well”—he raises an eyebrow—“before it happened.”
My heart is pounding at my chest. Let me out, it seems to say. Let me out of this body. Let me go.
“Maybe something will come to you,” he says, nodding. “Something you’ll remember in time.”
My heart practically leaps into my throat and pushes out the words.
“I don’t know what happened!” I say. It all tumbles out at once. “I don’t know because I left her. I— I left her there alone. I let it happen.” I take a deep breath. “I let her go.”
And there it is. I’ve said it. I’ve said it. My words float in front of me, take on their own shape, coil around me. Even though I left Devin that night, even though what happened was because I left my best friend, because I wasn’t there for her, I just don’t know. I don’t know how she died. Not exactly. I don’t even tell him the last part, that last part of the story, I hold on to it, tightly, because that’s all that’s left. That’s really it.
I look at Mr. Cordeau. He’s still driving, but he’s nodding. He’s nodding over and over again in slow motion. He wants information. He’s a friend of the Rhodeses; of course he does. He’s not going to stop asking me questions. And now he knows more than anyone else. He’s not going to stop until he knows exactly what happened. How what I did, the terrible things I said, the awful things I wished for, allowed it to happen. I am trapped.
“Where are we?” I say. I realize then that I haven’t been paying attention, but this doesn’t look like the way home. When did we get off the highway? There are no mini-marts. No gas stations. Only trees, thick clusters of sharp pines, reaching up toward the darkening sky.
“Oh, I never go anywhere the same way twice,” says Mr. Cordeau. His eyes are on the road now; he’s looking straight ahead and smiling. “Once again,” he says, “very observant girl.” He puckers his lips. “I wonder what else she’s seen. What else she knows.”
I must’ve bitten my tongue, because I taste blood in my mouth. It stings as I swallow. Where are we?
Suddenly I hear Devin. I feel her. The throbbing in my ear, the cool prickly sensation of her touch. Wherever we are, Devin is here. She’s with us. Why? Why is she here now?
The air slides in and out of my ears with a loud persistent hiss, whirling around in my head. Long fingers stroke my hair, tug on the strands, hard, then even harder. I cover my ears, but the sounds still come, she still pulls at me. Over and over and over. And even though I can’t hear her. Even though there are no words. With each tug of my hair, each burst of air that pushes into my ears, I hear it. I hear inside my head: “You know. You know.”
I cover my ears and shake my head. I try to shake those words loose and let them fall off me like flakes of crazy tumbling to the ground.
You know what happened, Cass.
“Devin,” I say softly, my eyes closed. “Devin, please. I don’t. I’m so sorry.” I cover my mouth, still shaking my head, still hearing her.
“What did you say?” says Mr. Cordeau.
“Nothing,” I say. He hears me. Of course he hears me; we’re in a car. Stuck together in a car.
The words circle inside my head, rise and fall like air, like labored breaths. They’re my words, my brain spins them out, but I don’t understand. You know what happened that night, Cass. You know. “How could I?” I whisper.
“How could you what?” says Mr. Cordeau. “You’re not making any sense, Cass.”
The air is hot on my face; my cheeks burn and my body prickles all over, as if millions of tiny needles are poking at me, trying to force out the truth. Do I? Do I really know?
Think Cass. Think about that night. What happened?
Memories—raw, jagged memories—cut through my mind. That night I left Devin. I left her alone because I was angry. I left her alone because I was tired, because I’d found a boy who liked me, because I was done. Because I was done with her. I left her alone. How could I know what would happen? I couldn’t. I would never. But because I left her, it did. “Devin,” I whisper. “Devin, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
She tugs again, this time at my charm. I bring my hand up. She pulls at it harder, the chain cutting into my neck. Something pushes at the small of my back, something gentle, but firm, pushes at me. Definitely pushes me forward. I open my eyes.
Mr. Cordeau is right—at that moment, something does come to me. The lights, there were lights that night. Across from the mall. The lights I saw from behind the trees. Car taillights. Behind the trees where I last saw Devin… before she, before…
“I want to go home,” I say, sitting up straight. My voice is a whisper, so I say it again. “I want to go home. Now.” I reach into my bag and pull out my phone. But my hands are shaking, so I fumble and then drop the phone onto the floor of the front seat.
“Of course you do,” says Mr. Cordeau. “After all, there’s no place like home.”
I bend over and reach for my phone, but I can’t find it on the black-carpeted floor of Mr. Cordeau’s car. I feel around, quickly, my hands brushing against the rough carpet, until I catch hold of it underneath my seat.
I grab my phone, but something, something’s under it. Something that’s cold and hard, small and metal. I squeeze the phone tightly and bring it out from underneath the front seat. And there it is, rescued, like an underwater treasure pulled from a rusted wreck. Rescued from the carpeted blackness of Mr. Cordeau’s Cadillac. There it is.
The other half of my charm.
Before
“WHAT DO YOU TWO WANT?” asked Devin. She moved closer to me. Suddenly we were allies. Or at least she wanted Gina and Lizzy to think that. I guess in her mind, I was still better than they were. She wiped some mascara lines off of her cheeks.
“What happened to you?” asked Gina.
“Yeah, you’re a mess,” Lizzy says.
“Like it’s any of your business,” Devin said, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why are you here anyway?”
“Uh, last time I checked,” Lizzy said, “the mall was a public place. Open to everyone, you know?”
“Hi, Cass,” Gina said, turning to me quickly.
I was just as surprised by her greeting as Devin. Devin stared at me, wide-eyed. I didn’t know what to say, so I mumbled, “Hey.”
�
�I’m Marcus,” Marcus said, holding up his hand. “And you guys are…?”
“Not our friends,” said Devin. She grabbed onto my arm. And just like that, we were reconnected. She linked her arm through mine and pulled me close. “Go away,” she said to them. “I’m not in the mood.”
“We’re not in the mood for you, either,” said Lizzy, tossing a piece of gum into her mouth. “We just thought you might be in trouble. You don’t need to be such a bitch about it.”
“How nice of you,” Devin said, pulling me even closer. “But you’re a little late.” She turned back to Marcus and me. “You’re all a little late.”
“Devin,” Gina said. She was always so calm, it was almost impossible to tell when she was upset. When we had the fight, she was still like that—her voice almost didn’t change. “Was that you we saw behind the mall?”
Devin blinked a few times. “What are you talking about?” She squeezed my arm.
“We went outside to make a call,” said Gina. “It was so loud in here. We saw you with some guy,” she said. “It looked like maybe you were having a fight.”
“He had his hands on you,” said Lizzy. “Look, Gina. Look at her arm.”
Devin quickly rolled down the sleeve of her jacket.
“My buddy,” said Marcus. “He’s kind of a jerk.”
Gina and Lizzy looked at him. “But you’re not?” Lizzy said, putting her hand on her hip.
“Nope,” he said. “Don’t let the T-shirt fool you.” He looked at me. “Right, Cass?”
I wanted to smile, but my head was spinning. I was standing there, arguing with Devin, when suddenly Gina and Lizzy were there, and they were being friendly, and I was totally and completely confused. “He’s not,” I said stiffly. I looked down at the floor.
“Whatever you saw, I’m fine,” said Devin, but her voice trembled. She waved her free hand in front of her. “Obviously.”
“Good for you,” said Lizzy. “Let’s get out of here,” she said to Gina. “I told you this was a bad idea.”
Gina ignored her. “Where’s the guy now?” she said. “Did he leave?”
Devin Rhodes is Dead Page 15