This Is Why We Lie

by Gabriella Lepore

Max reaches across the table and slaps him with a high five. “You’re damn right it’s hot tattooed girl.” He stoops low to take his shot, then cusses again when he misses the pocket.

  Tommy catches his gaze. “Straight up,” he says to Max, “are you as into Serena as she’s into you?”

  Max smirks.

  “So, that’s a no,” Tommy says.

  “What about the other girl you’ve been texting, then?” I ask.

  Max’s head snaps up. “What?”

  “You’ve been texting someone else,” I keep going. “You’re always on your phone, and I don’t think it’s to HRG.”

  He mumbles a response.

  His twitchy expression makes me laugh. “So I’m right? What, are you in love with this other girl or something?”

  He won’t meet my eyes. “What kind of a dumbass question is that?” he mutters.

  Tommy and I swap a glance.

  I nudge Max with my pool cue. “Who is she?”

  “Whatever, bro.”

  I shake my head and line up my next shot.

  We keep playing. We keep drinking. We keep going until everything starts to blur.

  Tommy is the first to bail. It must be nearly two a.m. by the time he heads back to the dorm. It’s always better to sneak back in while it’s still dark. There’s less chance of getting caught by night security when the on-duty guard is tired and getting sloppy. But Max and I aren’t done yet. Now it’s just the two of us.

  “I don’t love Serena.” The admission springs out of nowhere. His eyes are unfocused.

  “I know,” I tell him.

  “Yeah.”

  “But there’s someone else?” I can hear the slur in my own voice now. We’ve drunk too much, both of us.

  Max looks at me. He doesn’t answer.

  “So, why are you still with Serena?”

  “I like her. She’s cool.”

  “Because she’s got money?”

  “No. It’s not just that.” He lowers his gaze and runs a hand across his mouth. “But I need her. I need her to get me out of here.” His words are quick, urgent. “You know I can’t go back. My life, my family, stealing cars and dealing, just to get by from one meal to the next. Everything before. I can’t go back to that life.”

  I stay quiet.

  “They’re in over their heads,” he says. “My folks, my brother... Full-on addicts, man. I can’t go back to that life.”

  “I get it.”

  He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve moved on from that. I figure I was lucky to get out once. I might not be so lucky a second time.”

  “But using Serena like this? You know that’s not the way. She loves you.”

  His jaw tenses. “And I like her. I told you that. Look, you don’t understand what my life was like before Rookwood. You don’t know.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “What, your family’s screwed too?”

  I don’t answer. I keep playing. I keep drinking.

  It’s a while before the words fall from my mouth. “You know what I said earlier?” My voice sounds fuzzy.

  “What?” Max asks. His voice is different too. Slower. Thicker.

  “When I told you about my dad’s Jeep.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s not the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

  JENNA

  The upstairs of Kate’s house mirrors the décor of downstairs: pale tones, large windows, and heaps of light and airy space. The walls are painted in soft pastels, and the furniture is minimalistic. In fact, my bedroom is probably the only room in the whole house that shows any sign of bold colors and clutter—and that’s only because Kate finally let me decorate after I’d been here almost an entire year. I guess that’s when we both realized my visit wasn’t temporary.

  I push the cushions aside and sink onto my bed with my phone.

  Did you show the police the messages in our group chat? I type to Serena. The ones after Hollie’s fight with Colleen?

  My phone pings with an incoming message.

  No. Of course not.

  I toss my cell aside. Hollie deleted that message after the news broke of Colleen’s death, so either someone from our group sent a screenshot to the police or the thread was recovered from Hollie’s or Colleen’s records somehow.

  But Hollie didn’t mean anything by her message. She was just mad.

  I reach for my phone again and open Colleen’s private Instagram page. She has a public one too, but she set up this locked burner account under a fake name, probably so that her parents wouldn’t find out about what she’d been doing most nights when they thought she was asleep in bed. Row after row of pouty selfies stare back at me. There are a couple of group shots too, where Colleen has her arm draped around Preston girls or Rookwood boys. Her makeup looks a little smeared, and her eyes are unfocused, like she’s had a long, beer-fueled night.

  Many long, beer-fueled nights.

  Even if Kate is bound by law to keep the case details private, there’s no reason why I can’t do a little investigating of my own. Hollie always had my back when I was the new kid at Preston, the kid who didn’t have a flashy car or the most on-trend designer clothes. Now it’s my turn to repay the favor.

  Hollie’s in trouble, and she needs me. She’s falling to pieces, and I can’t just abandon her. I won’t.

  I isolate the most recent picture in Colleen’s gallery. It was posted a little over a week ago, on Friday, the last time she was seen alive. I enlarge the thumbnail. It’s a selfie of Colleen, posing with her face screwed up, tongue lolling out and her pinkie and index finger raised. It was taken at the Rookwood cabin; I recognize the log walls and hunter-green leather sofa. There are two people in the background. They’re not directly with Colleen, but they’re there.

  I recognize one of them right away.

  Adam.

  He’s nearly out of the frame, standing next to the pool table with a cue in his hand. The muscles in his arm look taut beneath his t-shirt, like he’s tense. Brown hair is curling onto his brow, and his golden eyes are fixed on Colleen.

  I knew it. I’ve seen this photo before—it showed up on my feed right after it was posted. This confirms it. Adam knew Colleen. More than that, he was with her on the night she died.

  I leave Colleen’s page and type Adam Cole into the search bar. His face pops up at the top of my results. There isn’t much on his profile: just a few pictures of him with some of the other Rooks. I enlarge one shot of Adam with two other guys. I recognize Max, Serena’s boyfriend, with his sun-kissed hair and perfect smile. There’s another familiar face in the picture too—the same guy who was caught in the background of Colleen’s last selfie. All three boys stare back at me, grinning out from their frozen world.

  I click the image so that their tagged names appear.

  Adam Cole, Max Grayson, and Tommy Drummond.

  Tommy. The boy with dark, scruffy hair and sunken shadows beneath his eyes.

  That’s him. All three people mentioned by Kate just so happen to be pictured together.

  Before I lose my nerve, I type a new message on my phone and hit send.

  ADAM

  It’s dark by the time I notice her message.

  Hey, Adam. Can we meet?—Jenna.

  Just seeing her name makes my heart thump harder in my chest. It’s funny, but despite the impact she’s made on me, I barely remember her being there that day. She’s merged with the memory of tangled fishing net and seaweed wrapped around Colleen O’Dell’s body. Just thinking about it, I can almost feel the light of dawn stinging my eyes, still bleary from the alcohol I’d consumed in the hours before. I can almost feel the weight of her lifeless body in my arms and the tide pulling at my shins.

  It was a dumb move giving Jenna my number. I still don’t know why I did. Maybe I was caught up in t
he moment. Or it could have been the way she looked at me like I was honest. The way she made me feel like I wasn’t drowning.

  I stare at my phone, fumbling for something to say back to her.

  I could spew some long-ass response, asking why she wants to meet, pretending like I don’t already know. But I just type back, Yeah. Where?

  Rookwood Beach? I can come now, if you’re free?

  Yeah. I’m free.

  I get up from the couch. I’d almost managed to mute the sounds of the party starting up around me. But as soon as I move, I’m back in the room. Music, voices, white noise, and thick, smoky air. The cabin is big enough to hold a party but small enough and deep enough into the forest to not look suspicious to the Rookwood groundskeeper. Tommy, Max, and I found it last year, covered in climbing ivy and buried in the evergreens that envelop the school. It had probably been nice back in its day, all oak paneling and expensive looking, like Rookwood was before the school took it over. I figure after the estate was abandoned, the hunting cabin was left to ruin. It was ours for the taking, because no one else wanted it. Like us. The cabin was just another Rook.

  Tommy looks up from the couch, black hair falling into his eyes. “Where are you going?”

  “Out. I’ll be back.”

  He doesn’t need more than that. If he knew I was meeting a Preston girl, he’d probably try to stop me. I can read his body language: he’s on edge. He looks around, noticing Max across the room. Serena’s curtain of dark hair covers Max’s face; she’s on his lap, kissing him, marking her territory. Her friends are around too, playing beer pong with some of the guys.

  I leave the cabin and step into the night. No one else asks where I’m going.

  I jog through the shadowy forest, knowing exactly how to navigate the uneven ground from years of practice. I head downhill along a rough path toward the shore. The air is cold, colder than it has been in months.

  As the path levels, the dirt underfoot gives way to pebbles. Ahead, the moonlight reflects off the water. She’s there, standing on the shoreline, looking out at the inky ocean. The water has mostly disappeared in the darkness, but its constant hiss and crash is still there.

  She turns, and the breeze moves through her hair.

  I pick up my pace. “Hey.”

  “Hi. Thanks for coming.” The wind carries the scent of her sugary shampoo to me, but she keeps her distance.

  She’s guarded with me now, not like she was when we saw each other before. The compassion in her voice is gone.

  “You said you didn’t know Colleen.” She jumps straight into it.

  It stuns me for a second.

  “Is that true?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I hesitate, glad that the surging ocean buffers the silence.

  She holds up her phone, and I’m momentarily blinded by the bright screen light. It’s a picture of Colleen at the cabin.

  “This was the last night Colleen was seen alive,” she says. Her eyes are focused on me, and her mouth is tight.

  My gut twists at the sharpness of her tone. It shouldn’t be like this, not with her. I look into her eyes, trying not to break.

  “You knew Colleen.” The mistrust in her voice is like a knife through my rib cage.

  I steel myself, bracing for what’s coming.

  Her fingers move quickly over her phone’s screen, and the next thing I know, she’s zoomed in on me. In the picture, I’m staring at Colleen.

  “I didn’t know her well,” I mutter.

  “She came to your parties a lot.”

  “A lot of people come to our parties a lot.”

  “You’re looking right at her in the picture.” She angles her phone to my line of vision.

  “I see that. Doesn’t mean I remember it.”

  She slips her phone into her messenger bag and folds her arms across her chest. “If you know anything,” she prompts, “anything at all...”

  “I don’t.”

  “My friend Hollie is going through hell right now. Everyone thinks she had something to do with Colleen’s death. Even the police are looking at her.”

  “Maybe she did it.”

  Her lips press together. “She didn’t. I know she didn’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know Hollie. She’s not a killer.”

  I draw in a breath and say nothing.

  “Colleen was at Rookwood on the night she disappeared.”

  I keep my voice even. “I see that.”

  “Do you know anything?” She clasps her hands together, pleading. “Did you see anything?”

  I swallow hard. “I don’t remember her being there.”

  “Maybe we’re not friends,” she says, “me and you. I get that. I get that you don’t need to tell me anything. You don’t owe me anything. But, that day, the day that you found Colleen, we went through that together.”

  I look down at the dark pebbles.

  “I saw it, Adam,” she carries on. “I saw how desperately you tried to save her. She was murdered, and there needs to be justice. I know you know that too.”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “Earlier you said there was more you could have done. What did you mean by that?” She reaches out and touches my hand. Her fingers fold around mine, and I let my thumb rest on hers, feeling her cool skin beneath mine.

  My heart thumps hard in my chest. “I don’t know. Maybe if I’d found her sooner...”

  Her fingers slip from mine, and she rubs her hand over her eyes.

  “Maybe if I’d gotten to her faster...”

  “Okay,” she says at last. She believes me. The unwavering resolve she’d had a few minutes ago is starting to crumble. She’s backtracking now. “Okay. I just thought maybe...”

  “Maybe what?” I press.

  “I thought maybe you knew something.”

  “I don’t.” The words fall out so easily, it almost surprises me.

  She’s searching my eyes in the moonlight, and I fight the urge to look away. I hate myself for doing this to her.

  “Who’s Tommy Drummond?”

  “Tommy?” My stomach drops at the mention of his name. “One of the guys at Rookwood. Why?”

  “I’ve heard his name, that’s all.”

  “Yeah? From who?”

  She shrugs.

  My mind is racing, the thoughts coming too fast for me to catch. “I should go,” I tell her. My voice sounds hoarse, rough from the salty air. “I’m sorry I can’t help your friend.”

  She doesn’t respond.

  * * *

  “Tommy. What are you doing, man? It’s the middle of the night.”

  He’s out of bed. A lanky silhouette in the darkness of our room. He’s pulling off his bedsheets, bunching them into a ball. “Nothing. I just spilled some water.”

  I sit upright.

  “Oh. You okay?” I ask.

  “Go back to sleep.” He doesn’t look at me. He’s trying to get the standard-issue blue cover off his duvet, fiddling clumsily with the buttons.

  “You need some help?”

  “No. It’s fine. Just go back to sleep, Adam. I’m going to do a load of laundry before any of the guys wake up.”

  “The laundry room is locked. Hank always closes up after lights out.”

  There’s moonlight leaking in through the thin curtains, and I watch him.

  I don’t know at what point Tommy and I became friends. It happened over time, without me even realizing it. When you share a bedroom with someone for 365 days out of the year, your lives start merging without you even noticing. After a couple hundred days, you realize that you know more about each other than you know about anyone else. You start keeping each other’s secrets as
well as you keep your own.

  Tommy kicks the low bed frame. “Damn it,” he mutters. The bundle of sheets drops from his arms and tumbles onto the floorboards.

  I heave myself out of bed. “It’s okay. The lock is easy to pick. I had to go in there one time when I left my clothes in one of the dryers.”

  I help him gather the sheets, and we tread carefully from our room. The halls are dark, with a couple of night-lights plugged into the walls to spotlight a path. Health and safety precautions, probably. We walk in silence, and I jimmy open the laundry room door with a paper clip.

  Tommy flips the light switch, and suddenly everything is painfully bright. I wait on the edge of the room while he fills the washing machine and pours in a whole lot of detergent.

  I don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

  As we pad back to our room, I think about asking him if he wants to talk about it. But I lose my nerve. It’s not my business to know what’s going on in his head. It’s just my secret to keep now.

  I’ll never tell anyone about tonight. Or about any of the other nights. Tommy doesn’t ask me not to tell the others. He doesn’t have to.

  He won’t tell them any of my stuff, either. Like the time he walked in on me bawling my eyes out in the dorm after a call with my dad. I told Tommy about my mom that day, and he helped me drag the wardrobe six inches to the left to cover the hole I punched through the plasterboard.

  He never breathed a word. I know he didn’t.

  Because Tommy’s pretty damn good at keeping secrets.

  But then, so am I.

  To: STUDENTS

  From: PRESTON PREPARATORY SCHOOL

  Subject: Memorial Reminder

  To all students,

  Following the tragic passing of senior Colleen O’Dell, we will be holding a memorial in the Main Hall at 12:30 p.m. this afternoon, Monday, October 8th. All classes will be canceled today, to resume as normal on Tuesday, October 9th. As was the case last week, our grief counselor, Dr. Emily Patterson, will be on site and taking appointments between the hours of 9:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. Please contact Reception ex 201 to reserve a slot.

  As mentioned in my preliminary email last week, today will be a chance for all students, parents, staff, and alumni to join together in memory of our friend Colleen.