This Is Why We Lie

by Gabriella Lepore

  Through the partition window, I see Principal Lomax stand. A moment later, her office door opens. “Adam.” She smiles warmly at me. “We’re ready for you now.”

  I knock back the water and crumple the plastic cup before tossing it into the wastepaper basket. Then, just like that, I’m in the office, sitting with the two cops, listening to the buzz of the air conditioner. Principal Lomax has pulled her chair back, giving us some space without actually leaving the room.

  “Adam Cole.” The man jumps right into it. “I’m Detective Drew Felton. We’ve met before.” He’s balding, in his midfifties, easy. This isn’t his first rodeo. “And this is my colleague, Detective Kate Dallas.” Jenna’s aunt offers me a thin smile. “We’re just here to ask you a couple more questions about your friend Max Grayson.”

  “Alright.” I rub the back of my neck. “But don’t I need a lawyer present for this?”

  Felton’s dark eyes bore into me. “This is just an informal chat, son.”

  “Just a couple of questions,” Dallas echoes.

  “Your principal is welcome to sit in if that would make you more comfortable,” Felton continues. “You are still a minor, after all.”

  Principal Lomax speaks up. “Adam, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to stay right here during the interview.”

  “Yeah.” I scratch at the clammy skin on my palms as I glance across the office. Principal Lomax’s chair is pulled so far into the corner that she’s nearly touching the hydrangea. But she’s here.

  That’s good. I need someone right now. Someone I trust.

  “Yeah, no problem,” I say.

  Jenna’s aunt speaks again. “As Detective Felton said, I’m Detective Kate Dallas.”

  I stare evenly back at her.

  She clears her throat. “Am I right in saying that you and Max Grayson were close friends?” She’s holding a little notepad, ready to jot down every bombshell I drop.

  “Yeah, we were.”

  “And, to confirm, it was your car, a 1998 Dodge Aries, that Max’s body was recovered from on Saturday?”

  Her words are cold and flat. Principal Lomax shoots me a sympathetic look, but I get it. I know the drill. This isn’t my first rodeo, either.

  “Yeah, it was my car.”

  Dallas leans back in her seat. “Tell us, Adam, who else would have—or could have—had access to your motor vehicle during the early hours of Saturday morning?”

  “Pretty much anyone.” It only takes a second to weigh up my options. If I tell them about the parties we’ve been having at the cabin, it’ll all be over, for everyone.

  I’m glad.

  Nothing good came of that damn cabin anyway. I want it gone.

  “We were having a party,” I say, “in the forest. I left my keys in the abandoned hunting cabin. Anyone who was at the party could have taken them.”

  In the corner, Principal Lomax cringes. I can practically feel the shame emitting from her. This wouldn’t reflect well on her, or the initiative of the school. Parties taking place on a lockdown campus? Not good.

  The cops look between each other.

  “We’ve spoken to a lot of Max’s friends,” Felton responds. He’s eyeballing me. “No one has mentioned a party.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “No kidding? I bet if it was their asses on the chopping block they’d be singing like canaries too.”

  Dallas leans forward. “Can you tell us the names of all the people who attended this party?” There’s a lilt to her voice. Alleged party is what she wants to say. She probably thinks I’ll claim just about anything at this point, if it means I’ve got a shot at saving myself.

  “No,” I tell her. “I can’t do that.”

  Felton gives a lazy smirk. “Son, you need to start talking.”

  I’m not your son. That’s my default response. But I keep my mouth shut.

  Dallas’s focus moves to Principal Lomax. “How are parties taking place at this school? Where is the security to prevent this?”

  Principal Lomax struggles for words. “I can assure you, detectives, that our night security guard knows nothing about this, and we will put immediate strategies in place to stop this from—”

  “It’s not her fault,” I interrupt. “It’s not the school’s fault. We’re pretty good at covering our tracks.”

  Their attention is back on me.

  “So, tell us, Adam,” Felton carries on. “What was going on at this party? Were kids drinking alcohol? Taking drugs?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you were there?”

  “For some of it, yeah.”

  He rubs his jaw. “And you say you left your keys there?”

  “Yes.”

  He doesn’t buy it. Neither of them does.

  Felton is losing patience with me. His moustache twitches. “A boy died on Saturday. Do you understand the severity of this?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. He was my best friend.” My chest tightens as I say the words. I clench my teeth.

  “Then cooperate. This is a murder investigation, and right now you’re looking like a suspect.”

  Principal Lomax stands abruptly. “I think that’s enough. Any further questions will require a lawyer to be present.”

  I stand, too. “I didn’t kill Max.” My words bounce off the walls. “I know you think I did. I know how it looks with my car and all, but I didn’t do it. And I don’t know who did, either.”

  The two detectives watch me. I can read their expressions, and they’re right.

  Even if I did know who killed Max, there’s not a chance in hell I’d tell them.

  ADAM: Cops came to the school today. Your aunt and the other guy. They questioned me about Max.

  JENNA: And...?

  ADAM: Meet?

  JENNA

  I texted Kate on my way to Rookwood Beach and told her I’d be home late. I lied and said I was working on a science project at school. I never used to lie to Kate. Now, it’s become such a habit that I almost don’t realize I’m doing it.

  Don’t be too late, she writes back. We need to talk.

  Great.

  When I arrive at the beach, Adam is walking across the rocks from the opposite direction.

  I pull him into a hug as soon as I reach him. His lips brush against mine, and a shiver moves over me. A good shiver. The kind that makes my heart skip a beat.

  Whatever rumors have been spread about him, they’re wrong. I know they’re wrong.

  We sit on the shoreline, watching the tide drag in and out. I lean against his shoulder, my fingers entwined with his. The sun has slipped behind a bank of rain clouds, looming gray overhead.

  Adam runs his knuckles along the damp pebbles. “The cops think I killed Max.”

  I look up and study his profile.

  “Because it was my car,” he adds. “They think I did it.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “That there was a party and anyone could have taken my keys.”

  I trail my thumb along his palm. “Well, it’s true.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I told them.”

  “Did they accept it?”

  He shrugs. “No. Probably not. But I haven’t been arrested yet.”

  I stare at the horizon. It’s fuzzy out there, as though the rain has already started far off in the distance.

  “The school called my dad.” Adam’s voice gets lost somewhere, tangled in the breeze. “It must be serious if they’re getting him involved.”

  “Why is that a bad thing?”

  He sighs deeply. “My dad doesn’t need to be part of this. He’ll probably think I did it.” The sentence is punctuated with a desolate laugh.

  “He’s your dad. He won’t think that. Maybe he can help.”

  “Not much chance of that. You don’t know my dad.
The guy doesn’t exactly have a high opinion of me.” He catches my gaze and smiles ruefully.

  “What do you mean?”

  When he doesn’t respond, I think back to Imogen’s words from earlier today. About Adam’s mom. It was just a senseless rumor. A stupid, senseless rumor that I shouldn’t even be giving a second thought to.

  “What happened between you and your dad?”

  All of a sudden, his eyes are hard. “We don’t get along. He skipped out on my mom and me when I was a kid. I don’t see the guy anymore.”

  “What about your mom?” The question slips from my lips too fast.

  His whole body seems to tense in response.

  I sit up straighter. “You don’t have to tell me anything if—”

  “They think I killed my mother,” he mutters into the breeze.

  I grope for a reply. It’s one thing hearing a rumor from Imogen, certified gossip, but to hear him say these words, like he’s not even shocked by them? He carries on before I have a chance to string together a response.

  “I didn’t kill my mom.”

  I shake my head. “Of course. I never believed it—”

  “Someone told you?”

  I take a shaky breath.

  “Was it Colleen? Did Colleen tell you I did?”

  My stomach flips at the mention of her name. “What do you mean? How is Colleen involved in this?”

  “After she lost it with Max,” he says. “The night she disappeared. She threatened to tell people that I killed my mother. She wanted to hit me hard, I figure.”

  “Wait...” I blink back at him, trying to organize my racing thoughts. “Colleen threatened you on the night she was murdered? I thought she threatened Max?”

  “Yeah. Me, Max, and Tommy. She went up against all of us.”

  A knot of fear builds inside my chest. Suddenly, I remember seeing marks on his arm right after we found Colleen. Scratch marks. Like fingernails.

  My hand slips from his, and I squeeze my eyes shut. It was his car. Someone drove his car into the harbor, with Max in the passenger seat.

  Colleen threatened Adam...

  He went after Max too.

  “Are you okay?” His fingers graze mine.

  I shrink away.

  He pulls his hand back, too. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to...” He trails off.

  I jump to my feet. “No. I’m sorry.” I trip over my words. “I just remembered... I have to...” I don’t finish the sentence.

  He lowers his gaze and nods.

  I don’t look back as I stumble across the beach.

  * * *

  Focusing my attention on some mindless TV show seemed like a good idea an hour ago. It seemed like the perfect way to distract myself from the grim thoughts churning on a loop in my brain. But it doesn’t work. I just stare at the screen, hugging a cushion to my chest as I watch some impossibly pretty girl tell an impossibly pretty guy that she’s into him. I try not to think about Adam. And I kid myself that it’s working.

  “Jenna, we need to talk.”

  Kate’s voice startles me. She paces into the living room. Judging by the tension in her expression, whatever she’s about to talk to me about isn’t good.

  “That boy you were with on Friday night, after Colleen O’Dell’s vigil.”

  I pause the TV and try to find my voice. “Adam?”

  “Yes. Adam. I take it you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with the boys from Rookwood?” She arches an eyebrow—a disapproving eyebrow.

  My throat feels dry all of a sudden. “Not all of them. Just him.”

  “Have you heard anything about parties taking place on Rookwood’s campus?”

  I stare down at the TV remote in my hands because I can’t bring myself to look at Kate. “Yes. There are parties.”

  “Right.” Her voice is tense. “And do you go to these parties?”

  “No,” I say, quickly. My cheeks start to feel hot. “I’ve been to some, but not lately.”

  “I see.” She folds her arms.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Two kids have died in a matter of weeks,” Kate mutters. “And they’re both connected to that damn school. The last thing I need right now is for you to get caught up in that, Jenna.”

  “I know.” I poke absently at the buttons on the remote. “I shouldn’t have gone. Believe me, I won’t be going again.”

  “You’re damn right you shouldn’t have gone.”

  “I should have told you,” I add.

  “Yes. You should have.”

  I force myself to meet her eyes. “Kate?”

  She stares back at me, waiting.

  “They’re connected, aren’t they? Max and Colleen, their deaths are connected.”

  She doesn’t reply.

  “Who do you think did it?”

  She sighs and runs her fingers across her brow. “I don’t have the answer to that yet.”

  “Who do you think?” I press.

  “Two kids died,” she says. “They knew each other, and, by the looks of things, they spent a lot of time together. Someone, for whatever reason, wanted them gone. When we find a motive, we find the person.”

  “So, that’s it? You just need to find the motive that connects them?”

  She lowers her gaze. “That about sums it up.”

  At least that answers one question: the detectives are still looking into possible motives beyond Hollie’s argument with Colleen. Well, I know motives. I know a few. Serena’s, Adam’s—they’re connected to both Colleen and Max.

  I should be telling Kate this. I should have told her days ago.

  But something still doesn’t feel right.

  As much as I want to come clean to Kate, and I owe her that respect, I can’t bring myself to say their names.

  Not yet.

  There’s something I’m missing. I know it.

  ADAM

  I stare at my reflection in the grimy mirror.

  Sometimes, I feel like I don’t know myself. The person in the mirror is just this shell, this skin that I walk around in. It’s like I’m living in some screwed-up matrix, where the guy in the mirror isn’t who I think he is. He can’t be trusted.

  Max. Tommy. Jenna. Sooner or later, they all lose trust in me.

  Just like my dad did.

  I don’t know how things got so bad between me and him. He’s not like Tommy’s dad. He never was. But he closed the door on me, that’s for sure. Maybe I’m just a painful memory for him, a reminder of his broken past. A reminder of a life he’d rather erase.

  Or maybe it’s more than that. It’s crossed my mind plenty of times over the years, during those long nights staring up into the darkness. Maybe he thinks I killed her. Maybe he thinks I’m too far gone to save.

  Maybe I think that, too.

  I saw the look in Jenna’s eyes when I told her about Colleen threatening me. I saw the fear.

  She thinks I killed Colleen. She thinks I killed Max too. Because who else had more motive than me? Maybe I got into a fight with Max that night, and I lost it with him. I’d buy that.

  My reflection stares back at me.

  I want to call Jenna. I want to beg her to hear me out. Beg her to come back and forgive me for the things I didn’t do. I want her to look at me the way she did before, because I care about her. I let myself care about her.

  But I won’t call her.

  Just like I don’t call my dad.

  I don’t want them to see that I’m hurting. I’m too proud for that.

  I figure that’s how I ended up at Rookwood.

  IMOGEN: Has anyone heard from Serena?

  BRIANNA: She hasn’t responded to my texts.

  IMOGEN: Should we go to her house?

  BRIANNA: No way. She’s being such a bitch. I can’t.


  IMOGEN: Bri. Come on. She’s just lost her boyfriend.

  BRIANNA: Wait. She’s just replied to my DM. She says she doesn’t want to talk to anyone. See? Bitch.

  JENNA

  It takes me a moment to realize that Serena has removed herself from the group chat.

  I’m already at Serena’s front door by the time I read Brianna’s latest message. Too late to turn back now. Besides, maybe showing up at Serena’s house is exactly what she needs.

  One thing’s for sure, I need answers.

  I press the buzzer and wait.

  A moment later, a shadow appears behind the frosted glass and Serena opens the door.

  Her dark hair is rumpled, and her eyes look red and tired.

  “Hey, Jenna,” she murmurs.

  “Hey.” I give her a hug. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see anyone, but...”

  “I saw you from my window,” she says in a fragile voice. “I don’t mind if it’s just you.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  She shrugs. “Like shit.”

  “What happened at school yesterday? You left early. Imogen was looking for you at lunch.”

  “Yeah. I ditched after first period. I couldn’t stand being around everyone, all those fakes feeling sorry for me, pretending they actually give a shit.” She takes a shaky breath. “You wanna come in?”

  I follow her inside. “They do care, Serena. Brianna and Imogen are really worried about you. We all are. Maybe you should text them, just to let them know you’re okay.”

  She scoffs as we head upstairs. “Yeah, everyone’s so worried. So goddamn worried.”

  I trail silently behind her, my fingers skimming along the staircase banister.

  When we reach her room, Serena sinks onto the bed and pulls a cushion to her chest. “I’m mad at everyone, Jenna. I hate feeling this way, but I’m just so mad. I’m even mad at him.”

  I close the door and perch on the edge of her bed. “Who? Max?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, you’re grieving.” I gaze around at the balled-up tissues on the nightstand and floor. “I’m sure feeling angry is part of that. It’s a healing process.”