Gideon squints at me hard before his shoulders fall. “You look really pretty, Cass.” And he might as well have said, You’re dead on the inside, Cass. He swivels around and heads for the steps.
My heart slithers down to my feet. He can’t leave this way. “Where are you going?” I shout, scampering after him in my bare feet.
He stops in the driveway. “To Seth’s place. Are you coming?”
I stand before him, my eyes drifting to the half-open door, then back to his pleading expression. If I tell him, maybe I’ll end up in prison. Maybe Gideon will hate me even more. Maybe he’ll find some way to forgive me and help prove my innocence. The list of maybes is infinite.
But if I don’t tell him, there’s only one outcome: he’ll walk down that driveway and never show up on my doorstep again.
And I guess that’s the thing I fear more than any of it. I blow out a long breath, rustling my perfectly curled hair. “Look, I’ll tell you how I know. But you’re coming with me.”
Gideon’s brow furrows and then softens. “Fine,” he says, motioning to the door. “Lead the way.”
I peer down at my funeral attire. “I need to change first.”
15
Two minutes later, jeans and a ratty T-shirt replace my dress. I shrug on a hoodie, tie my hair back, and dash out the door.
Gideon is waiting in the driveway. “Okay, talk. Where are we going?”
“First, to get shovels.” I hurry around to the side door, and Gideon follows me inside the dark, musty garage.
“Why do we need shovels?” he asks as I push one into his hands. I grab the second shovel, and the moment seems so insane that a chuckle escapes my lips. Here we are in the most grievous situation of our lives, yet we’re both holding shovels, like nothing has changed since we were ten years old.
He flashes an incredulous expression and darts out the door, shovel in hand.
I follow. “Because I know where Brandon’s hiding spot is.” I tug out the crinkled map with the red circle and point. “That’s where we’re headed. He was acting strange during the search on Saturday. He actually pulled me away from my designated area.”
Gideon stops to raise his brows at me. Then he marches, pushing and hitting at branches as he crosses them. “I still don’t understand why you’re so certain he killed Melody.”
“Giddy.” I pull at his arm and this time, he doesn’t wrench away. “I should’ve told you this before. But this person is dangerous.”
Gideon spins around, wariness crinkling the corners of his eyes. Sighing, he lets the metal end of the shovel sink into the dirt. “Cass, I know I haven’t been there for you with whatever you’re going through. But I’m here now. If I’m going to help you, I need to know what you’re hiding.”
I shake my head. “You’ll think I’m horrible.” A squirrel chitters nearby, and it sounds like laughter, mocking me.
Gideon drops the shovel and places both hands on my shoulders. “I’d never think that. Go on, tell me.”
I twist my lips and toss my shovel to the ground. “In September, I put my name in for varsity captain.”
His head tips back. “I didn’t know that.”
I tuck my hands inside the kangaroo pocket of my sweatshirt, curling my fists. “It didn’t end favorably for me. But that’s not the only reason I didn’t tell you.”
My hands fidget inside the pocket, and Gideon digs his fingers inside to hold them. The warmth of his hands settles me, and words begin tumbling from my mouth. Everything. The vote. Melody. The fire.
Gideon listens intently, his eyes fixed on mine. His fingers run over my palms as I get to the part about leaving the portable classroom a pillar of smoke.
His expression turns grave and his hands fall still. “You just let it burn?”
“She had a photo that”—I swallow—“looked like I’d started a fire in a room I wasn’t even supposed to be in. She said if I called or if I told anyone, she’d say she walked in on me starting the fire.” My eyes flood. “No one would’ve believed me over her. Not after what happened to Sara.”
Gideon’s gaze absorbs mine. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“Because you would’ve done the right thing!” Shame rushes into my cheeks. “You think everyone is like you, Giddy,” I say quieter. “You would’ve told the cops it was Melody. You would’ve trusted them. And they would’ve taken one look at that Fire Girl photo and trusted Melody.”
“But I could’ve been there for you. You’ve been all alone.”
“I know. I just—” I let Melody frighten me into keeping my mouth shut. Because I believed her. I believed everyone in town would trust her word over mine. Just like sometimes I believe she’s right about what happened to her cousin. Seeing the flames on Election Day, feeling the heat, brought some of it back.
And I think, deep down, I wanted to let Melody burn the way her cousin did.
Gideon’s head tilts. “I still don’t understand what all this has to do with Brandon.”
“It was that party a couple weeks back. When you guys thought Brandon and I were getting along so well.”
Gideon’s shoulders stiffen. A guarded look crosses his face.
“Look, nothing happened. We just talked. But it was what we talked about that has me positive he’s guilty.”
“Go on.”
“We talked about killing Melody Davenport.”
He doesn’t respond, which is the worst response.
I shake my head. “I know how it sounds. But I was angry at her and waiting on pins and needles for her to start passing that photo around. I didn’t mean anything I said to Brandon.”
“What did he have against Melody?” Gideon’s head drifts slowly away from mine, and his hands slip from my sweatshirt pockets.
“Apparently, she was responsible for breaking him and Laura up. I thought he was bitter-babbling, like I was. At the diner, that notebook we were passing back and forth—it’s sick, I know. But it was a joke. At least, I thought it was. What happened in the woods, though, was exactly like what I wrote down in the notebook.” I pull out my phone and hand it to him, letting him scroll through the anonymous messages. “And Brandon took the notebook. He’s using that and the photo to silence me.”
Gideon hands back the phone, his eyes glazed over. “I guess this explains why you biked up to the abandoned mill.”
“I’m so sorry. I…didn’t want to get you involved.”