Asher pushes me toward the door, and I have no choice but to obey. But Brandon’s voice rises over my protests. “Here. You want to see what’s in the box? Go ahead and look.” He tosses the lid to the ground, holding the open container on his lap. I wiggle out of Asher’s grip and dart toward it.
A metallic flash curls my stomach. Inside is the same gleaming thing Brandon held between his fingers outside the diner on Friday. When I see a small, silver bracelet nestled into the bottom corner, my breath catches.
There’s a charm, but it isn’t a musical note; it’s a heart, engraved with Love Brandon.
I was so certain it would be the gold necklace—the one from the posters and the news—that I simply stare at the bracelet, blinking to make sure it’s not some trick of the mind.
“I brought it here to show your brother. It’s for Laura.”
A present for Laura. A present he didn’t want me to see because he knew I’d judge him for trying to win her back. My mind continues reeling, trying to work out how it could be anything but Melody’s necklace. I don’t dare touch it. And I don’t dare look either boy in the eye.
“I-I’m sorry.” My gaze falls to my feet.
No one responds. Brandon looks at me, his body slumped in exhaustion, eyes wide with fear. Asher stares at the wall. I stand helpless, a familiar desire seeping into my veins.
That desire to watch something burn.
* * *
It’s an uncharacteristically cold October in Maribel. Even our sturdy Douglas fir trees seem unprepared as wind knocks their needles to the ground and that frosted layer lingers into late morning.
As kids, Gideon and I despised the colder months because it meant our hideout would be buried beneath the pillows of white. As we’ve grown older and our ventures to the hideout have grown fewer, our hatred has withered into a dull resentment. The cold steals the one place we can escape together.
This year, I barely notice the cold move in. There’s nothing to share, no one to share it with.
It’s been a week since Melody’s body was discovered. The Oregon State Police investigation into the alleged homicide is well underway, but no one feels comforted. No arrests have been made, and regardless of the outcome, it’s too late for Melody. Investigators determined she died before entering the water, putting rumors that she slipped and fell into the reservoir to rest. As long as the investigation is open, the police won’t release information regarding the manner of her death, so the town has been inventing its own versions as to how she was killed. One story claims she was bludgeoned. Another claims her throat was cut. With every version, I remember the chilling sounds from that day. They flood my mind and haunt my sleep.
If there is any evidence, the police haven’t found it. The days plod by, and no leads spring up.
Apart from school and practice, I haven’t ventured from my house much. I spend any spare time with my books. Fictional worlds help take my mind off of everything from the safety of my bedroom. I can’t set foot in town and risk running into Mrs. Davenport, or Gracie. I don’t want to think about how they have to walk past Melody’s empty bedroom, knowing she’ll never sit at her desk or sleep in her bed again.
Asher’s been avoiding me ever since my charming display in the kitchen with Brandon. He decided to expedite his move to town, probably to escape me. During work hours, he hides out in his tiny office kitty-corner to Gina’s Diner. After work, he comes home and pretends I don’t exist.
Gideon refuses to speak to me. He’s upset that Seth is still free and that I’ve kept the threats from the detectives. Plus, Asher told him about the necklace fiasco. Since Gideon aided my Brandon investigation, he was humiliated by association.
I keep texting Gideon that I’ll help him look into Seth. And I push aside my nagging worries about crossing Seth’s path again. If Seth has the notebook and the Election Day photo, I’m in a world of trouble. And if he found out what I did the last time we crossed paths, two years ago, this is personal.
* * *
Monday morning, I drag myself through the double doors of the school, letting its familiar stale scent overtake me. Before I can peel off my coat, Emily, Laura, and a few others surround me.
“Isn’t it freezing out there?” asks Emily.
Laura nods. “Yeah. What is going on with this weather? No Gideon today?”
Such a natural segue. My pulse quickens as I walk, hoping for some wormhole out of here.
“Yeah, you two used to be Siamese twins,” Tina says, smacking her gum. “Is something wrong?”
When I don’t respond, Laura fills the void in the conversation in her own, special way. “He came on to you, didn’t he?” Her feigned concern floats through the air like a foul odor.
“We’re fine,” I lie. The truth is that my birthday came and went over the weekend—the big eighteen—and Gideon sent a freaking birthday card. I read the distance between us in his messily scrawled writing.
Hey Cass, hope you have a great birthday. Love, Gideon
It was my first birthday without him in twelve years. “We just… We don’t have to be together all the time.”
The bell rings, startling me. But I soon recognize its rescuing power and rush off to first period.
At morning break, I spot Gideon on my way past the open auditorium door. His words from the day of the funeral reverberate in my head: You look really pretty, Cass. But I remember his eyes glistening with disappointment. I can’t meet those eyes again, so I watch from a distance, my head partially hidden behind the door.
Gideon sits alone on the auditorium steps, handsome as usual, though thinner. Shadows fill new hollows in his cheeks and jaw. I watch a bit too long—knowing Laura and the others will probably catch me—and Gideon does nothing notable.
I’m about to tiptoe away when his head veers suddenly to one side. I follow his gaze until my eyes settle on the reason he seems so still and unoccupied.
Gideon is watching someone too.
He’s watching Gracie Davenport.
Something I can’t identify pricks up in me. Gideon stands, taking the steps down and exiting out the other set of doors, and I follow. He remains focused on Gracie’s blond head, which bobs down locker-lined Hathaway Hall. She continues toward the courtyard doors and Gideon follows behind her.
I stop at my locker and spin the combination, watching from behind its door as Gracie exits, her head downcast and her normally styled waves drooping limply in front of her face. She seems to be operating in a dream state, pushing the door open by memory. I don’t want to risk following the two of them outside on my own, but I have to know what Gideon is up to.
Emily walks by, unaware of my half-concealed presence behind my locker door. “Hey, Emily! Wait up!” Hastily, I swap out my books and slam the door. Then I scurry over to her. “Are you headed outside?” She was clearly walking toward the auditorium, but I take my chances. “Because some fresh air sounds great.” I flash her a big, fake smile.