“Yeah, I know. You win.”
“I didn’t—”
“Leave me alone.” I brush past her, hurrying out the back doors. The outside air is frigid, but I don’t care. Its effect is numbing, and right now I want to be numb. I stand at the far end of the courtyard, shins scraping against the low brick wall, screaming into my hands through bared teeth. The tears fall, creating salty pools in my open palms.
“Cass? Are you okay?”
Emily. Can’t she see I need to be alone? But her hand comes to rest on my back, and I just keep crying.
The bell rings to end lunch, and her hand remains there. I’ve become used to being alone the past two weeks. But Emily cares that I’m hurting more than she cares about being on time for class. Like Gideon used to.
Once I’ve composed myself, Emily helps me to the bathroom. Our history decade project is scheduled for this period, so I have to clean up. I close myself inside a stall, taking slow, deep breaths. “How are you doing, Cass?” she calls through the stall door.
The tardy bell has long since rung, and if we don’t hurry, we’ll get a zero. I clear the lump from my throat and reply, “I’m okay. Just a sec.”
I come out, staring straight down at the sink while I wash my hands.
“I’m guessing she told you something about Gideon,” Emily says. My gaping eyes dart to each stall in alarm, and she reassures me, “It’s empty.” Her gaze falls from the scratched opaque mirror. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I thought you might like to get it out. But you don’t have to.”
“Thanks.” I rub at my red, makeup-smudged eyes. “I want to tell you. But let’s get this presentation over with first. How do I look?” I turn to face her with a warped, doubtful smile.
“Cass. You always look amazing. No wonder Peter’s in love with you. But if we’re going to get there before class ends, we’ll have to run.”
I join her in sprinting through the hall to U.S. History, not sparing a moment to blush over the Peter comment. Emily holds the large poster board of the 1930s. It flaps against her side as she scuttles along, huffing every couple of yards. I force a laugh to match Emily’s as we invent our excuse seconds before diving into the room.
I settle into my seat, tired and achy. Not from the hallway sprint—from knowing I can’t ever open up to Emily. Not really. She’s been so kind to me, but the only way to stop all of this and get Gideon back in my life is to smash her heart. Her brother is a murderer, and I have to be the one to break it to the world.
Today.
21
The photograph of Melody is stowed in the pocket of my backpack, and I still have that yearbook photo on my phone. Since Gideon can’t seem to go two steps without Gracie Davenport pasted to his side, I’ll have to take my chances talking to the detectives without him.
After history, I grab my things from my locker and whirl around, crashing right into someone. My books plummet to the floor, and everyone in hearing distance turns to stare at me for the second time today. Enormous blue doll eyes zip toward me from every angle and I shut mine to blot them out. I take an uneven breath and mutter, “Sorry.” Then I stoop to help whoever’s picking up my books.
“It’s fine. Here.” The voice sets my skin aflame. The bustling hall comes to a blurring stop as I look up at Gideon’s dark eyes and scruffy jaw. I accept the book, and our fingers brush. Gideon’s cheeks blush pink against his olive skin.
“Giddy,” I say breathily, wanting to take in everything about him. But he won’t make eye contact. He rubs his hands together, like he can’t wait to wash off the filth.
“Hey. How are you?” He mumbles the words like a kid forced to talk to an ancient relative. Bags still line his eyes, and his jeans sag. The old Cass would’ve told the old Giddy to go eat his lunch. But I don’t. The nickname doesn’t even fit him anymore. This person lacks every trace of Giddy’s playful nature.
“I have to talk to you.” I lower my voice. “It’s about Seth.”
“Not here, Cass.” He attempts to sweep past me, but I sidestep in front of him. When I don’t budge, he relents, turning into a nearby corner of the hallway.
I follow close behind. “Where would we talk about it? You avoid me all the time. You never return my texts anymore. Gideon”—his full name sounds wrong when I say it aloud—“I’m sorry about everything. I have to live with my mistakes every day.”
He stays silent, tugging on the strings hanging from the neck of his green hoodie.
I huff through my teeth. “I have proof Seth was stalking Melody.”
Gideon’s eyes widen. “What do you have?”
“Photos. I’ll show you in the truck. Come on.”
He pauses, clearly still unsure I can be trusted. My stomach pinches. I never imagined he, of all people, could ever feel this way about me too. Then he exhales loudly and hurries beside me toward the front doors of the school. “How did you get them?”
“I went in his room and took them.”
“Aren’t you afraid of what he’ll do when he realizes they’re gone?” He pushes a door open with one arm, letting me pass.
“Of course, but I refuse to mess up again. I’ve got to make sure this guy can’t hurt anyone else.” The icy-cold air hits us, and I wrap my arms around myself.
“So then, you’ll show the detectives the threats?”
I bite my lip. “I can’t. When they read the notebook, I’ll look even guiltier than Seth. And the cops forgot all about the fire in the portable. If they see the photo—with my history…”
Gideon’s glance is sharp. “Seth is going to turn over that stuff anyway. As a last-ditch effort to save himself.”
I shake my head. I’ve thought about this. “The notebook, yes, but not the photo. That would be as good as admitting he had Melody’s phone.”
“So your grand plan is to give them half the truth.” Gideon sighs. I can feel him drawing further away. We get into his truck and he calls the detectives.
As he speaks to Detective Reyes, my head swirls. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should just hand over my phone and trust the detectives.
Or maybe that’s the worst thing I could do.
Gideon hangs up, tossing his phone onto the center console. “They want us to meet them at the diner.” He starts the engine. We turn onto the road leading from the school and the truck lurches over a pothole, messing with my nervous stomach. I force myself to breathe slowly and steadily, but Gideon slaps one hand down firmly on the steering wheel. “Cass, if you withhold evidence, you’re not letting the cops do their jobs.”