I should be doing homework before Jake stops by, but instead I'm sitting atthe vanity in my bedroom, pressing fingers to the skin at my hairline. Thetenderness on my left temple feels as though it's going to turn into one ofthose horrible oversized pimples I get every few months or so. Whenever Ihave one I know it's all anyone can see.
I'll have to wear my hair down for a while, which is how Jake likes itanyway. My hair is the only thing I feel one hundred percent confidentabout all the time. I was at Glenn's Diner last week with my girlfriends,sitting next to Keely across from the big mirror, and she reached over andran a hand through my hair while grinning at our reflections. Can we pleasetrade? Just for a week? she said.
I smiled at her, but wished I were sitting on the other side of the table. Ihate seeing Keely and me side by side. She's so beautiful, all tawny skinand long eyelashes and Angelina Jolie lips. She's the lead character in amovie and I'm the generic best friend whose name you forget before thecredits even start rolling.
The doorbell rings, but I know better than to expect Jake upstairs rightaway. Mom's going to capture him for at least ten minutes. She can't hearenough about the Simon situation, and she'd talk about today's meetingwith Officer Budapest all night if I let her.
I separate my hair into sections and run a brush along each length. Mymind keeps going back to Simon. He'd been a constant presence around ourgroup since freshman year, but he was never one of us. He had only one realfriend, a sorta-Goth girl named Janae. I used to think they were togetheruntil Simon started asking out all my friends. Of course, none of them eversaid yes. Although last year, before she started dating Cooper, Keely gotsuper drunk at a party and let Simon kiss her for five minutes in a closet. Ittook her ages to shake him after that.
I'm not sure what Simon was thinking, to be honest. Keely has one type:jock. He should have gone for someone like Bronwyn. She's cute enough,in a quiet kind of way, with interesting gray eyes and hair that wouldprobably look great if she ever wore it down. Plus she and Simon must'vetripped over each other in honors classes all the time.
Except I got the impression today that Bronwyn didn't like Simon much.Or at all. When Officer Budapest talked about how Simon died, Bronwynlooked ... I don't know. Not sad.
A knock sounds at the door and I watch it open in the mirror. I keepbrushing my hair as Jake comes in. He pulls off his sneakers and flops onmy bed with exaggerated exhaustion, arms splayed at his sides. "Yourmom's wrung me dry, Ads. I've never met anyone who can ask the samequestion so many ways."
"Tell me about it," I say, getting up to join him. He puts an arm aroundme and I curl into his side, my head on his shoulder and my hand on hischest. We know exactly how to fit together, and I relax for the first timesince I got called into Principal Gupta's office.
I trail my fingers along his bicep. Jake's not as defined as Cooper, who'spractically a superhero with all the professional-level working out he does,but to me he's the perfect balance of muscular and lean. And he's fast, thebest running back Bayview High's seen in years. There's not the samefeeding frenzy around him as Cooper, but a few colleges are interested andhe's got a good shot at a scholarship.
"Mrs. Kelleher called me," Jake says.
My hand halts its progress up his arm as I stare at the crisp blue cotton ofhis T-shirt. "Simon's mother? Why?"
"She asked if I'd be a pallbearer at the funeral. It's gonna be Sunday,"Jake says, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. "I told her sure. Can't really sayno, can I?"
I forget sometimes that Simon and Jake used to be friends in grade schooland middle school, before Jake turned into a jock and Simon turned into ...whatever he was. Freshman year Jake made the varsity football team andstarted hanging out with Cooper, who was already a Bayview legend afteralmost pitching his middle school team to the Little League World Series.By sophomore year the two of them were basically the kings of our class,and Simon was just some weird guy Jake used to know.
I half think Simon started About That to impress Jake. Simon found outone of Jake's football rivals was behind the anonymous sexting harassmentof a bunch of junior girls and posted it on this app called After School. Itgot tons of attention for a couple of weeks, and so did Simon. Thatmight've been the first time anyone at Bayview noticed him.
Jake probably patted him on the back once and forgot about it, and Simonmoved on to bigger and better things by building his own app. Gossip as apublic service doesn't go very far, so Simon started posting things a lotpettier and more personal than the sexting scandal. Nobody thought he wasa hero anymore, but by then they were getting scared of him, and I guess forSimon that was almost as good.
Jake usually defended Simon, though, when our friends got down on himfor About That. It's not like he's lying, he'd point out. Stop doing sneakyshit and it won't be a problem.
Jake can be pretty black-and-white in his thinking sometimes. Easy whenyou never make a mistake.
"We're still headed for the beach tomorrow night, if that's okay," he tellsme now, winding my hair around his fingers. He says it like it's up to me,but we both know Jake's in charge of our social life.
"Of course," I murmur. "Who's going?" Don't say TJ.
"Cooper and Keely are supposed to, although she's not sure he's up for it.Luis and Olivia. Vanessa, Tyler, Noah, Sarah ..."Don't say TJ.
"... and TJ."
Argh. I'm not sure if it's my imagination or if TJ, who used to be on theoutskirts of our group as the new kid, has started working his way into thecenter right when I wish he'd disappear altogether. "Great," I say blandly,reaching up and kissing Jake's jawline. It's the time of day when it's a littlescratchy, which is new this year.
"Adelaide!" My mother's voice floats up the stairs. "We're heading out."She and Justin go somewhere downtown almost every night, usuallyrestaurants but sometimes clubs. Justin's only thirty and still into that wholescene. My mother enjoys it almost as much, especially when people mistakeher for being Justin's age.
"Okay!" I call, and the door slams. After a minute Jake leans down tokiss me, his hand sliding under my shirt.
A lot of people think Jake and I have been sleeping together sincefreshman year, but that's not true. He wanted to wait until after junior prom.It was a big deal; Jake rented a fancy hotel room that he filled with candlesand flowers, and bought me amazing lingerie from Victoria's Secret. Iwouldn't have minded something a little more spontaneous, I guess, but Iknow I'm beyond lucky to have a boyfriend who cares enough to plan everylast detail.
"Is this okay?" Jake's eyes scan my face. "Or would you rather just hangout?" His brows rise like it's a real question, but his hand keeps inchinglower.
I never turn Jake down. It's like my mother said when she first took meto get birth control: if you say no too much, pretty soon someone else willsay yes. Anyway, I want it as much as he does. I live for these moments ofcloseness with Jake; I'd crawl inside him if I could.
"More than okay," I say, and pull him on top of me.
Nate
Thursday, September 27, 8:00 p.m.
I live in that house. The one people drive past and say, I can't believesomeone actually lives there. We do, although "living" might be a stretch.I'm gone as much as possible and my dad's half-dead.
Our house is on the far edge of Bayview, the kind of shitty ranch richpeople buy to tear down. Small and ugly, with only one window in front.The chimney's been crumbling since I was ten. Seven years later everythingelse is joining it: the paint's peeling, shutters are hanging off, the concretesteps in front are cracked wide open. The yard's just as bad. The grass isalmost knee-high and yellow after the summer drought. I used to mow it,sometimes, until it hit me that yard work is a waste of time that never ends.My father's passed out on the couch when I get inside, an empty bottle ofSeagram's in front of him. Dad considers it a stroke of luck that he fell off aladder during a roofing job a few years ago, while he was still a functioningalcoholic. He got a workman's comp settlement and wound up disabledenough to collect social security, which is like winning the lottery for a guylike him. Now he can drink without interruption while the checks roll in.The money's not much, though. I like having cable, keeping my bike onthe road, and occasionally eating more than mac and cheese. Which is howI came to my part-time job, and why I spent four hours after school todaydistributing plastic bags full of painkillers around San Diego County.Obviously not something I should be doing, especially since I was pickedup for dealing weed over the summer and I'm on probation. But nothingelse pays as well and takes so little effort.
I head for the kitchen, open the refrigerator door, and pull out someleftover Chinese. There's a picture curling under a magnet, cracked like abroken window. My dad, my mother, and me when I was eleven, rightbefore she took off.
She was bipolar and not great about taking her meds, so it's not as thoughI had some fantastic childhood while she was around. My earliest memoryis her dropping a plate, then sitting on the floor in the middle of the pieces,crying her eyes out. Once I got off the bus to her throwing all our stuff outthe window. Lots of times she'd curl up in a corner of her bed and not movefor days.
Her manic phases were a trip, though. For my eighth birthday she tookme to a department store, handed me a cart, and told me to fill it withwhatever I wanted. When I was nine and into reptiles she surprised me bysetting up a terrarium in the living room with a bearded dragon. We called itStan after Stan Lee, and I still have it. Those things live forever.My father didn't drink as much then, so between the two of them theymanaged to get me to school and sports. Then my mother went totally offher meds and started getting into other mind-altering substances. Yeah, I'mthe asshole who deals drugs after they wrecked his mother. But to be clear: Idon't sell anything except weed and painkillers. My mother would've beenfine if she'd stayed away from cocaine.
For a while she came back every few months or so. Then once a year.The last time I saw her was when I was fourteen and my dad started fallingapart. She kept talking about this farm commune she'd moved to in Oregonand how great it was, that she'd take me and I could go to school there withall the hippie kids and grow organic berries or whatever the hell they did.She bought me a giant ice cream sundae at Glenn's Diner, like I was eightyears old, and told me all about it. You'll love it, Nathaniel. Everyone is soaccepting. Nobody labels you the way they do here.
It sounded like bullshit even then, but better than Bayview. So I packed abag, put Stan in his carrier, and waited for her on our front steps. I musthave sat there half the night, like a complete fucking loser, before it finallydawned on me she wasn't going to show.
Turned out that trip to Glenn's Diner was the last time I ever saw her.While the Chinese heats up I check on Stan, who's still got a pile ofwilted vegetables and a few live crickets from this morning. I lift the coverfrom his terrarium and he blinks up at me from his rock. Stan is pretty chilland low maintenance, which is the only reason he's managed to stay alivein this house for eight years.
"What's up, Stan?" I put him on my shoulder, grab my food, and flopinto an armchair across from my comatose father. He has the World Serieson, which I turn off because (a) I hate baseball and (b) it reminds me ofCooper Clay, which reminds me of Simon Kelleher and that whole sickscene in detention. I'd never liked the kid, but that was horrible. AndCooper was almost as useless as the blond girl when you come right downto it. Bronwyn was the only one who did anything except babble like anidiot.
My mother used to like Bronwyn. She'd always notice her at schoolthings. Like the Nativity play in fourth grade when I was a shepherd andBronwyn was the Virgin Mary. Someone stole baby Jesus before we weresupposed to go on, probably to mess with Bronwyn because she tookeverything way too seriously even then. Bronwyn went into the audience,borrowed a bag, wrapped a blanket around it, and carried it around as ifnothing had happened. That girl doesn't take crap from anyone, my motherhad said approvingly.
Okay. In the interest of full disclosure, I stole baby Jesus, and it wasdefinitely to mess with Bronwyn. It would've been funnier if she'd freakedout.
My jacket beeps, and I dig in my pockets for the right phone. I almostlaughed in detention on Monday when Bronwyn said nobody has two cellphones. I have three: one for people I know, one for suppliers, and one forcustomers. Plus extras so I can switch them out. But I wouldn't be stupidenough to take any of them into Avery's class.
My work phones are always set to vibrate, so I know it's a personalmessage. I pull out my ancient iPhone and see a text from Amber, a girl Imet at a party last month. U up?
I hesitate. Amber's hot and never tries to hang out too long, but she wasjust here a few nights ago. Things get messy when I let casual hookupshappen more than once a week. But I'm restless and could use a distraction.Come over, I write back.
I'm about to put my phone away when another text comes through. It'sfrom Chad Posner, a guy at Bayview I hang out with sometimes. You seethis? I click on the link in the message and it opens a Tumblr page with theheadline "About This."
I got the idea for killing Simon while watching Dateline.
I'd been thinking about it for a while, obviously. That's not the kind of thing you pluckout of thin air. But the how of getting away with it always stopped me. I don't kid myselfthat I'm a criminal mastermind. And I'm much too good-looking for prison.On the show, a guy killed his wife. Standard Dateline stuff, right? It's always thehusband. But turns out lots of people were happy to see her gone. She'd gotten acoworker fired, screwed over people on city council, and had an affair with a friend'shusband. She was a nightmare, basically.
The guy on Dateline wasn't too bright. Hired someone to murder his wife and the cellphone records were easy to trace. But before those came out he had a decent smokescreen because of all the other suspects. That's the kind of person you can get away withkilling: someone everybody else wants dead.
Let's face it: everyone at Bayview High hated Simon. I was just the only one withenough guts to do something about it.
You're welcome.
The phone almost slips out of my hand. Another text from Chad Posnercame through while I was reading. People r fucked up.
I text back, Where'd you get this?
Posner writes Some rando emailed a link, with the laughing-so-hard-I'm-crying emoji. He thinks it's somebody's idea of a sick joke. Which is whatmost people would think, if they hadn't spent an hour with a police officerasking ten different ways how peanut oil got into Simon Kelleher's cup.Along with three other people who looked guilty as hell.
None of them have as much experience as I do keeping a straight facewhen shit's falling apart around them. At least, none of them are as good atit as me.