This Is Why We Lie
Gabriella Lepore is a YA author from South Wales in the United Kingdom, where she lives in the countryside with her husband and daughter. When she isn’t reading or writing, she can usually be found exploring the coastline or perusing a bookstore. She enjoys autumn days and cups of tea and is always searching for the next mystery. Follow her on Instagram, @gabriellalepore_books.
This Is Why We Lie
Gabriella Lepore
To Mum and Dad, with endless love and gratitude.
Contents
Jenna
Adam
Interview with Jenna Dallas
Jenna
Interview with Adam Cole
Jenna
Gardiners Bay Daily Press
Text Section
Jenna
Adam
Jenna
Adam
Jenna
Text Section
Adam
Jenna
Text Section
Adam
Text Section
Adam
Jenna
Adam
Memorial Reminder
Jenna
Adam
Text Section
Jenna
Text Section
Adam
Jenna
Adam
Jenna
Adam
Text Section
Jenna
Adam
Gardiners Bay Daily Press
Jenna
Adam
Jenna
Adam
Jenna
Interview with Serena Blake
Adam
Jenna
Adam
Text Section
Jenna
Adam
Jenna
Adam
Jenna
Adam
Interview with Adam Cole
Text Section
Jenna
Adam
Text Section
Jenna
Adam
Gardiners Bay Daily Press
Jenna
Google Search
Text Section
Adam
Text Section
Jenna
Adam
Text Section
Jenna
Adam
Jenna
Adam
Text Section
Jenna
Adam
Jenna
Interview with Hollie Braithwaite
Adam
Jenna
Adam
Jenna
Adam
Acknowledgments
JENNA
Gardiners Bay at dawn is my secret. There’s a moment, right before the day starts, when the ocean is bathed in amber light. That first golden breath of morning. Everything is still, apart from the pelicans gathering near the water, their plump bodies shuffling along the shoreline. Sometimes I sit on the promenade for hours with my legs suspended over the pebble beach below, just watching the night turn to day. Watching the darkness turn to light.
It’s often like this, just me and the birds. The only other people I tend to cross paths with at this hour are fishermen wearing heavy-duty gear and hugging their thermoses. They sit on the benches and swig their hot drinks while skimming the daily newspaper. Then they leave. A little while later, their boats drift out onto the water.
Today, though, I’m the only one here.
I raise my camera and adjust the focus, capturing the new light as it spills over the ocean. In the muted daylight, the silver tide is a murky, dull gray and frothing as it slaps against the shore.
“Help! I need help!”
My eyes dart across the shoreline. There’s a boy on the stretch of beach at the foot of Rookwood Cliff. He’s knee-deep in the water, fully dressed.
He shouts again.
I spring to my feet and run along the promenade. Ducking beneath the boardwalk railings, I jump down to the pebbled cove.
The soles of my feet sting at the impact of the stones beneath my Converse. I scramble toward him, my footing slipping on the damp pebbles.
It’s then that I recognize him.
Adam.
His jeans are soaked to the thigh. He’s wading through the shallows, his legs tangled in fishing net and seaweed. And a body lies limp in his arms. A girl. She’s swollen, her skin has turned purple, and one arm is swinging downward with the momentum of Adam’s labored movements.
I press my hand to my mouth.
“Call an ambulance,” he shouts.
But all I can do is stand there, paralyzed by the sight. He lowers the girl onto the sand and begins CPR, breathing into her mouth.
It’s too late, I want to tell him.
She’s already dead.
ADAM
Cops are swarming the beach, cordoning off access to the cove. Somehow, even in the chaos, there’s silence. It’s familiar, like some weird déjà vu shit, like I’ve been here before.
I stand beside her. Jenna, that’s her name. She wraps her arms around herself as the wind whips at her long red-brown hair. She’s shivering.
I am, too. My clothes are still wet, and my jeans feel heavy. They’re rough and cold against my skin, weighing me down.
At the shoreline, two paramedics are moving Colleen’s body onto a stretcher. One of them zips the body bag shut. They lift the stretcher and start making their way across the beach, heading toward the ambulance that’s parked along the promenade.
Jenna releases a shattered breath.
I take her hand. It feels cold in mine. “You’re okay,” I tell her. But I’m lying.
A cop approaches us. I figure he’s probably in his late forties, with graying hair and a heavy mustache. His eyes skate over me. The look makes me tense. I swear I can hear my pulse thumping fast in my ears, drowning out the hissing breath of the surf.
“Jenna,” the cop says. Her fingers squeeze tighter around mine as she nods back at him. “Your aunt has been radioed. She’ll meet you at the precinct.”
“Okay.” Jenna’s voice is weak.
“You’ll both need to come down to the station. Someone will take your statements there.” His stare lingers on me for a second longer. A second too long. “You might want to call your folks. I’ll give you a minute.” The pebbles crunch and stir beneath his feet as he walks away.
Jenna’s hand slips from mine. She waits a beat, watching me. The misty morning light catches the paler shades of green in her eyes.
“Aren’t you going to call anyone?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Got no one to call.”
* * *
One of the cops gives us a ride to the station. We sit silently in the back seat, listening to the occasional crackle of the police radio, with muffled voices spouting out codes and jargon. It’s too humid in this car, and the seat covering squeaks whenever I move.
I’ve been here before. Different car. Different cop. But I’ve been here before.
Jenna reaches for my hand, and I flinch on impulse. It throws me for a second, but I catch her hand before she pulls it back.
I turn to her. She’s tugging at her seat belt.
“You’re okay,” I tell her again under my breath. I force a smile. Or whatever expression I can muster to make her think that I’m calm. That this really is okay.
She gives me a small nod back.
The car slows as w
e reach a stoplight. The radio crackles again.
“Ten...confirming...body found...female.”
Jenna draws in a shallow breath, and I run my thumb along the back of her hand, reassuring her.
It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re okay.
Maybe she doesn’t want my comfort. She might not want me holding her hand and feeding her lines, like everything’s fine. Maybe she doesn’t want that.
But it’s all I’ve got.
Interview with Jenna Dallas,
conducted by Detective Drew Felton at 10:20 a.m.
on Saturday, September 29th.
D.F.: How are you holding up, Jenna?
J.D.: I’m okay. I think I’m okay.
D.F.: Are you ready to start? If you need a minute...
J.D.: Yes. No. I’m okay.
D.F.: All right. We’ll carry on. Just let me know if you need a pause.
J.D.: Thanks, Drew. Sorry—I mean, Detective Felton.
D.F.: Jenna, talk me through what happened this morning.
J.D.: I was on the boardwalk. It was early.
D.F.: Early?
J.D.: Six. Maybe six thirty.
D.F.: What were you doing out at six o’clock in the morning?
J.D.: I go to the waterfront to take photos sometimes. I’m trying for an art scholarship.
D.F.: Does your aunt know you do that? I can’t imagine Kate is happy with you wandering the streets before dawn.
J.D.: (inaudible.)
D.F.: You’re going to have to speak up, Jenna. Does Kate know you head out to the boardwalk that early?
J.D.: Yes, she knows. She’s fine with it. We only live a couple of blocks away. Gardiners Bay is safe. I always thought it was safe, anyway.
D.F.: Take me back to this morning, Jenna. What happened when you were on the boardwalk?
J.D.: I heard someone shout for help from Rookwood Beach. I saw Adam, so I ran to him. He had Colleen. He was carrying her out of the water. I didn’t recognize her at first.
D.F.: You know Colleen O’Dell from Preston Prep School?
J.D.: Yes. She’s in my senior class. We weren’t friends, but I knew her.
D.F.: You weren’t friends?
J.D.: No, I mean, we weren’t close friends. We weren’t enemies or anything. I just didn’t know her all that well.
D.F.: Let’s rewind for a second. You said you saw Adam Cole go into the water to get Colleen?
J.D.: Yes. Well, no. I saw him come out of the water with her.
D.F.: But you didn’t actually see him go in?
J.D.: No, but he was helping her. He went into the ocean to get her. To save her.
D.F.: You didn’t see that, though?
J.D.: No. Does it matter?
D.F.: I just need the facts.
JENNA
I take a seat on one of the plastic chairs in the precinct’s waiting room. My hands fold around the warm disposable cup I got from the coffee machine. I’ve been clinging to my dollar latte for a while, but I can’t seem to bring myself to take a sip. I’m pretty sure I’ll barf if I try. My stomach isn’t ready for anything. Not yet.
Across the room, Adam is staring out the window, drumming the glass with his fingers. His brown hair is still mussed from the sea breeze, and his jeans are still damp from the knee down.
Adam is a Rook, one of the guys from Rookwood Boarding School. I’ve met him before, but I can’t say I know him. The school and its students are kind of elusive. The campus is tucked away from the rest of Gardiners Bay, set on what used to be some grand estate surrounded by acres of forest. After the estate was foreclosed, it was turned into a reform school for kids with behavioral problems. That’s the official term. I guess it’s a nice way of saying Rookwood is the last stop before juvie.
He catches my gaze. “You think we’ll be here much longer?” His wet sneaker taps on the linoleum floor.
I glance over at the abandoned reception desk. “I don’t know. I hope not. What else do they need from us?”
He squeezes his eyes shut. “Everything,” he mutters. When he speaks again, his words are clearer. “I’m sorry I got you involved in this. I shouldn’t have called you down to the beach.”
“Are you kidding? This isn’t your fault. Honestly, I’m glad you don’t have to go through this alone.” The memory of Colleen’s body flashes through my mind. “I’m glad neither of us has to.” My stomach heaves again.
“Thanks,” he murmurs.
One of the ceiling bulbs flickers and hums. Suddenly, this room feels stifling, suffocating. I need fresh air, any kind of air—anything that isn’t polluted by the bitter smell drifting from the coffee machine.
Adam crosses the room and drops into the chair beside me. “Are you okay?”
“No.” I choke out a laugh. “Are you?”
He doesn’t answer. His broad shoulders hunch, and he burrows his thumbs into his sleeves. There’s a scratch on the back of his hand creeping out from the hem around his wrist. There’s something else, too—the edge of a tattoo, snaking down from his forearm. It looks like a talon. Fitting, I guess. For a Rook.
“You’re shaking.” His deep brown eyes are back on me now and clouded with concern. “Do you need me to go get someone?”
I take a breath and ball my hands. “I’m okay.”
He lowers his gaze. “You should talk to someone about what happened today,” he says. “It’ll help.”
I stare up at the flickering bulb. “Really? More talking? I don’t even want to think about it anymore, let alone talk about it.”
We fall silent, and the bulb continues to hum.
“It gets better,” he says after a moment. “It takes a while, but it gets better.”
I swallow against the dryness in my throat. “How do you know? Have you been through something like this before?”
“Something, yeah.”
We both jump as the door swings open and my aunt, Kate, paces into the room. She’s wearing her police uniform, and her wavy brunette bob is pulled into a ponytail.
“Jenna.” She envelops me in a hug. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I reassure her. “I’m fine.” When she pulls back to study my face, I force my lips into a strained smile.
She tilts her head. “Drew said you were there when Colleen was found.”
“I was on the boardwalk. I went to help.” I glance at Adam. His eyes are fixed on his sneakers. He doesn’t say a word.
Kate’s gaze wanders over him before returning to me. “Sounds like you both did everything you could,” she says, touching my arm. “I’m going to take you home now, okay?”
My shoulders sink in relief. I try to catch Adam’s attention again, but his focus is still on the linoleum. “Do you need a ride, Adam?”
He looks up, and his dark eyes lock with mine.
“Actually,” Kate says to him, “Detective Felton still needs to see you. It won’t be too much longer.”
He rubs the nape of his neck. “Yeah. No problem.”
“I can stay,” I jump in. “I don’t mind waiting.”
Kate frowns, and Adam shakes his head.
“I’m good,” he says. “Don’t worry. You should go home.”
“Detective Felton will be right out,” Kate assures him, and he nods.
As Kate ushers me toward the exit, my chest tightens. I can’t leave him, I want to blurt out. We’re in this together.
His focus stays on me as I walk away, and his jaw clenches. I think he feels it, too. That sinking realization that he’s on his own now.
Interview with Adam Cole,
conducted by Detective Drew Felton at 11:15 a.m.
on Saturday, September 29th.
D.F.: Adam, I’m just going to ask you a couple of questions. That alright with you, son?
; A.C.: Yes, sir.
D.F.: Adam, why don’t you go ahead and talk me through what happened this morning?
A.C.: I was on Rookwood Beach, and I saw this girl... She was in the water, a little way out. She was floating, facedown, caught up in some fishing net. She...
D.F.: Are you able to continue?
A.C.: Yeah. Sorry. So I called out to her, “Hey, you alright?” but she wasn’t moving.
D.F.: This is when she was still in the water?
A.C.: Yeah. I swam out and freed her from the net, and I brought her to shore.
D.F.: And what time was this?
A.C.: I don’t know. Around six o’clock this morning.
D.F.: What were you doing on the beach at six o’clock in the morning?
A.C.: Sometimes I can’t sleep.
D.F.: Okay. Tell me, Adam, did you recognize the girl once you’d brought her to shore?
A.C.: I’d seen her around.
D.F.: Can you give me her name?
A.C.: Colleen, I think.
D.F.: What happened after you pulled Colleen from the water?
A.C.: I called for help, and a girl came from the promenade.
D.F.: Her name?
A.C.: Jenna. I don’t know her last name. You already spoke to her, though.
D.F.: And what happened once Jenna arrived on the scene?
A.C.: You already spoke to her.
D.F.: Humor me. I’d like to hear it from your perspective.
A.C.: Jenna called for an ambulance while I tried to resuscitate Colleen. She stayed with us. With me.
D.F.: Right. You can take a break now. I might need to speak with you again at a later date. How does that sound?
A.C.: Yeah. Fine.
D.F.: Can I get your address, son?
D.F.: Adam? You heard what I said?
A.C.: Yes, sir. It’s Rookwood. I live on campus.
D.F.: Oh. You’re a student at Rookwood Boarding School?
A.C.: Yeah.
D.F.: I’ll need to pull your records from the system. That alright with you?
A.C.: Yeah. I figured you would.
JENNA
“The body of missing schoolgirl Colleen O’Dell was discovered in the early hours of Saturday morning on Rookwood Beach. Police are treating the death as suspicious and investigating anyone who may be connected to the victim—”