This Is Why We Lie Read online

  “Shit.”

  Kate’s voice makes me jump.

  I hit pause on the remote, and the TV screen freezes. The reporter’s expressionless face stops midsentence, her coral-toned lips parted as she stares deeply into the camera, transcending her world into ours.

  Kate stands behind me, her eyes glued to the screen. I’m not used to seeing her on weekday mornings—she’s normally at the precinct before my alarm even goes off. I quickly check the date on my phone to confirm what I already know: it’s Friday, which means she should be at work. But judging by last night’s makeup smudged beneath her eyes, she overslept. It was bound to happen eventually. She’s been pulling all-nighters practically every day since Colleen’s body was discovered a week ago.

  “Shit,” she says again.

  “Are you alright?”

  She turns away and paces across the living area. She pauses at the kitchen counter and frantically sifts through a stack of papers, undoubtedly searching for her work phone.

  “Goddamn reporters,” she mutters, raking a hand through her wavy hair. “Those details were leaked.”

  She abandons the countertop and starts digging through her purse. Morning sunlight is streaming through the tall windows, throwing rainbow patterns on the floorboards.

  I sit up a little higher on the couch. “What details have been leaked? You mean about the police investigating suspects?”

  She pulls her phone from her purse and flips open the leather cover. “Information like that should not have been released to the press. We still don’t know what we’re dealing with here, and the last thing I want is public hysteria.”

  I fiddle absently with the buttons on the remote. “The reporters are saying it’s a suspicious death.”

  “Yeah. I heard.”

  “Was Colleen murdered?”

  “Jenna,” she says, “hon, don’t ask me that.”

  I press my lips together. Right. I learned that rule when I came to live with Kate three years ago: Don’t ask about police business. Ever.

  I moved here when my mom hit the big time with her travel blog, This Girl’s Guide. Mom was young when she had me. From what I can gather, she was a carefree hippie who apparently didn’t believe in contraception, since my dad was just a one-line scribble in her journal. I guess that’s why Mom thought I’d be better off with her now-thirty-something-year-old responsible cop sister, Kate. Responsible is good. Responsible is not a word I’d ever use to describe my mother.

  “Felton,” Kate snaps into her phone. Her hazel eyes are trained on the TV screen again. “Are you seeing this Channel Seven report? Vultures.”

  The muffled voice on the other end of the line—Drew Felton, Kate’s partner at the precinct—must be responding with equal outrage, because Kate shakes her head and intermittently says “assholes” or “goddamn bloodsuckers.”

  I swallow hard. Another rule about living with Kate: when it comes to police-related topics, we’re robots. Totally emotionless. We have to be. I can’t sit around dwelling over every tragic case that might come Kate’s way.

  And I was pretty good at being a robot. Until last weekend.

  Colleen O’Dell was a Preston Prep girl. We weren’t friends exactly, but I knew her. Everyone at Preston knew her.

  Kate ends the call and slams her phone down on the kitchen island.

  “I’ve got to go in to the station. We need damage control on this.”

  I look between Kate and the unmoving, openmouthed reporter on the TV screen.

  “I might be home late.” She rummages through her purse again and tosses a couple of bills onto the island. “Takeout money, if you need it.”

  “Thanks.” I muster a smile. “Good luck.”

  As she passes me, she squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sorry about all this, Jenna. I know you’ve been relying on takeout a lot this past week.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  She quirks an eyebrow. “Well, it’s probably not a good thing. Tomorrow night, I’ll try to get home before dinnertime, okay?”

  “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’m fine.” I draw in a deep breath.

  She disappears into the hallway, and the door slams shut behind her.

  I’m alone now, but I don’t un-pause the TV.

  Kate doesn’t have to say it. I already know.

  This is murder.

  GARDINERS BAY DAILY PRESS

  Saturday, October 6th

  Article written by Adrianna Montana

  Seventeen-year-old schoolgirl Colleen O’Dell was found unconscious off the coast of Rookwood Beach in the early hours of Saturday, September 29th. Police responded to a report of an unresponsive female and arrived at approximately 6:40 a.m. O’Dell was pronounced dead at the scene.

  Following reports of the death, a source who cannot be named for legal reasons said in part, “I saw Colleen fighting with her friend at lunch that day. I don’t know what happened after because I went straight to class, but it was intense. Total toxic friendship.”

  Although Gardiners Bay Police Department declined to comment at this time, it is understood that the death is being investigated and treated as suspicious.

  Christine Gordon, the principal at Preston Preparatory School for Girls where O’Dell attended, said, “This is devastating for the Gardiners Bay community. Our thoughts are with Colleen’s family, and we hope their privacy can be respected. We will be providing ongoing support for our students during this difficult time.”

  JENNA: Hollie, please call me. I’m worried about you.

  HOLLIE: Did you read the article? Who gave that quote?

  JENNA: I have no idea. But it doesn’t mean anything. Your name wasn’t mentioned.

  HOLLIE: What’s the difference? Everyone knows it’s about me. I’m the toxic friend.

  JENNA: Isn’t this libel or something? The paper shouldn’t be publishing this trash.

  HOLLIE: I bet the whole school has read the article by now.

  JENNA: You haven’t done anything wrong.

  HOLLIE: That’s not what the press is saying.

  JENNA: Please answer my calls. You don’t have to go through this alone.

  JENNA: Hollie?

  JENNA: Meet me at Chai in an hour. Please.

  JENNA

  When I reach Chai Café, Hollie is seated at one of the deck tables outside. It’s a misty October day, but she’s wearing sunglasses. She’s looking out at the harbor, transfixed by the yachts moored to the jetty that bob endlessly on the water.

  I cross the planked deck and slide into the seat opposite her. Hollie’s blond curls are pulled into a ponytail, and even with the sunglasses covering most of her face, I can tell from the blush in her cheeks and nose that she’s been crying.

  “Hey,” I say, gently. “Thanks for meeting me. How are you?”

  She purses her lips and shrugs. “I ordered for you.” She gestures to one of the two tall lattes on the table. The remains of a torn-up sugar packet sit next to her cup.

  “Thanks.” My strained voice sounds as alien as hers does. Hollie’s been my ride or die since I transferred to Preston freshman year. But even before that, Kate and Hollie’s mom used to set us up on playdates whenever Mom and I came to visit. When I first moved here, Hollie was the one person aside from Kate who made me feel like I wasn’t totally alone. I’ve always felt like I could tell Hollie anything, like I could talk to her about anything. But now, for the first time in years, I’m completely lost for words.

  Hollie breaks our silence. “Was everyone gossiping about me at school yesterday?”

  “No.” A total lie. “No one even mentioned you.”

  She runs a hand over her brow, sweeping away stray tendrils of ash-blond hair that have been pulled loose by the ocean breeze. “I don’t believe you.”

  I attempt a smile.

 
Hollie exhales into the wind. “I just couldn’t face school yesterday. I’m so sick of everyone staring at me and whispering. My mom spoke to Principal Gordon about it. She said I could take some time out, but I don’t think I can ever go back there.” She pauses for a second. “You know this is the first time I’ve ever ditched?”

  I raise my eyebrows, but I’m not exactly surprised. Hollie’s a straight-A student, all lined up for valedictorian and future Ivy League prospects. Under normal circumstances, she’d never skip school. But we’re not in normal circumstances. I find my voice. “You shouldn’t have to cut class. You haven’t done anything wrong, Hol.”

  Her jaw juts out, like she’s fighting back her emotions. “That’s not what people are saying, though. Have you been on Instagram?”

  I bite my lip. “Yeah.”

  She lowers her voice. “Everyone thinks I killed Colleen, Jenna.” She swipes at a tear as it rolls out from beneath her sunglasses.

  I reach across the table and squeeze her hand. “No, they don’t. No one really thinks you had anything to do with what happened to Colleen.” Saying the words aloud sends a shiver over my skin. I wrap my arms around myself, bracing against the ocean breeze.

  “That’s not true. The police are questioning me.”

  “I know,” I murmur.

  “Your aunt came to my house.”

  I try to keep my voice even, despite the knot that’s forming in my stomach. “Kate interviewed you?”

  Hollie fiddles with what’s left of the sugar packet. “She was really understanding about everything. It was just procedure.”

  “Yeah, of course. This is Kate’s case, so she had to interview you. I’m sure she doesn’t think you’re guilty, though.” Hollie’s lips press together, so I quickly add, “Because you’re not guilty. Obviously. No one thinks that.” I take a sip of coffee, if only to stop myself from talking.

  Hollie chews on her thumbnail. “Kate suggested I delete all my social media accounts. She’s worried the trolling won’t stop, and blocking people isn’t working.”

  “Maybe that’s a good idea.”

  Another tear rolls down her cheek, and I wince. “Or just wait.” I change tactics. “Pretty soon everyone’s going to realize that what happened to Colleen has nothing to do with you.”

  Hollie glances around the decked seating area as though she’s suddenly remembered that we’re not alone. There’s tension in her mouth as she eyes the other patrons. Seated at a nearby table, two middle-aged women laugh loudly as they sip at glasses of wine. One of them has a miniature Chihuahua on her lap and holds it tightly as its little muzzle snuffles the table.

  Hollie returns her gaze to me. “Colleen...” She hesitates and swallows. “We just had one stupid fight.”

  Yeah. One very public fight. In the cafeteria, prime time. In a stroke of exceptionally bad timing, Hollie had a huge blowup at Colleen O’Dell the day before Colleen showed up dead. According to Hollie, Colleen had hooked up with some guy that Hollie had been texting. Cue all hell breaking loose in the cafeteria. Throw in an unfortunate “I’ll kill you,” and bam, we’ve got ourselves a scandal. Now that the news has broken about Colleen’s suspicious death, the story of the cafeteria catfight has spread through Preston like social napalm.

  “I heard on the news that Colleen had marks on her throat,” Hollie says. “Bruises. Like she was strangled. Is that true?”

  I steady my voice. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember.”

  I fight to block the image from my mind, but it slithers its way back, and my stomach turns. The sight of Colleen’s lifeless body is tattooed on my memory no matter how much I try to erase it.

  “They think I did that?” Hollie murmurs. “People actually think I strangled Colleen?”

  “No one thinks that. Come on, you know what the girls at Preston are like. It’s just drama. Any sign of a scandal, and they’re all over it. Leeches.”

  “One stupid fight.”

  I gather my spiraling thoughts. “The heat will come off you. The police will figure this out. It’s their job.” I think of Kate and the stressed look she’s been wearing all week, worry lines creasing her brow and dark circles beneath her eyes. She’ll figure this out.

  “I hope so, Jenna. I really hope so.” Hollie takes a sip of coffee. Her hands tremble around the cup. Her thumbnails are uneven, like she’s been gnawing on them for days.

  “Just hang in there, okay?”

  “I wish I could take back—Oh, perfect.” Hollie suddenly shrinks lower in her seat.

  I glance over my shoulder as a familiar trio of girls strut onto the café deck. Serena, Brianna, and Imogen. A trifecta of glossy hair, pouty lips, and short skirts. Serena, Hollie, and I used to be a trio, but at some point between the end of junior year and senior homecoming, Imogen and Brianna replaced us. I suspect Serena’s elevated popularity has a lot to do with her becoming captain of the cheer squad and dating Max from Rookwood—and subsequently scoring invites to all of the Rooks’ parties. Considering Preston is an all-girls’ prep school and the Rookwood boys have the whole mysterious bad-boy vibe locked down, having an in with those guys does wonders for one’s social ranking. Apparently.

  The girls pause when they notice us. They look between each other, as though they’re silently debating whether or not to come over to our table. I offer them a halfhearted wave, but the last thing Hollie needs right now is to have to deal with people from school. Brianna and Imogen were among the many people who reposted a now infamous photo of Hollie and Colleen mid cafeteria fight.

  The girls start to make their way over.

  “Hey,” Serena says. She avoids eye contact with Hollie and runs her fingers through her long black hair.

  I muster a smile. “Hi.”

  Hollie says nothing.

  “What are you guys doing?” Serena asks. “Just out having coffee?” She nods toward our barely-touched lattes.

  “Yep,” I say.

  “Nice.”

  There’s a beat of silence, and I feel compelled to fill it, if only to patch over the awkwardness. “How about you guys?” I look between them.

  “We’re going to Rookwood,” Brianna jumps in. “There’s a cabin party tonight.”

  My jaw drops a little. “You’re kidding, right?”

  They frown back at me.

  They’re not kidding. This explains why they’re all so dressed up—super-short minis and low-cut tops, full makeup and teased hair. Brianna’s auburn ponytail tumbles over one shoulder, and Imogen’s shiny blond hair falls nearly to her elbows.

  “You’re going to Rookwood? Even after what happened to Colleen?”

  Serena waves her hand. “We’ll be safe there. We’ll be with the guys.”

  “Yeah,” Brianna echoes. “We’ll be safe there.” Her gaze flickers to Hollie.

  Imogen jabs Brianna in the ribs.

  The awkward silence is back. The tide sloshes and slaps against the pier.

  Serena takes over. “We would invite you... I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you guys to come tonight. It’s still too fresh, y’know?” Clearly, she misunderstands Hollie’s and my silence for disappointment, because she carries on quickly, “It’s just that there’ll be a lot of people there and a lot of them knew Colleen.” Her dark eyes skate over Hollie, who’s now staring down at her latte. “Not that we think you had anything to do with it, Hol. But people are talking.”

  I clear my throat. “No problem. Hollie and I have plans anyway.” Plans to do anything but go to Rookwood.

  There’s always a party at Rookwood. I figure the school’s groundskeeper is either well versed at turning a blind eye or is totally useless at his job. Serena and her squad always get invited because of her on-off thing with Max. I’ve tagged along a couple of times, but honestly, I can think of better ways to spend my weekends than getting absolutely an
nihilated in some abandoned shack.

  I summon a smile for Serena. “Have a good time tonight.”

  “Thanks,” she says. “You, too.”

  At least the trio looks a little guilty before they strut off toward the indoor seating area. But they hardly make it a couple of strides before they lean in close and start whispering with reckless abandon.

  “You’re being dragged down by association,” Hollie murmurs.

  I roll my eyes. “You think I’d rather be going to Rookwood with them?”

  The girls are in my peripheral. They’ve found a table, but they’re still huddled together in conversation, stealing glances our way.

  I try to catch Hollie’s straying gaze. “Colleen was always at the Rookwood parties. If she had a bunch of friends there, maybe Serena just doesn’t want to antagonize the situation. For you,” I add.

  “Yeah, right,” Hollie mutters. “They’re acting like I’m to blame, but any one of them could just as easily have killed Colleen. You know what Colleen was like.”

  The comment sends a shiver over my skin. Colleen was fun and outgoing, sure, but she had a knack for rubbing people the wrong way. As social as she was, she got a kick out of getting under people’s skin. She seemed to know exactly what to say and when to say it, just at the right time to cause optimum damage. Then she’d smile, flip her hair, and strut away from the wreckage.

  The sound of Serena’s laughter reaches us from across the decking, bringing me back to the present.

  Hollie grabs her purse and stands from her seat. “Sorry, Jenna, I’ve got to go. I can’t do this.” She steps out from the table.

  “Hollie, wait,” I call.

  But she’s halfway across the deck before I can even get up.

  * * *

  Hollie folds her hands together on the picnic table. “So, tell us about this Max guy.”

  Serena sets her lunch tray down and sighs. “No joke, he’s perfect. You know how I always describe my ideal guy?” We nod, and she carries on, “Well, I’ve found him. For real.”