This Is Why We Lie Page 4

  I couldn’t think clearly on the morning I found Colleen, either.

  The memory of finding her is still raw—I can feel it swimming through me as I retrace my steps.

  I look out at the surging ocean. She was right there, tangled, broken. I saw the bruises on her throat. I can’t unsee them. I can’t unsee her.

  I can’t un-hear her.

  I head toward the shoreline until the pebbles turn to sand. At the water’s edge, I take off my sneakers and let my feet sink into the wet sludge where the frothing breakers have spilled across the beach. I’m leaving footprints—heavy, sunken shapes that will be washed away as soon as the next wave comes in.

  I toss my t-shirt aside and step into the water. It’s cold. Ice-cold. But I keep wading through, letting my limbs turn numb. Before I know it, I’m swimming deeper, slicing through the current with steady strokes. My head aches from the freezing salt water.

  It’s a while before I let myself stop. I tread through the deep water, and my eyes travel to the forested cliff. It rears high over the ocean, the trees swaying in the bleak autumn wind.

  There.

  If Colleen had fallen from Rookwood Cliff, she’d have hit the water hard. Probably not hard enough to kill her. But if she wasn’t already dead, it would have hurt like hell.

  The tide could have pulled her under. But the tide doesn’t leave fingermarks.

  “Isn’t it a little cold for swimming?”

  I hear the voice in my mind and suddenly I’m right back there, back with Jenna. Back to the first time I met her.

  * * *

  “Isn’t it a little cold for swimming?”

  A girl is sitting on a rock and cradling an expensive-looking camera in her lap. The April sunshine catches the red in her long, wavy hair. She smiles at me. The sort of gentle, easy smile that makes me want to smile back.

  I’m not usually one to stare, but there’s something about this girl. Something that holds my eyes. She’s pretty, yeah. Beautiful, even. But it’s more than that. She’s calm, peaceful. Everything I wish I was.

  I wade to the shore and pick up my t-shirt. I’m not used to seeing people out here, especially not this early. “It’s okay,” I tell the girl. “It’s not that cold once you’ve been out there for a while.” I start patting my skin with my t-shirt, blotting away the salt water before I slip the shirt over my head. “You should try it.”

  She wraps her arms around herself and smiles. “No, thanks. I like not having hypothermia.”

  I smile back at her. “Water’s better colder. It gets the blood pumping.”

  “My blood is fine as it is.” She crinkles her nose, and I notice the freckles scattered across her cheeks.

  I gesture to the camera. “What are you taking pictures of?”

  Her sea-green eyes travel to the horizon. “The sunrise.”

  “Yeah? You get a good shot?”

  “I don’t know.” She lifts the camera, and it beeps as she starts scrolling through her photos. “They’re okay, I guess.”

  “Can I see?”

  “Sure. If you want.”

  I step forward and sit beside her. I’m close to her. Our arms brush together as I lean in to get a look at the screen.

  The photos are good. The colors bleed together, oranges and pinks spilling out into a gray world.

  “I like this one.” I point to an image where the rising sun creates a perfect crescent over the water.

  “I like it, too.”

  The sweet scent of her hair reaches me as the wind flutters the strands.

  My heart does something. Just something. There’s an attraction. A recognition that I’m here, and this girl is here. I haven’t been in that place for a long time.

  She turns to me, and I take in the kaleidoscope shades of green in her gaze. “I think it’s probably the best one,” she says. “The others are out of focus.”

  “What are you going to do with the picture?”

  “I’m trying for an art scholarship.”

  “For college?”

  “Yeah.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “My art teacher thinks I could have a chance.”

  “Hey, if you can get the grades, go for it.” The concept is new to me, but it makes me stop for a second. It makes me think.

  “Beats having to pay your way in, right?”

  “Yeah. What school do you go to?”

  “Preston.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “The girls’ school?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fancy.”

  Her cheeks flush, and she breaks eye contact. “My mom’s travel blog took off a few years back. She made enough to cover my tuition.”

  The word mom always makes me flinch. Force of habit.

  But I carry on. “Yeah? Lucky you.”

  “Mom’s pretty much burned through all the money now, though. She’s off searching for her next big break.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Vietnam.” She quirks an eyebrow. “For now.”

  “You live with your dad?”

  “Nope.” She starts fiddling absently with a button on the camera. “I’ve never met the guy.”

  “That sucks. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve been living with my aunt since freshman year. Anyway, I’m going self-sufficient from here on out.” She grins at me, and I can’t help but mirror it back.

  “I hear that.”

  “You can’t rely on anyone but yourself.” She presses her lips together, like she regrets saying it. I know that feeling.

  So I move on. “You live around here?”

  “I’m on the other side of the bay, out by Lighthouse Point.”

  “Nice. You live anywhere near that house where the hedges are all shaped like animals?”

  She laughs, and I like the sound. “The horses? That’s my next-door neighbor!”

  “No kidding?”

  Another warm smile travels to her eyes. “How about you?”

  I find myself twisting my wrist, just enough so that she can’t see the talon tattoo on my forearm. I don’t want to tell her that I’m from Rookwood. As soon as I say it, I won’t just be a stranger on the beach to her, I’ll be a Rook. Someone to be wary of. Someone to keep away from.

  In this moment, I just want to be me. A stranger on the beach.

  So, I answer, “Nearby. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “Probably. My name’s Jenna.”

  “I’m Adam.” I stand and push back my wet hair. “Good to meet you, Jenna.”

  “You too, Adam.”

  * * *

  By the time I get back to Rookwood, a party has already started up. Through the trees, I can see the cabin. Its grimy windows are a frame into a goldfish bowl. The people inside can’t see me, but I can see them. I hear the muffled laughter, the voices, the music. They’re all sealed within the walls, caught in a bubble that they can’t get out of.

  Serena and the Preston girls are here again.

  Your friend died, I want to shout. A girl died, and you still keep coming here.

  Max is with Serena, merged into a tangle of limbs. Her friends are around. One of them is talking to Tommy in the shadows of the back corner. She hands him a bill.

  I grit my teeth. I can’t go inside.

  My car is parked in the glade. I keep it hidden out here in the forest so that the staff don’t find it and confiscate it. It’s just an old Dodge that someone abandoned in a junkyard last year. When I found it, it was in pretty bad shape. The engine was shot, the brakes didn’t work, and it had three busted windows. I spent an entire summer fixing it up, and now it runs like a dream. Well, it runs, anyway.

  I slide into the driver’s seat. The door gives a groan as I slam it shut.

  I start the ignition and listen to the engine rumble in th
e quiet night. I need a breather from this place every now and then. Tonight’s that kind of night.

  When I was first sent to Rookwood, they diagnosed me with anger issues. I always knew I didn’t have anger issues; I was just mad as hell when I came here. But I’m not mad anymore. People change. Life changes. Doesn’t matter to the paper-pushers, though. They still think I’ve got anger issues. But maybe that’s because I’ve learned how to act to ensure they don’t send me back.

  I hit the gas and take the freeway, driving until my eyes feel tired. It’s the dead of night when I get there.

  The farm.

  I haven’t been back here in a while. I only come when I know he won’t see me. Covered by the night. At this hour, no one notices I’m gone and no one notices I’m here. Usually, I pull up on the dirt track and cut my headlights. Then I stay for a while, just watching the crops sway in the darkness.

  It’s the same here as it always was. The roof still needs repairing, the fencing still needs painting, and the barley shoots still move in the night air. They whisper.

  I remember him, and I remember her, back when everything was good. Back when I was a kid, running through the fields, my fingers skimming the golden shoots in the hot sunshine. She’d be laughing, and he’d be working on the porch.

  We were happy.

  But the memories are scarce. The good ones, anyway. I blocked out the years after he left, when she got thinner and lost control. He showed up here again after she died, acting like this was his place, like he was a parent again.

  I know he’s in there now, sleeping inside the dark farmhouse. He has someone else in there with him, too. A new wife, and she has a kid. I’ve seen them playing in the field, just like I used to do. I wonder if they ever talk about me. I wonder if she even knows I exist.

  Probably not. I’m just the ghost that haunts his new world. His world without the flaws of the past.

  I think of her, my mom.

  Then I think of Tommy. My friend. The brotherhood I created when I had nothing left.

  My grip tightens around the steering wheel. I start up the engine, and it rumbles, like an earthquake rupturing the calm.

  Something bad is coming our way. I can feel it.

  But I’m going to stop it.

  This time.

  JENNA

  “Hollie Braithwaite.”

  I hear her name and freeze. Kate’s voice travels into the hallway. She’s talking on the phone, and she’s using her police-voice, all quick and assertive. I let my fingers slip from the front door, and it closes with a quiet click.

  “Yes... Right. But you really think Braithwaite’s guilty? Come on, Felton. You really think she’s capable?”

  I hold my breath, waiting silently for the next snippet of conversation to leak into the hallway.

  “But those aren’t facts, Felton. It’s all hearsay. So, they had an argument? Over, what, some boy they both liked? It’s high school stuff.”

  There’s a long pause, and my heart starts beating faster. This proves it. Kate doesn’t think Hollie is responsible. Although, by the sound of it, it doesn’t seem like Detective Felton is quite so convinced of Hollie’s innocence.

  “I’d like to take a look at a couple of those statements again. The ones we took from the Rookwood students. Can you ask Lamar to send those over?”

  I focus on not moving a muscle. Not making a single sound.

  “The boy who found her, Adam Cole.” Kate reels off his name, and I hear papers rustle. “Then let me take another look at Max Grayson and Tommy Drummond. Based on what her friends are saying, Colleen was spending a lot of time with those two boys. Grayson and Drummond are my red flags right now.”

  Kate ends the call, and I hear the tap of her footsteps heading this way. I snap into action and pace along the corridor toward the kitchen, trying my best to not look totally sketchy.

  I breeze into the kitchen. “Hi.”

  Kate starts. “Oh. Hi, Jenna. I didn’t realize you were home.”

  “Yeah, I just got back. How’s it going?” My eyes wander to the paperwork in her hands.

  She tucks the documents into a folder, out of sight. “There’s a lot going on at the precinct. I need to pull a couple of late shifts. Is that alright with you?”

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Home alone, again.”

  “Honestly, it’s fine. I don’t mind.” I wait a beat. “Any leads on Colleen’s case?”

  Kate responds with a sigh. “Nothing concrete yet. I’m sorry.” She rests her hand on my arm. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay. I just want to get to the bottom of this. For Colleen. For Hollie, too.”

  She breaks eye contact at the mention of Hollie’s name.

  “You know she didn’t do it.” The words fall from my mouth before I can stop myself.

  Kate purses her lips. She won’t say it. At least not to me.

  But I need Kate to tell me that Hollie will be fine. That this is all a misunderstanding and my best friend won’t get put on trial for murder. For a crime she couldn’t possibly have committed.

  I know it.

  Hollie’s not a murderer.

  I just hope, for Hollie’s sake, that the police never find those text messages.

  * * *

  The summer sun beats down over the boardwalk. Hollie threads her arm through mine as we stroll along the promenade, meandering between the tourists with their beach bags and floppy sunhats. Ahead, the pier extends out over the glistening ocean.

  “So,” Hollie says, “confirm, yes or no. Movie night at your house tonight, and series binge at mine tomorrow?”

  “I can confirm.” I finish my popsicle and toss the stick into a trash can on the boardwalk. “Is Serena coming?”

  Hollie shrugs. “No idea. I texted her.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” I press my lips together and glance at Hollie. “Should we worry yet?”

  Her brow creases. “Worry about what?”

  I blow out a tense breath. “I mean, do you think she’s okay? It’s been over a week, and neither of us has heard from her. That’s so not Serena.”

  Hollie laughs. “She’s fine. It’s summer break, she’s probably spending all her time with her super-hot boyfriend.”

  “But why isn’t she bombarding us with thousands of text messages telling us all about how hot her super-hot boyfriend is?”

  Hollie pats my arm. “I’m sure she’ll get to that eventually.”

  “Okay.” My gaze wanders to the gently moving ocean beyond the boardwalk railings. “I hope nothing bad has happened to her.”

  As Hollie and I walk in sync along the warm promenade, I realize what’s been bothering me this past week. I miss Serena. I even miss the things that aren’t miss-worthy, like waiting an eternity for her to commit to an ice cream flavor. Or her vetoing all of the movies Hollie and I suggest. Who’s going to quality control our movie selection tonight?

  In so many ways Serena is my polar opposite, but she’s my friend. My bossy, impulsive, melodramatic friend. And I miss her.

  “Anyway,” Hollie says, jolting me out of my sentimental state, “the bigger question is which series we’re going to binge. Are we in the mood for intense or lighthearted?” Her arm slips from mine as she scrapes her wild blond curls into a ponytail to trap them from the summer breeze.

  I crinkle my nose. “This is going to take some thought—”

  “Oh, wait. Cheer girls, ten o’clock.” Hollie’s arm locks through mine again as she nods in the direction of the pier. Imogen and Brianna are strutting along the planked walkway, heading in our direction. Imogen flutters her fingers in a wave, and Brianna’s lips arch into what I presume is supposed to be a smile.

  “Hey!” Imogen’s silky blond hair swishes behind her as she skips over to us and kisses th
e air around our cheeks. “What’s up, ladies?”

  Brianna looks up from her phone long enough to muster another half smile.

  “Nothing,” Hollie says. “Just wasting time. How about you guys?”

  Brianna combs her fingers through her auburn waves. “Same.”

  “This summer has been so slow,” Imogen drawls. “We’ve literally done nothing.”

  “Us too.” I shift my focus between them. “Have either of you heard from Serena lately?”

  They exchange a glance.

  “No,” Imogen says, leaning in a little closer. “How come?”

  All of a sudden, I feel uncomfortable under their prying gazes. Great. The sharks have smelled blood in the water.

  “No reason,” I say, diverting them from any scent of gossip or scandal. “I guess she’s just been spending a lot of time with Max.”

  Brianna stares at me and slowly chews her gum. “I think she’s been hanging out with Colleen.”

  Hollie chokes out a sound, and her eyebrows shoot up. “Colleen?”

  I frown. “I doubt that.”

  “For real.”

  Imogen looks blankly at Brianna. “Colleen and Serena? Since when?”

  Brianna turns her palms upward, bracelets clunking on her wrists. “Colleen told me she was meeting Serena a couple of days ago.”

  Imogen blinks back at her with wide blue eyes. “Why weren’t we invited?”

  “I don’t know,” Brianna says, jutting out her chin. “Personally, I have no idea why Serena would choose to hang out with Colleen O’Dell over us.” Her eyes linger only on Imogen, making it clear that “us” does not extend to Hollie and me. “Colleen is way too extra.”

  Imogen nods, and her gaze moves to me. “She’s too much. And she lies all the time,” she adds with an eye roll.

  “Tell me about it,” Hollie mutters under her breath.

  Imogen and Brianna study her, waiting for her to elaborate.

  “What, you and Colleen have drama?” Brianna asks.

  Hollie’s arm tightens around mine. “No. We’re good.”

  I glance at her, but she just smiles and says nothing.