I don’t like that look in his eye. He’s happy doing this to me.
I want to yell at Ramsay that he’s looking in all the wrong places. But I hold my tongue.
I could go to Carter. But they’re partners. And it’s like Seth said—I have no proof that Mrs. Rodriguez or my mom were involved at all.
So I let Ramsay leave without saying anything, still wondering if it’s a huge mistake.
27
I message Seth the moment the cops leave. He tells me not to worry, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s next. But it doesn’t escape me that both of us were in that clearing yet I’m the one whose room is being searched. Of fucking course it’s me.
I then go onto Citizen Sleuths to see if there’s anything new.
There are a few more posts from that same user, RdHerrng41. It feels like they have some kind of personal vendetta against me. They continue to maintain I killed my sister out of jealousy, then killed Thatcher because he figured it out. Other people think the same thing my dad does: that I killed Thatcher for revenge.
And somehow, it’s gotten out that Seth and I slept together and that he’s my alibi. He’s probably just covering for his gf, one user posits. Or maybe they did it together is another sentiment I see.
I read each and every message, the ball in my stomach getting bigger by the moment.
I didn’t really think I was going to end up in jail for something I didn’t do. People staring at you at school, a few random posts on the internet—those aren’t things that put you behind bars.
But a warrant to search my room? That has to mean they’re truly considering whether I did this.
There’s no evidence. Nothing to put me at the ravine at the time Thatcher was murdered.
But the only thing that puts me anywhere else during that time is Seth’s word.
The cops must not believe him. I don’t know why they wouldn’t. But if they did, they wouldn’t have come here.
Later that night, Seth texts me to meet him and Kendall in the clearing tomorrow. She has something to tell us, he says, and wants to do it in person. I just hope it’s good news.
—
The next afternoon, I tell Davy I’m going for a run and leave my house before I need to, to make sure I reach the clearing first. I need to prepare myself for seeing Seth again.
At least Kendall will be there, a buffer. Something to stop me from losing my mind and just reaching for him mid-sentence. I don’t know what came over me the other day. I can’t remember ever wanting Jeremy in that way—so badly I could only focus on how much I wanted to kiss him.
Where did that come from? Was it all of a sudden, sitting on his bed, the rain pattering on the roof, looking into his eyes? Or had it been building up since Pennsylvania, since the moment I walked into the clearing at the start of the summer, since last summer, for years?
I climb onto the star-watching rock and wait, look at the sun sinking into the trees. The shadows across the clearing are long, the air cooling, the mosquitoes coming out. I slap at one on my knee.
A rustling noise: Seth and Kendall emerging through the bushes. I try to ignore the flutter in my stomach at the sight of him, the burst of heat in my face. I hope they’ll take my flush for sunburn.
Seth nods at me as Kendall chirps hello. Nothing on his face betrays anything, but his eyes might linger on mine just a moment longer than normal.
They climb up onto the rock, and we face each other.
Kendall tucks her legs up under her. She’s dressed in this long, flowy flowered dress with a little jacket over it. “So I wanted to tell you what I found out the night I hung out with Gen. God, that girl can talk when she drinks.”
I feel a swift stab of envy. Gen is an emotional drunk; all it takes is a few hard seltzers and she’s crying into your shoulder, telling you how much she loves you. It’s one of the things I miss about her, and the idea that she’s going around doing that with Kendall, of all people, makes me want to throw something.
Kendall looks at me. “She was talking about how she and your boy have started—”
“Jeremy’s not my boy,” I interrupt. “And I don’t really want to hear about that.”
“It could be relevant,” Seth says.
“Oh, I’m getting there,” Kendall says. “So, Gen’s had a thing for Jeremy, like, pretty much her whole life. And she told me about how she, like, tried to time her move real well. Like she was all there for him in the aftermath of your breakup, gave him a shoulder to cry on when he needed it. Then one night, they were drunk and ended up hooking up—”
I feel ill. “How is this relevant?” I feel Seth’s eyes on me but refuse to look at him.
“I’m getting there. They’ve had this on-again, off-again hookup thing for months, but he won’t commit to more than that. Basically, Gen thinks he’s not over you.” She looks directly at me when she says this.
I’m startled. “Really?”
She nods. “So that’s put a bit of a damper on things for her.”
“Where was Gen the night Fiona was killed?” Seth asks.
“Oh, I’m getting there.” Kendall pauses—for dramatic effect, I’m sure. “The night Fiona died, Gen was with Jeremy.”
I blink. “What?”
“Apparently, Jeremy was all upset after his fight with you. And he ran straight into Gen’s open arms. He got home and confessed everything to her. The whole fight you had about football, all your problems…”
I feel a jolt of anger. That Jeremy would tell her all of that, stuff that should never have left that space between us two—
And then I realize I did the same. I confessed it all to Seth. I did worse than confess. I have no business being mad about this.