Dead Girls Don't Lie (33 page)

I look up at him. “Where did you read that?”

He ducks his head like he’s embarrassed. “Just made it up.”

“That’s really profound.”

He smiles. “Thanks.”

Across the lawn I watch the people going into church. A twist of guilt mixed with longing knots my stomach. I haven’t been to church since the day with Skyler in the parking lot. Dad hasn’t pushed me to go with him, but I know he wishes I would. I miss it, but I don’t know how to face all those people who know everything about me and everything that happened.

Skyler’s gone away, but Evan, Eric, and the rest of them are in big trouble. After the fire, the truth came out about everything. I think the biggest shock for the whole town was that the “bad element” they were looking for turned out to be homegrown.

“I’m sorry,” Eduardo says.

“For what?” I turn and face the pain in his eyes.

“I shouldn’t have left you that night. I shouldn’t have—”

“But you came back when I needed you. You saved my life.
Besides, it was my fault you left. I shouldn’t have told Sheriff Cross. I should have—”

He holds up his hand for me to stop. “I didn’t give you any reason to believe I was innocent. I didn’t give you any reason to trust me.”

“Yes, you did.” I put my hand on his leg. “You gave me every reason, but I couldn’t see it.” I turn back toward the church. “I didn’t let myself see a lot of things.”

“I didn’t, either.” He drops his hand to the water bottle beside him and grips it hard. “I know what you’re feeling because I feel it too.”

I reach over and put my hand over his, thinking about what I saw on the video. “Because you loved her—you loved Rachel—and she loved him?” He looks surprised that I figured it out, but he nods. “But you didn’t ever cross that line, even after he was dead.”

He looks at the ground. “No. But I thought about it. I thought about it a lot.”

“You know you’re the most loyal person I’ve ever met?” I say. He shrugs off the compliment, and I laugh. “We’re kind of a mess, aren’t we?”

He turns his hand over and takes mine, gently. “We’re alive. After everything we’ve been through, that’s something.”

“I’m not sure I want to be alive.” I lie back in the grass and close my eyes. “I’m not sure I can put the pieces back together and be something okay again.”

He slides his fingers along the bandages on my hand. “I was wrong. You aren’t boba. You aren’t stupid or naive. You
just see the good in everyone because you’re good. Whatever you learned from all of this, don’t lose that.”

He reaches into the drawstring backpack he’s brought with us every day but never opened until now. He pulls out a necklace, half of Rachel’s cross, on a leather string with beads surrounding it. He holds it up and lets it cascade slowly into my hand. Then he touches the other half, strung on a leather strap around his neck. “I decided that this was the best way for us to remember her.”

I sit up and look at the church. The doors are closed; everyone inside is probably singing the first hymn; then there will be a prayer, and the sermon. Suddenly, more than anything I want to be part of them again. To forgive, even if I can’t ever forget.

I stand up quickly. “I need to go.”

Eduardo stands up too; he looks almost scared. “Where?”

“Church.” I point at the building. I’m sweaty and gross, wearing no makeup, and my hair is in an unflattering ponytail again, but I don’t care what I look like. I just want to go back.

“Church?” Eduardo says it like it’s a foreign word.

“Yes. Church. I have to go back. I need to—” I look at his perplexed expression. “Come with me.”

He backs away, shaking his head. “I can’t go in there.”

“What? Are you afraid?” I tease him, hoping to get a reaction.

He doesn’t answer, but he looks almost more scared than he did outside the old house.

“Please, I need to go back, but I can’t do it alone.” I reach
for his hand. “Come with me, just for today, and I won’t ever ask you for anything again.”

“I doubt that,” he says, but he takes my outstretched hand anyway. I grip it tight so he can’t run away this time.

We make quite a scene when we walk into the church. Two sweaty, grubby teenagers in shorts and T-shirts, the former gangbanger and the school goody-goody, walking hand in hand right in the middle of the opening hymn. More than once I think Eduardo is going to bolt, but I hold his hand tight, not caring who sees. Whispers follow us as we walk to the front. This time I don’t listen to what they’re saying.

We sit down in the front row, and Dad takes my other hand without saying anything, almost like he’s been expecting me. I hold his hand and Eduardo’s and close my eyes. I listen to the music and think about me and about Rachel.

She was my best friend for nearly fourteen years, but after she died I thought I didn’t know her at all. I think about everything Rachel trusted me with—the soccer goal, her secrets, and finally, finding out the truth.

Maybe it was me I didn’t know yet.

I know I’ll miss her every single day, but the memories she left won’t haunt me anymore. I’ll remember the girl who never wore shoes, and our blood promise to always be friends. I’ll remember girls who loved and trusted each other, protected each other, and sometimes even hurt each other.

I’ll remember a friendship that will never go away.

Acknowledgments

If I thought one book under my belt would mean I needed fewer people to get to this point, I was wrong. Not only do I have all the people who held my hand the first time around, I’ve gained another dozen or so whom I couldn’t have made it through my second book without.

First, always, is my amazing husband, David, who still believes in me even when I don’t. Close behind him are our kids, David (the younger), Sabrina, Zach, and Daniel, who provide me with endless inspiration. Then there’s my extended family: my parents; my sister, Kristin Amrine, and sister-in-law, Angela Morrison (both of whom know this process all too well); my brothers and their wives; and the wonderful family I married into.

Special thanks go out to Guille Brooks for sharing with me her early life as a migrant farm worker, and to the lovely Silem Hernandez for being my Spanish tutor, Facebook buddy, beta reader, and one of the happiest, sweetest girls I’ve ever met;
also to my brother Stacey Shaw for beta reading/fact-checking and to my cousin JoLynn Hansen for all her Washington farm-girl expertise. Thank you to Monica Renda and Christie Carlson, my teen and teen-at-heart beta readers.

Something beyond thanks (I’m not sure what it is, but I assume it involves chocolate) goes out to my amazing editor, Mary Kate Castellani, for presiding as midwife over this process, and to Sara Megibow for believing in me and refusing to let me jump off the ledge. You’re both amazing at your jobs, and I’m in constant awe of your insights and support. Thank you to everyone at Nelson Literary and at Walker Books for Young Readers for helping me through this process and for being the often unsung heroes who get great stories into the hands of the people who love them.

I could not have made this happen without the tireless (if not tearless) support of my critique group—Val Serdy, Blessy Matthew, Anastasia Carl, Joan Wittler, and Sarah Showell. I love you guys 99.9 percent of the time. I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to the fabulous Class of 2K12 for saving me a fortune in therapy bills and for helping me realize that it’s okay (and even normal) to be a little crazy.

Thank you to all the other writers whom I’ve met and been inspired by, including the members of the Apocalypsies, the Harbingers, ANWA, SCBWI, and LDS Storymakers. It’s so nice to know that I’m not the only one who hears voices in my head.

Finally, thanks to the Divine Creator and Author of the universe. I know I am nothing without you. I have been truly blessed.

Also by Jennifer Shaw Wolf

Breaking Beautiful

Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Shaw Wolf

All rights reserved.
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

First published in the United States of America in September 2013
by Walker Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
E-book edition published in September 2013
www.bloomsbury.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Walker BFYR, 1385 Broadway, New York, New York 10018. Bloomsbury books may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at [email protected]

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Wolf, Jennifer Shaw.
Dead girls don’t lie / by Jennifer Shaw Wolf.
pages cm
[1. Murder—Fiction. 2. Secrets—Fiction. 3. Best friends—Fiction. 4. Friendship—Fiction. 5. Dating
(Social customs)—Fiction. 6. Single-parent families—Fiction. 7. Washington (State)—Fiction.
8. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Title. II. Title: Dead girls do not lie.
PZ7.W81855213De 2013    [Fic]—dc23    2013012063

ISBN: 978-0-8027-3450-1 (e-book)

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