Dead Girls Don't Lie (9 page)

“No.”

“Then what do you want?”

He looks like he’s sizing me up. “Rachel said you were different, but you’re just like the rest of them.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you stopped talking to Rachel when she changed the way she looked. I know you were ashamed to hang out with her.”

“That’s not true. She—” But I can’t explain about Evan to Eduardo. “Look, we just …” What did Dad say? “We just took different paths.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

That stops me. I remember Rachel’s voice when I admitted to her that she wasn’t invited to Claire’s New Year’s Eve party but I was, probably because Claire’s mom made her invite me. Rachel wasn’t mad, just quiet. “It’s okay. I have plans.” But I half believed she was lying to protect my feelings, so I could go to the party without feeling guilty.

On New Year’s Day, I called so we could laugh together over how stupid Claire’s party was, but she didn’t answer and she never called back. Claire told me about Evan and Rachel’s date at church, the day before we went back to school after winter break. My last conversation with Rachel happened the next day.

He’s still watching me, his eyes narrowed. I know what Rachel meant. The chip on his shoulder is so big I can almost see it.

“If you want to talk, talk,” I snap at him.

“She said you knew things. That you were with her that night.”

His reference to the night I’ve buried in the black corners of my memory, the night in the old house, makes my blood freeze. I wonder how much Eduardo knows about it.

“No.” I shake my head hard as fear pulses through me. “She was wrong. I wasn’t there. I don’t know anything.” I turn away so he can’t see my face. We promised we’d never talk about it; Rachel made me promise. I don’t know this guy. For all I know he was part of the gang that murdered her. Just the mention of the word “police” makes him freak. “I can’t help you.”

“You mean you won’t help me. But you’ll help the pigs in blue.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Rachel said you were different,
boba
, but I don’t think so. You’re just like the rest of them.”

“Whatever, okay?” I throw down the cone I was holding and start back to church.

“Boba!” he yells. When I turn, he boots the ball to me one more time. I stop it with a header that sends it flying to the other side of the field. When I turn back around he yells, “Why don’t
you
play high school soccer?”

It was the wrong thing for him to say, like he knew exactly how to get to me. Like Rachel told him.

It was the regional championship. The score was tied, and for once I was in the game. The ball came to me. For one beautiful moment, everything ahead of me was clear. I started dribbling down the field, getting in position to shoot the winning goal. I was getting closer, so close I could almost see myself being carried off the field on the shoulders of my adoring teammates. She came from behind me, so fast that all I could see was her long blond ponytail and the florescent green of our matching shorts. Claire was going to steal
the ball from me, her own teammate, because she didn’t trust me to make the shot. Rachel blocked her so I could shoot the ball. I missed, and we lost the game on a penalty kick. I don’t think Claire has ever forgiven me or Rachel for that.

We were eleven. Rachel said it was no big deal, that it was just a game, but I quit after that season because soccer wasn’t fun anymore. Not because of what Eduardo was implying, that soccer is beneath me because it’s a sport for the Mexican kids.

Dawn is coming out of the church with the children, but I don’t care. I’m done with his attitude and everything about him. I march back to Eduardo. “You don’t know anything about me. I gave my phone to the police to try to help, because it was the right thing to do. Because I wanted to help. Rachel was just fine when she was my friend.”

“She was fine.” He scoffs. “That shows how much you didn’t know about her.”

“And she was better off with you?” I’m so angry, I’m shaking. Eduardo stands his ground, his eyes hard, but I step toward him, so close I’m in his face, my anger pushing aside all fear. “How can you stand there and accuse me of being disloyal to Rachel”—the words come out before I can stop them; I have to blame someone—“when she’s dead because of people like you?”

His attitude melts into horror and pain. He lowers his head. “You’re right. It is my fault.”

He looks so hurt that I reach for him, sorry for what I said. He jerks away, and my hand catches the edge of his tank top.
It slips off his shoulder, and for the first time I see a red mark on his back, a tattoo that looks like the symbols I saw on Rachel’s porch. A gang sign.

I back away and Eduardo runs.

Chapter 10

Dad isn’t home yet when I’m finished with Vacation Bible School, so I go for a long run. I plug in my earbuds and try to concentrate on the music, my breath, and moving forward. Running is my release. Sometimes it feels like my runs are the only time I have to myself, the only time I have to be in my own head. After my talk with Eduardo, I need to think.

I make a wide circle and then run into town. For a while I head to the high school track, thinking I might try some sprints. Instead I end up back at the grade school, the place where I first met Rachel. I’m thinking about the piece of paper she gave me, our loyalty pledge, signed on this very playground, hidden here until she gave it to Eduardo. I think this is where she wanted me to go.

At one end a mom and her kids are playing on the swings, and there’s a lawnmower going behind the building, but otherwise I’m alone. I slow to a trot as I get closer to the fireplace at the far corner of the school. It’s a stone structure with two
ends where you can build a fire and a long chimney in between that makes it look kind of like a castle—at least it did to a couple of little girls. There’s a grate across the top of either side for cooking over the fire, but it’s old and rusty. I’m sure no one has used it for years.

At the end of fifth grade a little boy jumped off the top of it and got a bloody lip and a chipped tooth. We were banned from playing on or near it after that, which sucked because until then the castle fireplace was our haven, where Rachel and I went to pretend at recess, far away from the rest of the kids.

I slow down as I get closer. Somewhere in the back of the right side, up underneath a loose brick in the chimney is where we left our proclamation of loyalty, signed in blood. I’d forgotten about it until Eduardo tried to give it to me at the lake. I wish now that I had kept it instead of shoving it back at him. Agent Herrera said Rachel’s phone was missing and that she had a diary. Maybe she hid one of them in the fireplace. I have to look.

I glance around again. I’m hidden from the view of the mom and her kids by the corner of the school building, the lawnmower still sounds far away, and there’s no one else around. I have to sit down and slide backward across the soot-stained cement to get to where I can reach the back of the fireplace. I turn sideways, wedging myself farther into the narrow opening and reach up. I don’t fit into this spot as easily as I once did.

Solid, solid, solid, I count the bricks as I touch them. The fourth one gives way like a loose tooth. Rachel and I used to
hide notes for each other in the space behind the loose brick. I work it out with one hand and heft it beside me. From the angle I’ve shoved myself into it’s impossible to see if there’s anything inside. Trying not to think about spiders, I reach my hand back into the hole. It goes back farther than I remember. I strain to reach, and my fingers touch something like a plastic bag.

I stretch farther sideways, my arm scraping against the bricks, until I get the plastic between my fingers and slide the bag out into the light where I can see it. It’s full of black beads and a thick cross.

My heart throbs. The cross is Rachel’s, the only gift she ever got from her dad, except for the phone. She used to wear it all the time. I swallow hard as I trace the roses carved onto the front. It’s gaudy and huge, but somehow it seemed to fit her. I try to remember the last time I saw her wearing it. Or even the last time I saw her.

I remember now, her eyes following me as I walked past her, but she didn’t say anything. Not “hi” or “have a great summer” or anything. Just watched me walk away as she left school with Eduardo. It was like we’d never known each other.

I don’t know if she was wearing the cross.

I reach to replace the brick, but suddenly the lawnmower sounds like it’s on top of me. I scramble to get out of the fireplace. Just as it gets to me, I scoot out and stand up, stumbling forward. The lawnmower’s engine kills, and a tall guy wearing a baseball cap gets off and comes toward the fireplace.

He laughs when he sees me, and my heart sinks. Evan
Cross. Again. He’s shirtless, his T-shirt tucked into the back pocket of a pair of ripped jeans. “Jaycee, what are you doing?” His grin makes me feel like a slow little girl again, standing alone on the sidelines of the soccer field.

“I was just—” I stop when he reaches over and brushes my cheek with his hand.

“You have a little smudge there.” He brushes my other cheek. “And there.” He touches my forehead. “And there. Were you climbing around in the fireplace?” I step back, bump my elbow against the bricks, and drop the bag. I lean to get it, but he’s faster than I am, so he picks it up first.

I reach to take the bag from him, but he holds it up to take a look. Frustrated, I step back. “I came to see if that was still here. I hid it when I was in grade school.”

“How long ago?” He’s studying the cross through the bag.

“Fourth grade.”

“And it was in the fireplace all this time?” He pushes his baseball cap back, leaving a streak of soot on his own forehead. “Amazing that it didn’t burn up years ago, but I guess no one uses this anymore.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask to take the attention off the bag of beads before he recognizes it.

He rubs his hand on his jeans. “The pursuit of higher education.”

“Higher education?” I glance over at the grade school, not sure if he’s making a joke.

“College. I’m working for my uncle. To earn money to go to school.” He walks over to the lawnmower and picks up a
bottle of Coke that’s sitting by the seat. He wipes the lid off with the T-shirt from his back pocket.

“I thought you had a football scholarship,” I say. He looks confused, and I push forward stupidly. “Weren’t there scouts from WSU and everywhere else coming to the games, checking you out?”

“Junior year, yes. Last year, when the team went 0–9? Not so much.” He takes another drink like he’s disgusted. “I’ll be lucky if I make Walla Walla Community College. But one way or another, football or not, in a couple of months I’m outta here.”

He sits on the edge of the fireplace and takes a long drink of the Coke. He watches me as he lowers it and wipes his mouth. “You want a drink?” I shake my head. “Are you sure? You look hot.”

The way he says, “You look hot,” makes me shake my head harder and tug my T-shirt down to cover the sliver of skin between it and my shorts. Everything Evan says sounds like he’s flirting, like it’s impossible for him to have a conversation with a girl without turning on the charm.

As he tips his head back to drain the last bit of Coke, I’m distracted by a tattoo on his shoulder, black-and-purple symbols surrounding a sloppy eighteen, his football jersey number and my lucky number for most of my life. The number I saw in the old house.

I think.

The swirls remind me of the symbols I saw on the porch at Rachel’s house and the tattoo on Eduardo’s back.

He leaves the bottle on the fireplace and stands up. “I need to get this finished.” He nods toward the lawnmower. “I’d offer you a ride again, but this isn’t nearly as fun as my motorcycle.”

“That’s okay.” I back away, trying not to stare at Evan’s tattoo. “I need to get home.”

“If you wait, my little brother will be here to pick me up.” His lips twitch into a smile. “I think he’d like it if you were here.” I duck my head, wondering what Skyler might have told Evan about me or about us kissing. “You might want to clean up a little, though.” He pushes a piece of hair that escaped from my ponytail back around my ear. His ease at touching me makes my heart beat faster but bothers me at the same time. He doesn’t move his hand. “Skyler was right, you are—”

Before he can finish whatever it was that Skyler said about me, a door slams and both of us turn toward the parking lot. Evan freezes with his hand on my cheek. Skyler stops and stares at us. He’s close enough that I see his expression change from shocked to hurt to angry in about a heartbeat.

Evan pulls his hand away and swears under his breath. He turns toward his brother, and says, “Skyler, don’t …,” but Skyler turns back around and climbs into the truck. He slams his door again and tries to restart the engine, but it won’t turn over. “You better go talk to him before he tears out of here. Skyler has a tendency to flip out over stupid stuff.”

I head for the parking lot, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to say to Skyler. I only know I want to erase the hurt from his face. Before I can reach him, he peels out and screeches away.

Evan swears again, louder this time. “Now it looks like I need a ride home. You have a car?”

“No, I ran here.”

“Looks like that’s what I’ll be doing too. Insecure little punk.” He throws his hat down.

“Sorry,” I say, but I’m not sure what I have to be sorry about.

“Not your fault. Skyler’s just a hothead.” He leans over and picks up his hat. “Can you make it home before dark, or do you want to wait and I’ll walk you home?”

“No, I’m okay.” I glance at the sky; the clouds are just starting to turn pink. I must have been running longer than I thought. “I need to go.” For a second I remember that there was a time when I’d have given anything to be alone with Evan Cross. But after two conversations he’s already starting to annoy me. Maybe it’s because of the rift he caused between Rachel and me, and now with Skyler.

“Okay.” Evan puts his hand on my shoulder. “Be careful, there’s a lot of crazy stuff going on around here.”