The Third Twin (5 page)

She looks at me, and I can’t believe how calm she is. “What for?”

“I don’t know,” I say, feeling lost, like I should do something, but I have no idea what. “I guess I was some kind of witness or something. Maybe I saw something and didn’t realize it.” I pause, picturing a figure emerging from the shadows and attacking Casey.

“
You
didn’t see anything Friday night,” Ava says. “You weren’t out with him. Alicia was. The last thing we need is to have to explain Alicia to the cops.”

“Why would they care?”

She looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Hello? Fake ID?”

I glance back at a news photo of the black pool of blood next to the car. More blood than I thought a body could hold. Just the thought of it makes my stomach turn. “What is wrong with you? Casey is dead!” Ava frowns, as I’m practically shouting at her, so I lower my voice. Yelling at Ava only makes her shut down completely. “Look, someone killed him … 
murdered
him … the night after I was with him. In the very same spot. The cops aren’t going to care about some stupid fake ID.”

“You don’t know that.” Ava stands up. “Besides, this
has nothing to do with us. Maybe Cecilia’s right and it had something to do with drugs, and no way do we want to get involved with that. Calling the cops will only drag us into something that is none of our business.”

I picture Casey’s shadowy figure leaning against his car under the streetlamp. “Oh my God! What if they got my license plate number? What if whoever did that to Casey thinks I know something? They might be able to track us down here!”

“Stop it!” Ava says, grabbing me by the shoulders. “For the last time, this has nothing to do with us.” She shrugs. “I know Casey smoked a lot of pot—was probably dealing it too. Maybe he had it coming.”

I can’t believe she said that so calmly. “He was a total asshole,” I agree. “But did you see the photo?” As the image pushes its way back into my mind, I wonder if he knew what was happening. If he was killed instantly or if he lay on the ground, helpless, as the life seeped out of him. “Nobody deserves that.”

Ava reaches for the door handle, and there’s a distant look on her face I haven’t seen before. It’s almost like this has happened to someone on TV, not someone she knew. “Maybe,” she says slowly, considering it. “Maybe not. After all, they say that karma’s a bitch.”

“So everyone’s talking about that guy Casey being killed yesterday,” Maya says, barely loud enough to be heard in the crowded hallway. She looks almost pleased to be able to share that news.

“You didn’t say anything, did you?” Ava asks, slamming her locker shut. “I don’t want people to know that Alicia went out with him.”

“Of course not!” Maya glances at me. She’s friends with both of us but takes her orders from Ava.

“Did anybody here know him?” I ask. “He graduated from Claremont. That’s pretty far away.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Not personally. But a guy in my bio class knew his cousin or something.”

Even though I let Ava talk me into not going to the cops, just thinking about that night makes me uneasy. It’s like a bad movie; scenes from the car and then the news keep flashing
through my mind. Casey’s eyes as they narrowed in on me. The feel of the keys as I clutched them in my hand. The wide pool of blood by the driver-side door.

“Don’t even think about it,” Ava says to me, her voice edged with warning.

I’m pulled out of my thoughts and blink like I’ve been caught in headlights. “What?” As if I don’t know. As if she can’t tell what’s going on in my head.

“You’ve got a guilty look on your face,” she says, leaning toward me. “Nothing you can tell the cops is going to help them find whoever did this. It has nothing to do with us.”

“Can we talk about something else? Please?” I beg.

“It’s just so totally creepy!” Maya says, completely ignoring me. She puts one arm around my shoulder. “I mean, imagine something like that happening to someone we knew.”

“He wasn’t all that innocent,” Ava says, looking around to make sure nobody overhears her.

Maya gapes at her. “You mean he got what he deserved?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Ava says, turning her back on Maya, signaling that the conversation is over. They both wait while I reorganize my backpack. “Are you coming to lunch?”

“In a min—” I’m interrupted by a whooping noise from down the crowded hallway. Over the sea of heads, I can see Joel Macy’s spiky brown hair popping up and down. “I got in!” he shouts, banging on lockers as he makes his way toward us. “I got in!” Some people scowl, and others fist-bump him as he passes them—it’s difficult not to get caught up in his enthusiasm.

“Did you hear yet?” he asks, sweeping me around in a circle and then setting me back down again. I glance over at Ava, and like I thought, she’s staring at the two of us with a scowl on her face. Joel doesn’t notice, only waves his phone at me. “I just got the email from Stanford—I got in!”

“So I guessed.” I grin. Not like there was any doubt. Joel’s been the one and only choice for valedictorian at our school since kindergarten. “That’s awesome.”

“Thanks,” he says, and bumps my arm. “What about you?” Joel’s grin is threatening to take over his entire face. It’s nice to see him happy for a change.

“I haven’t gotten anything yet.” Joel was a lock; we all knew that. Nobody in their right mind takes five AP classes senior year. Me, on the other hand … not so much. Too many nights I stayed up past midnight studying, trying a lot harder than everyone else seemed to need to in order to keep my grades up. I’ve done everything I can. Now it’s up to the admissions committee. We’re both aware that they only take 7 percent of their applicants. Now that Joel’s in, there’s one less space for me.

“You will! Like they’re going to reject you? Oh my God, this is going to be so awesome. Stanford is going to rock next year.” With that, he gives me a giant smile and continues down the hallway.

“What an idiot,” Maya says, even though we all know she’s just saying that for my benefit.

“Promise me that when your email comes, you won’t embarrass yourself like that,” Ava says, glancing down the hallway to where we can still hear Joel celebrating.

“That was not my fault,” I tell her.

“I didn’t say it was,” she says. “I’m sure you two will be happy together next year.”

“Shut up.” I shove her in the arm. “I might not even get in.”

Maya gives me a look. “Come on.”

“Seriously,” I say, trying to wrap my mind around that possibility, but they both shake their heads in disbelief.

“Hey,” Zane says, peering over my shoulder. “Did you hear about the guy at the Cheesecake Factory?”

“Enough!” Ava says, and puts her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to talk about that anymore.”

“Sorry,” Zane says, looking hurt.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, shooting a look at Ava. “She’s decided that she wants nothing but good news from now on.”

Zane glances at Ava, then nods down the hall. “Speaking of good news, Joel Macy got his admission email.”

“We saw,” I say. If Zane knows what’s good for him, he’ll drop the subject quickly.

“Have you heard anything yet?”

“Nope,” I say, feeling in my pocket for my phone. I can feel the butterflies forming—the truth of what I just told Ava is starting to sink in. What if I don’t get in? What would Dad say?

“They’re probably sending them out alphabetically. I bet by the end of the day.” He puts one arm around my shoulder, but the weight of it just feels heavy.

“Don’t jinx it,” I say, removing his arm. “I don’t know how much more waiting I can take.”

“Won’t be long now. I can feel it.” Easy for Zane to say. College isn’t exactly on his list of things to do. He turns, and I see a big scrape on the bottom of his chin.

“What happened there?”

Zane puts one hand up and rubs the spot absentmindedly. “I caught a sweet wave this morning but got Maytagged on the bottom.”

I always think surf talk is hilarious, but I force myself not to laugh. “Sorry. Are you going out to the quad?” I ask. “I was going to eat with Maya and Ava.”

“Oh yeah?” Zane says, looking over my shoulder.

I turn to see them already at the end of the hallway. Maya looks back like she wants to say something but gets swept along in Ava’s wake.

“I know I’m not your sister’s favorite person,” Zane says.

I watch Maya and Ava walk out of the building. She doesn’t not like him. It’s just that he’s not exactly her type. “It’s nothing personal,” I say.

“Yeah,” he says with a grin. “That’s exactly how I’m taking it.”

We walk through the double glass doors and out into the sunlight, and settle onto the concrete wall on the edge of the quad. I grab my sandwich out of my backpack, and Zane pulls out a book.
Homebrewing For Dummies.
Not
Pride and Prejudice.

I flick the edge of one page. “Home brewing?”

Zane glances at the cover. “Sure. Like a micro microbrewery. In our kitchen. Don’t worry—it’ll be classy. Dad’s even working on some private labels for the bottles.”

Figure Zane’s dad for making home brew in their sink. He’s the kind of parent who lets you drive the car on the back roads when you’re only fourteen, and looks the other way when you take a swig of his beer at the Fourth of July picnic.

“You can’t even legally drink.”

He looks at me thoughtfully. “So? I can still make it. Think of it as chemistry. And I like chemistry.”

I barely take another bite of my sandwich before my phone buzzes. I jump a little, enough for him to notice. “You gonna get that?” Zane asks, glancing at me.

I suddenly feel sick. “Of course,” I say, reaching for it, but it’s like my fingers have a mind of their own, and my phone sails onto the grass.

Zane jumps down and picks it up, but as he hands it to me, I change my mind. “You check it,” I say, pushing it back at him.

“Come on,” he says, waggling it in front of me. “Just get it over with. Then you can start to make plans—finally order that twin extra long My Pretty Pony comforter for the dorm room.”

“You only say that because you want one.” I reach for my phone, but then back off like it’s red-hot. “I can’t.” I look up at him and clasp my hands together. “Please. Just look at this one email, and I’ll be your best friend.”

“Who else would have you?” Zane looks at the phone, considering it. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my entire life.”

“Okay.” Zane taps the screen a few times.

“Is it from them?” In just a few short moments, it feels like I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

He grins. “Would you look at that? There’s an email here from the Stanford University Office of Undergraduate Admissions.”

“Oh my God,” I say, digging my fingernails into my palms. My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest. “Open it!”

Zane taps the screen again, and I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to bear the suspense any longer. My entire life hinges on the next few seconds. Everything I’ve worked for, all the honors and AP classes, all the class vice presidencies I’ve held, all the volunteer hours, they all come down to this one email. “What does it say? Just read it already!” I feel like I’m going to explode.

I hear Zane take a deep breath. “Dear Alexa,” he begins, but his tone is so flat that I open my eyes to watch him. I barely register the words “very sorry” and “unable to offer you admission” before my anger flares up. “That’s so not cool!” I yell at him. “This isn’t the time to be screwing around!”

I expect him to smile, to push me on the shoulder and tell me he’s joking, to break the thick wall of tension that’s formed around us, but all I can see is the regret in his eyes.

“You
are
kidding, right?” I can hear the pleading in my voice that mirrors how much I want that to be true.

He swallows hard, and I see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “I wish I was,” he says softly. Zane grabs my hand and puts the phone gently on my palm. I scan the letter, but my brain refuses to understand anything beyond the first
sentence.
I am very sorry to let you know that we are unable to offer you admission to Stanford University.

“But … how?” These are all the words I can form at this moment. I feel numb and empty, like someone has come and scooped out all of my insides. We did everything right—I took the AP classes, PSATs, SATs; joined the Key club; and ran my ass off on the cross-country team even though I hated every second of it, because I wanted a sport on my application. I may not be in the running for valedictorian, but my grades are always above a 4.0. Dad promised I’d get in. It’s all we’ve talked about since forever. I search Zane’s face to see if there are any answers there. “What happened?”

“God, I’m so sorry,” he says, squeezing my hand. Zane isn’t the type to give me meaningless hope, tell me that I can always apply somewhere else, that maybe this is for the best, that it just wasn’t meant to be. He understands how bad this really is.

I hear a roaring in my ears, and it feels like the future is rushing at me a million miles an hour, but instead of ivy-covered walls and long nights at the Stanford library, it’s just a giant black hole. I don’t even care about my phone as it tumbles to the ground. I just lower myself down onto the wall until I can feel the warm concrete on my cheek as I lie there. This is as far as I can possibly move right now. The thought of getting up and walking across the quad is impossible.