Chapter Eleven
ELEVEN
Allegra goes back inside, and I move to sit on the bench and think. Then I pick up my phone.
Me
I’m sorry
Me
Yes, someone said something about you, and I needed to work it out
Theo
Can we talk?
Me
I’d like that
Theo
You busy now?
I tell him that I’m outside, and that I can come back in or we can speak later, as planned. He doesn’t answer. He just appears and sits beside me on the bench.
At least two minutes pass, both of us sitting in silence. Then I wordlessly pass him the folded-up article from my pocket.
He opens it and exhales, long and deep. “I should have guessed. That’s the one thing that would have you backing off fast.” He glances at me. “You could have asked.”
“Could I? I mean, yes, I could, but should I?”
Another sigh. “No, you’re right. You needed to hear the explanation from someone else. Did they tell you it was a setup?”
“Yes.”
He pulls out his phone. “I can prove it. I have the statement from the guy. I know it might sound like I got away with something.”
He shows me the statement. I don’t need to read it, but I understand that he needs me to.
In it, his accuser confesses to the setup, on the condition that his confession means he won’t be charged.
The fact Theo keeps it on his phone tells me how much the incident upsets him, how badly he feels the need to explain to anyone who heard about it.
Theo fingers the article. “The photo didn’t help either, did it?”
“It was concerning. But I’m guessing you get tired of having cameras shoved in your face.”
“Honestly, I’m used to it. My parents taught me that there’s no point in fighting the paparazzi or you get pictures like this.
Give them what they want and hope they move on.
But there are a few photos like this. I was…
” He clears his throat. “I was with a guy who wasn’t out, and I thought we’d ducked the paps, but we hadn’t. I lost my temper.”
“I would, too.”
He gives me a half-smile. “Thanks.” He touches the first paragraph.
“I’d kinda hoped for more time before you saw this stuff.
Time for you to get to know me first. But someone is making sure I don’t get that, so let’s run this down.
Do I date guys and girls? Bi, pan, whatever.
I like who I like. First date at thirteen with a seventeen-year-old?
No, I was fourteen and she was sixteen. Otherwise, yes.
Do I date a lot? Well, when you’re bi, slut-shaming isn’t just for girls.
I like dating. I started young. Early bloomer plus a fair amount of opportunity. ”
I resist the urge to snort at that. One look at Theo Dubois, and I’d say “fair amount” is an understatement.
He continues, “But I know plenty of straight guys who date a lot more than I do and don’t get called out for it.
I won’t argue the point in general. I date.
Enough said. As for the rest? Do I party?
Again, yes, but not as much as this suggests.
I drink, maybe more than I should. I don’t do drugs—of any kind.
Not my scene. Have I done things that have been covered up?
Yep. Underage drinking, obviously. One DUI when I was young and stupid.
Also a car theft—I took one of my dad’s cars without asking, and he called the cops to teach me a lesson, only he called one he knew, so no charges were laid. ”
He checks the article again. “Sexual misconduct? No. Nothing like that. Trashing a hotel room? It was one room, and I only broke the bed.”
There are many ways a guy could say that, to make it absolutely clear how he broke the bed, and all those ways would be creepy. Theo states it like these things happen, which of course makes me think of how these things happen and…
Is it warm out here? It’s the sun, right? Even though we’re sitting in the shade?
He continues, “And I not only admitted to the damage but paid for it right away. One broken piece of furniture is hardly trashing a hotel room. But saying I trashed it makes a better story.”
I’m not actually sure it does. Breaking the bed is a story in itself.
Definitely warm out here.
He folds the article and glances over. “Anything else?”
I shake my head.
“I’m not a saint, Lil. I have fun. Sometimes I overdo it. But I’m honest. You don’t know me well enough to realize that, but if you aren’t comfortable asking me about a rumor, ask Maddox.”
“Maddox, the guy who isn’t your friend anymore?”
“Yes, but he’ll tell you the truth. He never cuts me any slack. You can ask him. Or Allegra—we’ve known each other forever.”
“Okay.” I look over at him. “I am sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be. Turning people against each other is a fact of life here. The only question is who gave you that and why.”
“Oh, I know, and I’ll take care of it.”
He smiles. “I know you will.”
—
I exit English class behind Natalia and then catch up and hand her the folded pages. “Thanks, but I won’t be taking you up on the offer. I don’t need to know more.”
She slows and then walks to the side of the hall as students stream past. Her expression says she’s caught off guard and deciding how to play this. Then, with a lift of her chin, she says, “Are you certain?”
“I am.”
“You’re one of those, then.”
I don’t ask “one of what.” I’m starting to see how Westdale students operate.
It’s on another level from what I’m accustomed to, probably because they’re on another level.
The level where money and privilege have fast-tracked their maturity, so I often feel as if I’m dealing with college kids.
I’m supposed to ask what Natalia means and look clueless doing so.
“Guess I am,” I say instead and start to walk away.
She gets in my path. “One of those girls who loses all sense of self-respect when good-looking guys pay attention to her.”
I only stare, and she pulls back, as if realizing this doesn’t quite hit the same when I’ve already sidestepped the trap.
“Guess I am,” I say again.
“I mean it, Liliana. If you honestly think Theo Dubois is into you, then you really are the naive little public school girl you seem to be.”
“Ah,” I say. “You’re one of those.”
“One of—” She cuts herself off and glares.
“I don’t think Theo is into me. I think he’s checking out the potential Optima competition. Possibly also bored—I suspect Theo likes the new and shiny. But he’s not the guy in that article, and you know it.”
“And Maddox?”
“You’re saying there’s something wrong with a guy needing mental health help after a family tragedy?” I wrinkle my nose. “How very twentieth century of you.”
Before she can continue, I say, “Let’s make a deal.
If you can show me proof that Theo did what’s in that article—or that Maddox’s issues included violence against others—I will vow to stay out of the Optima race.
However…” I lean toward her. “If you show me anything false—and I prove it’s false—you’ll drop out. ”
I extend my hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Her face contorts. Then she rips the pages in half, drops them at my feet, and walks away.
—
After dinner with the Liliths, I slip out to the library…and finally get back to my dad’s staff yearbook. I take it to a desk and scrape off enough of the corrector fluid on one of the erased notes to see two words, and my breath catches.
Will Nelson
Several words follow. I scrape so carefully that it seems to take forever, and I start to sweat, one drop hitting the book before I wipe it off.
Will Nelson about Annette
I frown. That doesn’t make sense. I adjust the book and realize I missed a part before my dad’s name. More scraping reveals Ask.
Ask Will Nelson about Annette
Annette?
I start scraping the other covered note. I’m moving slower now, the sweat beading faster as my heart thuds. This one is two lines. The first is three words.
Run, Nelson, run.
I work at the second line for what seems like forever, finally revealing the words.
Because if you ever show your face again?
That’s it. I reread the two lines. Telling my dad to run, because otherwise…?
Where’s the threat?
Wait, there’s a little spot I didn’t scrape off. I work at it, bit by bit, until I see a tiny circle maybe twice the size of a pinhead. A happy face?
I think of a T-shirt I saw once in a vintage shop. A yellow happy face with a bullet hole in the forehead.
I shiver.
The circle does seem to have something in the middle. I’m peering at it when I remember the antique desk magnifiers.
I hurry over to another desk, set the book down, and move the magnifier onto the page. The image leaps to life, but it’s been drawn so small that it doesn’t have a lot of detail. A line with other lines coming off it? Like a bug?
“This looks very top secret,” says a voice behind me.
I jump, slapping the book shut even as I recognize the voice. It’s Maddox, novel in hand, finger holding his place. His boots are off, and I look around for where he’d been sitting.
“Yeah, I’ve been here the whole time.” He points across the library. “You seemed busy, so I wasn’t going to interrupt. Then you came racing over to the magnifier, and I got curious.” He glances at the desk. “An old staff yearbook?”
“Just research.”
His head tilts as he studies me. “You’re sweating, Chamberlain. And you look freaked out.”
His gaze goes to the book, which I’m holding shut, as if he might snatch it away.
“It’s just…something,” I say.
“Something you don’t want to talk about?”
When I don’t answer, he rubs his mouth. “Guess I can’t push you to spill your secrets when I’m keeping mine about Cecilia. I am sorry about that. I’m not trying to be an asshole.”
“You aren’t an asshole, Maddox. I don’t need to know anything you’re not comfortable sharing.” I look at the book. “And please don’t think I’m pretending to keep a secret as some kind of payback.”