18
In the morning, feelings of guilt, embarrassment, and fear rush back before my eyes are even open. I see the garden behind my closed lids, hear Adam’s horrible tale all over again, remember Sage’s social media post.
Last night, Sage left the party immediately after posting. That must’ve been her plan all along, the one I’d predicted. To stay long enough to witness Bram’s undoing and then skip off into the night.
Bram had locked himself up in his room, so it was up to Henry, Adam, and me to send everyone home.
The house was in shambles, disproving Henry’s assumptions about student council members not partying too much.
I offered to stay and help clean up, knowing Mr. Abbott would arrive today.
But they told me to go home, and though I said I’d be fine, Henry insisted on walking me because of the late hour.
He held my hand the whole way home. After everything with Sage’s post, I didn’t have the heart to mention the whole Bram situation.
Dad was waiting up for me, so there was no possibility of a good night kiss at my front door.
Which is just as well—I won’t kiss Henry until I’ve come completely clean about my history with Bram.
Bram, who may be a killer.
Though my mind—or maybe my heart—refuses to accept this.
Sure, Bram is gorgeous and has never had an issue getting attention from girls.
But I can’t wrap my head around this girlfriend-stealing monster that Adam has painted him as.
I know Bram. I keep going over everything that happened with him last year.
Did he lure me into his bedroom? No. I asked to see his painting.
Maybe, subconsciously, I wanted something to happen.
But that’s just as ridiculous. There was Mariana, of course.
And even back then, I had a crush on Henry.
I asked to see Bram’s paintings as a friend.
And in the garden last night, I was trying to comfort my good friend—or someone I believed was my good friend.
Now, I sit up in bed and check Sage’s post again, hoping that the school or the police have taken it down.
But it’s still up, its views upwards of one hundred thousand, with hundreds of comments.
Despite feeling torn, I recall the scared look on Bram’s face last night in the garden, and my heart twists for him.
I text Sage, asking if she wants to meet me at the coffee shop in town to get started on our English papers. Our rewrite deadline was extended on account of the murder. She responds immediately: Don’t need help but always need caffeine
An hour later, I arrive at the shop dressed in jeans and an oversized sweater, my backpack heavy with the weight of my laptop. Sage is already there, wearing a cute floral sundress and a cropped white cardigan. She has headphones on and a latte on the table as she types away.
I wave a hand in front of her, and she removes the headphones. “Oh, hey.”
“How’s the paper coming?” I ask, setting my things down across from her.
“Fine, I guess. Mrs. Lieu’s grading rubric is a complete mystery. So who knows?”
I open my laptop and take a seat. I’d planned on making up a question about my paper topic, just to ease my way into the real reason I asked her here.
But I get as far as pulling up a blank document, typing out my title, and messing with the font before blurting out, “I wanted to ask about your post last night.”
Sage’s lips purse. She leans back in her seat, crossing her arms. “I thought it was a bit weird, you asking me here. I don’t think we’ve done homework together since sophomore year. You’re not even going to order a drink before you give me the third degree?”
I glance up at the counter. “Fine.” I grab my wallet, hoping she doesn’t pack up and slip out before I finish ordering.
But when I return a few minutes later, she’s still at the table, though she’s not typing quite as furiously. “Sage, how did you get that video of Bram? Did you take it?”
“I can’t share my sources,” she says without looking up from the screen.
“Because your source is a complete idiot for sharing it with you instead of the police?”
Her head tilts. “Let’s just say a friend may have been excused from class to go to the bathroom, but they were actually hiding out and recording a cute little video for social media.
And then that video got more interesting when this friend spotted shady behavior down the hall.
Oh, and this friend may also want Bram to go down for his crimes as much as my family does. ”
Which of Sage’s friends would hate Bram enough to want the footage leaked?
Immediately, I know the answer. All of them.
Though Adam’s injuries cast him in the spotlight last year, the fact that Mariana had been Bram’s girlfriend was never forgotten. “You should let the police handle it,” I say. “If they thought Bram was guilty of something, they would’ve arrested him.”
“Oh.” Sage finally glances up with a devious grin. “That’s coming. Soon, now that the public has the video footage. They’ll be putting extra pressure on the detectives to make an arrest.”
My jaw clenches. “You have to take that post down.”
“Why would I do that? I’m finally getting people to call in to the station. Finally, others are helping with what my family has been trying to do for a year.”
“Please, Sage. Bram is my friend.”
“Is he?” she asks condescendingly. “Deep down, I don’t think you believe that.”
“He didn’t do this,” I plead.
Her expression softens, no longer self-satisfied and victorious. Instead, I see pity as she picks up her coffee. “We both know you don’t believe that.”
And though I should try, I can’t find the words or the will to argue. Instead, I say pathetically, “We used to be friends, Sage. Can you take it down for me?”
She sips her coffee, and for a moment, I think she’s going to comply.
But then she sets her cup down and looks me in the eye. “We stopped being friends because my cousin was murdered, and you took their side, not mine. Or have you forgotten?”
She pulls her headphones back on, ending the conversation.