Chapter 11 #2
on campus back at Harvard. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised; she was dating Benny the Rich Boy, after all.
“Small world, huh?” she said. “If you need the bathroom key, be prepared to wait. If it doesn’t open up soon, I’m going to
have to drive over to McDonald’s and use theirs.”
“Good luck,” I said, and started to leave, but she wasn’t having it.
“How the heck are you? Ankle healed up?”
“Little sore but okay.”
She glanced around to see if anyone was listening before moving closer and whispering, “Any breakthroughs regarding the locket?
Benny told me already. So exciting!”
Are you fucking kidding me? Benny, I’m going to beat your ass.
“Uh, no. Nothing. Might be a dead end,” I told her.
“You can’t give up that easily! Do you have it with you? I could take it back with me to the Moraleses’ house, and Benito and I could have a crack at it.”
Over my dead body. “I don’t have it on me, Lulu. And it’s probably safer to keep it in one spot.”
“At your beach cottage?”
Now I was getting paranoid, glancing over my shoulder when a couple of high school boys ducked into the aisle. “It’s in a safe place,”
I whispered.
The two boys squeezed past, hunting candy. When they did, I glanced down the aisle at the man striding toward us in jeans
and big black boots.
My chest tightened. Pretty Paul Vanderburg.
He spotted me and did a double take, hesitating mid-step as he ran a hand over his blond buzz cut. For a long moment, it was
as if neither one of us wanted to run into each other, but he finally dropped his eyes and continued walking toward me.
“Malone,” he said, lifting his chin in greeting.
I’d forgotten just how badly his face was scarred, looking at it up close and personal. It made him look more menacing than
he already was. At least he was currently wearing a shirt—unlike the last time I’d seen him, at that bonfire with Seb. I gave
him a tight smile and tried not to stare at his face. But then he asked me the most bizarre question.
“Hey. Is Jaz with you?”
Now I looked at his face again, puzzled. “Jaz . . . ? Jazmine Neely?” Why on earth would he be looking for her? They weren’t
on speaking terms. Heck, if Seb was being honest about the current state of his relationship with Paul, then none of the Wags should be on speaking terms with Paul Vanderburg. On principle, at the very least. He lured Seb away from us. He was the enemy.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he complained. “I just needed to ask her something. Saw you and thought maybe you might
. . .”
“I haven’t seen her today.”
Was that disappointment behind his eyes? I couldn’t fathom what sort of question he had for Jaz, but he wasn’t eager to share
more. He just gave Lulu a look, then continued down the aisle, tossing out a mumbled “Fine. Later.”
I stared at his broad back as he walked away, and part of me wanted to chase him back down and demand that he tell me what
he needed to ask Jaz.
“Breakups are always rough,” Lulu mused.
I glanced at her. “Pardon?”
“You know. All the drama, all the feelings. They’re rough.”
“Whose breakup?”
Pretty Paul broke up with someone? What did that have to do with Jazmine?
Lulu blinked at me, looking genuinely unsure about answering. But she eventually said, “Um, Paul and Jaz?”
All my muscles turned stony as shock washed over me. Lulu was wrong. She didn’t know what she was talking about. Paul was
bad news. Scum of the earth. We hated him. Jaz . . .
She would never date Paul. That was absurd.
But the way Lulu looked at me—biting her bottom lip like she was waiting for the truth to dawn on me—made me realize that
maybe it wasn’t so absurd after all.
Holy shit.
This was what she’d been keeping secret? This was what she whispered about with Seb at the cottage when she thought I couldn’t hear.
My thoughts felt as if they were buzzing inside my head, and that buzzing was getting louder and louder . . .
I couldn’t stand there another second. Mumbling goodbye, I rushed past Lulu to the parked Corvair, fumbling my keys with shaky
hands until I forced myself to focus. All I knew was that I had to get out of there. I barely saw Lulu looking dejected on
the sidewalk as the Corvair screeched away from the curb.
My best friend had dated the absolute worst person in town? And hadn’t said a word about it to me? I just couldn’t make it
make sense in my head.
But.
Something was wrong with Jaz. She wasn’t her normal, confident, happy self. And she had been keeping something from me.
I felt sick to my stomach. I sped through town, far too fast—I knew it, but I couldn’t stop myself, even after I swerved enough
to scare myself while patting down the seat to find my phone. I was this close to calling Seb to ask him for a confirmation or denial when I remembered his advice to me about Jazmine:
You should ask her. Talk to her.
He was right, of course. I knew that now. Instead of continuing through the traffic light and going home to the cottage, I
made a last-minute sharp turn into the marina.
If Jazmine was going to lie to me about who she was seeing, she could do it to my face.