Chapter Thirty-Six A History of Murder
Thirty-six
A History of Murder
I do my best to keep my head down when the new semester starts. I hang out with Mar and Ty. I continue to keep Everett at arm’s length. I work for my aunt and for JP, growing my savings so that I can leave this town the moment I graduate.
And I see Chase. A lot. Always at his place when his mom is at work, and always on the down-low.
Other than Mar, nobody else knows about it, and nobody even seems to suspect.
I keep waiting for someone—Jasmine, Maggie, anyone—to confront me about it, but the good thing about being a loner with a camera and the habit of disappearing for hours on end is that nobody bats an eye when you disappear for hours on end.
Chase: Come over after school?
I hide my smile as his message pops up halfway through last period. I hold my phone in my lap, waiting until Mr. Keegan turns toward the chalkboard before I type a response.
Me: Can’t. I’m working at the shelter. But I can come by after if you want?
Chase: I want. Clothing optional btw
“Ryan, phone,” rebukes Mr. Keegan, and I look up to find him looming over my desk, palm outstretched.
Stifling a sigh, I place the phone in his hand, and he confiscates it for the rest of class.
Later that night, I tug my shirt down, trying to smooth the wrinkles as I get dressed in Chase’s bedroom. He leans against the doorframe in a T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, arms crossed, smirking in that lazy way I’ve come to love.
“Some chick asked me to the Valentine’s Dance this morning,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “Is this a weird attempt to make me jealous?” Though I can’t deny it worked. I definitely experienced a tiny stab of jealousy just now.
“No,” he answers. “But it just reminded me that it’s tomorrow. Are you going?”
“Nope. Not my thing. Too much glitter and papier-maché hearts. Did you accept the invitation?”
“Nah. I don’t do dances either.” He winks. “Bad boy and all that.”
I laugh. “Exactly. Dancing’s probably too mainstream for you.”
“Hey, I can move when I want to.”
“Yeah? I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Chase walks me to the front door, where we linger for a beat. I hate leaving. I’ve gotten used to him. Talking to him. Being with him.
“C’mere,” he says gruffly.
I let him trail his hand down my arm, his fingers slipping through mine like they belong there. Like I don’t have a dozen secrets I should be worried about.
The jingle of keys snaps me back to reality.
I let go of his hand like it’s on fire as a woman with long blond hair walks through the front door. Her green hospital scrubs are wrinkled, her face bright with surprise when she notices me.
“Well, well,” she says with a knowing smile, setting her purse down. “What do we have here? My son has a girl over? A real girl?”
Chase shrugs it off like nothing can rattle him. “Don’t scare her off, Mom.”
She snorts softly before turning to me. “I’m Georgia, Chase’s mom.”
I awkwardly introduce myself. “I’m Ryan. I, uh, go to school with Chase.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Ryan.” Georgia’s eyes twinkle, and I know she knows exactly why I came over.
“Um, same.” I edge toward freedom. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go. See you tomorrow, Chase.”
Cheeks flaming, I practically run out of the house. A glance over my shoulder shows Chase watching me, amused. His text appears when I’m sliding into the truck.
Chase: Coward.
Me: I was NOT prepared to meet your mother today, Hedlund.
Chase: Grow some balls, Shipley.
I send a middle finger emoji in response, then drive home, where I go to my room and do homework.
A loud thump against the wall jolts me, and then I hear Connor’s voice, low but angry. I can’t make out the words, but he sounds tense. A minute later, another muffled shout, and then…silence.
I turn back to my assignment, hoping whatever storm is brewing has passed, when Connor suddenly throws my door open and marches in, his face flushed with frustration.
“You and me, Valentine’s Day dance,” he announces, hands on his hips like it’s already a done deal.
I blink. “Uh…no, I’m not going to that.”
“Come on, Ry. Please.”
“No. I hate dances. Besides, I thought you were going with Sam.”
Connor sits on the edge of Jasmine’s bed and rubs his hands over his stubble-covered jaw. “He’s working. By choice.” Irritation flashes in his eyes. “He took an extra shift without even asking me.”
“Aw, I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“So you’ll go?”
“Nope.”
“Please?” he presses. “Do me this one solid, okay? Everyone else will be there with someone, and I’m not about to sit in the corner like a loser.”
“So slow-dancing with your cousin is what’s going to boost your status?” I crack.
“Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“No, it won’t. I’ll just be awkward.”
“You won’t be awkward,” he promises. “C’mon, think of it as a favor for your favorite cousin.”
I huff, caving when I notice he’s wearing that stubborn “I’m not leaving until you say yes” look on his face.
“Ugh. Fine.”
He breaks out in a wide smile. “That’s the spirit. Trust me, it’ll be sick.” Halfway to the door, he stops, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Oh, by the way. There’s a dress code for the girls. Pink or red only.”
My jaw drops. I snatch the nearest projectile—a Sharpie—and throw it at the doorway, but Connor’s already racing away.
“I hate you, Connor,” I growl the following night, standing in front of the mirror wearing a bright pink minidress I borrowed from my cousin.
I wish I could be like Jasmine. She’s putting the finishing touches on her makeup, pouting in the mirror, so excited she’s actually glowing. She and Bo are in the on-again phase of the cycle.
“How do I look?” She turns toward me in a pink empire-waist dress, practicing her Instagram angles on me.
“Perfect,” I say.
Despite it being a random dance and not the prom, Maggie and Dan wait for us in the front hall, where my aunt starts snapping pictures as if we’re walking the red carpet at a movie premiere. By the time we leave the house, I’m already exhausted.
Bo picks Jasmine up in a shiny black truck that Connor tells me he got from an LSU football scout who’s trying to lure him. Jasmine is beaming as he opens the door for her. It’s nice to see her so happy, even if I do suspect they’ll be off-again before the dance comes to an end.
Since the twins turned seventeen last month, Connor insists on driving tonight. We take Maggie’s SUV and head for Crockett High.
The night is brisk as we walk toward the building, my strappy heels clicking on the concrete. I’ve already tugged on the hem of Jasmine’s dress at least a dozen times. I feel like everyone in town can see underneath it. I’m taller than my cousin, so her dress is way too short on me.
Connor and I stop at the table outside the gym doors to hand our tickets to the two chaperones sitting there. When we enter the dance, I’m assaulted by clashing shades of red and pink. So much red and pink. Oh God.
“Why is this happening to me?” I moan as Connor links arms and urges me forward.
“Just enjoy it,” he chides.
It’s like Valentine’s Day threw up in here.
Twinkling string lights crisscross the ceiling, with hearts of all sizes hanging from the rafters.
The decoration committee really went all out, layering the walls in paper roses and garlands that sway with every bass beat.
A live band, made up of a few seniors I recognize from school, play on the low-rise stage, belting out a pop cover. They’re actually pretty good.
Everywhere I look, girls are decked out in reds and pinks. The boys got off scot-free, able to wear their black and gray and blue suits like a bunch of assholes.
“Want some punch?” Connor offers.
“Only if you spike it with tranquilizers.”
“You’re such a whiny baby,” he says, before striding toward the refreshment tables.
I study the crowd. Mr. Hicks and Mrs. Burle are chaperoning, the latter surprising me since she’s about a hundred years old and I assumed went to sleep before seven every night. When another familiar face catches my eye, I freeze.
Natalie Singh.
Why is she here? She’s not a student or a teacher.
The question is answered when the geography teacher, Ms. Steinfeld, joins her. The two young women exchange words, laughing about something, and I deduce they’re friends. Maybe Ms. Steinfeld invited Natalie to keep her company while chaperoning.
Jasmine suddenly pops up beside me, all smiles and glitter. “Oh my God, cousin,” she hisses in my ear. “How good does Bo look right now?”
I glance in the direction of her date and can’t deny the tall, dimpled football player looks great in a suit.
She leans in again. “If we’re still together by prom, I’m giving him my V-card.”
I try to suppress my laughter, but it spills over. “Whatever makes you happy, Jazzy.”
“He’s so sweet. Not to mention he’s hot, has a future, and actually opens doors for people.”
“All pluses,” I confirm.
“Where’s Con?” she asks.
“Getting some punch. Although I sort of hope he’s decided to bail on me, because then I can leave.”
She shakes her head. “For a photographer, you sure hate events.”
Connor returns with two cups of punch, catching the last bit of our conversation. “Maybe next year they’ll give you a photo booth gig, make you official.” He waggles his brows as if to entice me.
“I won’t be here next year,” I remind him. “I’m graduating.”
“Oh right. Shit. And then you’ll go to college.” He dons a glum look. “I don’t want you to go. We like you. Right, Jazzy?”
“Uh-huh. But not as much as we like Bo,” she chirps, before darting back to her date.
I accept the plastic cup Connor hands me and take a quick sip. In my peripheral vision, I glimpse a flash of movement, and my heart squeezes when I see Everett approaching. He outdoes Bo in the suit department, his jacket stretching across his big shoulders, the trousers hugging his long legs.
“Hey,” he says when he reaches us. “Con, let me talk to Ryan alone for a sec.”
I want to object, but my cousin must think we’re on the football field, because he instantly obeys his quarterback’s orders, nodding and walking away.
“You look gorgeous,” Everett tells me.
“Thanks.”