11. Cassie
CASSIE
For several blissful seconds when I first wake up, I’m not even sure where I am, let alone what day it is. I see the motel sink from my bed and think, Am I on a road trip?
But no.
I would have liked to go on a road trip.
Instead, I roll over and look at the empty side of the bed where Torrance Walters slept last night, and that memory triggers all the other ones. A balloon drop of memories falls over me, but it’s much less fun to remember that today is the day I go to jail.
I stretch, drawing in a deep breath as I do, and look around for Tor.
As if on cue, the entry door to our motel room opens, and he walks in, carrying the ice bucket, now packed full of ice.
“Good morning,” he says, seeing I’m awake.
“Good morning,” I murmur sleepily.
He holds up the bucket. “Thought I’d refill this in case you were thirsty.”
I am thirsty. It’s probably because I was drinking, but my mouth feels like it’s lined with cotton.
I go to push the sheet off so I can stand, but when I do, I realize I’m naked.
In the dark, I was fine, but with the morning light shining through the window, I don’t think I want to bare myself.
“Can you… um…” I gesture toward my sleep shirt, tossed on the floor too far for me to reach. “Can I have my clothes?”
Tor smirks at my modesty, then bends to snatch my discarded clothing off the floor. “I took a shower already, but if you want one before we go, I think there’s time.”
I shouldn’t pass up a shower. Not only because I had sex last night and Tor came inside me, but because I’m not sure I’ll ever have a peaceful, solo shower again. I’ve never been to jail or prison, but movies don’t make the shower situation seem great.
“I didn’t even like showering after gym class in high school. I’m really not going to like showering in prison,” I tell him as I pull my shirt over my head.
He shakes his head at me but doesn’t say anything.
Once I have the shirt and panties on, I push back the sheets, looking for the sleep shorts I know I packed, but it appears I never put them on because I don’t see them on the floor anywhere. Last night is a bit of a blur, and I don’t really remember getting dressed for bed.
I go to my overnight bag to grab a bottle of water, and sure enough, my sleep shorts are still inside.
I use one of the wrapped plastic cups by the sink to scoop up some ice, then I pour some water in.
I let it chill for a few seconds, then I take a long drink.
I fill it up again so it can chill on the sink while I shower.
“I’ll be fast,” I tell him.
“Take your time. We’ve got a good hour before we need to check out.”
Check-out isn’t what I’m worried about, though I guess spending the night at this motel was a good idea. When the police go to arrest me, they’ll go to my house. Nobody knows I’m here, so even if Russ has an early interview with them, that should buy me enough time to have breakfast first.
Although it occurs to me they may have already gone to my house, for all I know. I haven’t checked my notifications yet.
I grab my phone and touch the screen to wake it up. Tor must have paused my music at some point because it’s paused now, but I remember it was still playing when I fell asleep. I swipe the screen, and my heart stalls when the first notification I see is a text from my mom in all caps.
WHERE ARE YOU????
Shit.
I did tell her I’d explain everything this morning when I woke up, and then… well, I didn’t sleep there.
I don’t know if that’s why she’s asking or because the police were there to arrest me and I wasn’t home. I quickly open my message with her to scroll up and see if she said anything else, but there’s nothing before or after that message.
Belatedly, it occurs to me that I’m on her family plan and they could use my phone to track my location… but then I remember this isn’t my phone. My old one, anyway. It’s a new phone Tor just got for me yesterday.
I glance over at him, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his own phone. “Hey, is my phone on your family plan by chance?”
He shakes his head. “I pay for my own line. You’re on my plan now, but no one else is on it.”
“So your parents can’t like… you don’t have any shared devices they can use to locate you?”
“Nope.”
“And you didn’t pay for this room with their credit card, right?”
He shakes his head. “I gained access to my trust fund on my eighteenth birthday. I have my own money and my own credit card.”
Speaking of money, I was supposed to work the closing shift today.
I won’t be able to, and I won’t be able to tell them once I’m in custody, so I should handle this now. Besides, it will be easier to find someone to cover my shift with more notice.
I start a text message to my manager and type out, “Hey! It’s Cassie. Super sorry for the short notice, but I can’t work my shift tonight. Can you please find someone to cover it? Sorry, I would arrange it myself, but there’s been a family emergency and I can’t.”
I don’t wait for a response. They have notice, so I’ve done what I can.
Once my mind is more or less at ease regarding my responsibilities, I power my phone off—just to be safe.
Tor packs up our few things while I enjoy my last peaceful shower, so when I get out, all I have to do is grab my overnight bag and purse and follow him out.
We drove to the motel separately, so we drive separately over to Holroyd’s Family Restaurant, too. It’s close enough that we could walk, but I’m hyperaware of the countdown happening in the background of my day, so I’d rather save the five minutes and just drive over.
My mouth waters when we enter the restaurant and I catch the scent of coffee brewing and delicious, buttery pancakes.
But then I feel people staring, and it occurs to me that my cell phone isn’t the real threat here.
In a small town like Holbrook, being so visible (especially considering who I’m here with) probably increases the likelihood of someone sharing my location, if for no reason other than to gossip.
Seeming to notice the same thing, Tor asks the hostess, “Can we get a booth in the back corner? Away from the main dining area would be nice. We’d love a little privacy.”
“Got it,” she says, grabbing two menus as she comes around the counter. “I’m so sorry to hear about your brother. He was such a great guy,” she says, her big, brown eyes full of sympathy and focused singularly on Tor, as if I’m not standing here beside him.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” he says, as expected, with an appropriately somber nod.
I side-eye him, but I know that’s one massive difference between me and every member of the Walters family—they’ll play their parts, even if they don’t fucking mean it.
I’m more honest than they are, and boy, do people not like that.
Tor’s hand finds my hip in a casual, supportive touch. It’s like he can feel my frustration, and he wants to ground me, to remind me he is on my side, he’s just keeping up appearances.
I don’t like keeping up appearances.
I want the appearance to be how something really is. I want the truth to be visible.
By the time we’re seated, I’m lost in a familiar cycle of frustration, but unlike usual, I have the source of it sitting right across from me. “Can I ask you something?”
His eyebrows rise slightly, and he nods. “Of course.”
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
I struggle to find the words, especially ones that aren’t openly hostile. “Be so full of shit?”
He cocks his head, his eyebrows rising even higher.
I grimace.
I was going for not hostile, but I missed.
Tor smirks at my facial expression, but he’s not easily offended, so my question doesn’t really bother him. I think he’s just deciding how to answer it. “You know how you were raised to follow the rules, so that comes naturally to you?”
I nod.
“I wasn’t. I was raised to put forward a certain image, and as long as that image is solid, I can do pretty much whatever I want behind the curtain.
People tend to see what they want to see, so if you do your part to project the right image, people will generally believe it—even if you’re full of shit.
It doesn’t matter if you’re full of shit.
Most people don’t want to know if you’re full of shit.
” He leans forward, elbows on the table, as if telling me a secret. “Most people want you to lie to them.”
I shake my head, rejecting that with every fiber of my being. “I don’t.”
“I know.” He leans back. “You’re not most people.
You’re the smartest kid in your class, the one who would do the assigned homework even if you knew the teacher wasn’t checking.
But do you know why people hate the smartest kid in class?
Because they fuck up the curve everyone else is graded on.
If you weren’t there, a shining example of maximum effort, the bar would be lower for everyone else.
People like low bars, Cassie. People don’t like doing their best.”
I wrinkle up my nose. “I do.”
“I know. You’re a weirdo. We covered that.”
I kick him beneath the table, and he laughs.
“For what it’s worth, I like that about you,” he says. “I’m just telling you why you’re butting heads with everyone else. People think you’re asking too much of them.”
“Decency is too much?”
“For some people.”
“If you’re right about this, why haven’t I had problems before? I’ve always expected people to be good.”
“Because you’re pretty,” he states. “That buys you a certain amount of goodwill as long as you don’t rock the boat too much—and before last summer, you didn’t.
Whether you believe we deserve it or not, my family is well-liked in this town, and people don’t like to see some overachieving little nobody trying to topple… people like us.”
“Ew.”
He holds up his hands in defense. “It’s not my opinion. I mean, the pretty part is, but the rest… it’s just reality.”
“I hate everything you’re saying.”
He nods, unsurprised. “I know. Most people believe in a just world, and I think you did too up until last summer, but that’s a plebeian fantasy. The world we live in isn’t set up that way.”