7. Jayne #3
I can never understand why so many people insist on building walls around themselves to shrink their worlds down when it takes less work to never start building those walls to begin with.
Sadie is the perfect example. So much potential, and yet she’s already built an entire future around Ben Carrera and the family business that looms so large over this town.
She’s proud of it, I know. Being a Cooper.
And I guess I’m not ashamed of it necessarily, but I also don’t give it much thought.
I certainly don’t view it as the golden ticket to a happily ever after.
Just look at my parents. Sure, they play the perfect family on the outside, but when it’s just the two of them, when they don’t think anyone else is around, it’s as if they’re strangers to each other.
Just two planets in orbit, passing by each other without feeling.
Nothing seems worse to me, and yet I can already see my sister running down that path at full speed.
How she doesn’t see it is a mystery to me, but I suppose that despite everything, we’re different people.
Absently, I run my thumb along one half of the broken-heart necklace that Sadie gave me for Christmas last year.
It seemed a little juvenile at first to be the twins who had matching “Best Friends” necklaces.
But I’ve always had a soft spot for kitsch, and at this point, going anywhere without wearing it feels like leaving the house naked.
Sadie knows I have standards when it comes to fashion and accessories, and this necklace doesn’t exactly meet them.
But it’s still cute, in a campy kind of way.
“What have you been working on?” I ask Mason, more to be polite than anything.
“Oh,” he says. “Just some new stuff. Portraits, actually. But from unexpected angles. Like, can you know who someone is if you never even look them in the eye, if you just see some small part of them…?”
His voice drifts off, and I can tell he’s focusing completely on whatever he’s pinning up to dry.
To be honest, I’m shocked I got any kind of answer out of him at all.
I take that to mean he’s either too excited about what he’s doing to keep it to himself, or it’s such a throwaway project to him that he doesn’t care who knows about it.
That’s when I see it. The portrait he’s hanging up on a clothespin.
If you could call it a portrait—I’m not really sure.
It’s just a woman’s collarbone, her hair brushed off to the side.
It’s a sort of abstract piece, with no clear focus on the person herself.
I know it’s a girl, because I recognize her instantly, even without seeing her face.
The freckles near her neckline. The mess of curls descending past her shoulder. The half-heart necklace.
It’s me.
When the hell did Mason Vreeland take that picture?
I’m so distracted by what I’m looking at that I don’t realize Mason has turned his attention away from it. He’s staring at me now, his eyes intense even in the half-light of the darkroom.
“I—” I’m not sure what to say, but I feel as though I should definitely say something.
I’m also very aware that we’re all alone down here, and even if I were to scream, it’s highly unlikely anyone would hear me.
And what would I say if they came running?
“Help, this guy took a picture of me”? Not exactly a crime, as far as I know.
But it’s making me really uncomfortable.
“It’s not what you think,” Mason says quietly. Although I don’t see how he could possibly know what I think.
“You know, I just remembered I’m supposed to meet Sadie,” I say. It’s a lame excuse, even to my own ears, but I have to get out of here. “I’ll, um, I’ll see you later.”
Without another word and leaving my work half finished, I grab my bag and all but run out of the darkroom.
The basement, where the photography lab and darkroom are, has exactly zero service.
When I finally escape back into the early autumn sunlight and head to my car, I see a series of missed calls and texts from Evan.
For a brief moment, I wonder if he changed his mind and is calling to say he’s heading here for the weekend after all.
That would definitely solve my problem of having no plans tonight.
If he’s around, it might even be worth going to Trevor’s, just to play one of our games together.
Evan and I are kind of into social engineering, just for fun—it’s fascinating to see how people react to certain situations, and we’ll usually make some kind of bet or another about what’s going to happen.
People aren’t really that hard to understand if you pay attention.
It’s a lot like horseback riding. A little bit of pressure here, the right affirmation there, and you can predict with absolute precision what move they’re going to make next.
“Hey, JJ,” Evan says. He’s the only one allowed to call me that. “I’ve been calling you!”
“I know, sorry. I was in the darkroom.” I was in the darkroom with a stalker who has been taking pictures of me without my knowing it. “Please tell me you’ve been calling to say that you changed your mind about the grand prix this weekend and decided to come here instead?”
He laughs. “Not quite, I’m sorry to say. Just wanted to call and check in since I feel guilty that I had to cancel on you. But the invite is open if you want to come down here instead. It beats the hell out of whatever cornfield you’re planning to hang out in tonight!”
“Hey! You know that’s not my scene.” There’s probably no point in telling him that I was indeed invited to a party in a field tonight, albeit not a cornfield specifically. “There is a big party tonight, but honestly, I’d rather be anywhere but there.”
“Who’s going?” Evan asks.
His tone is casual, but I know what he’s really asking.
He’s asking about Liz. He’s only met her a few times—unfortunately, he’s only been to visit me a handful of times—but he took an almost immediate disliking to her.
He was the one who pointed out to me how obsessive she was about my sister.
And he thinks she’s jealous of me. I think he worries about me spending time with her.
“Eh, the usual crowd,” I reply.
“Maybe you should go. You know, spend some quality time with Sadie. And keep Liz away from her.”
“I literally just said that it’s not my scene.”
“I know, but come on, JJ. You could actually end up having some fun, even if I’m not there to judge everyone with you in the corner. At least promise you’ll consider it!”
“Fine, I promise.”
“Obviously, I don’t believe you, but I appreciate you making the effort.”
“You know me too well.”
“I do. And actually, you sound a little off. Everything okay?”
I consider telling Evan about what just happened with Mason.
But at the same time, it feels increasingly silly now that I’m out of the room with him.
Can I even be sure, really sure, that it is a picture of me?
Maybe it’s a picture of Sadie instead. Although that would make even less sense.
Sadie and Mason don’t even know each other.
“So, just to be clear, you never confronted Mr. Vreeland about the photo?” the detective asks me.
“No.” I shake my head. “I felt really uncomfortable and just got out of there as fast as I could.”
“Do you think it’s still at the school? We can send detectives out for it right now.”
“I… I don’t know, honestly. I left the darkroom before Mason did. For all I know, he could have taken it with him or even destroyed it after he saw the way I reacted to it. But that’s why all this is my fault. If Mason mistook Sadie for me last night, I just…”
“You can’t blame yourself for any of this, Jayne. Mason Vreeland was clearly a deeply disturbed kid. It could have been you, Sadie, anyone. There is nothing you could have done to prevent this, do you understand?”
I nod, as if I believe him. But I don’t.
“Now, listen,” he says, “I know this is all a lot for you, and I’m sure you’re doing your best to remember everything you can about what happened yesterday.
But I have a few very clear questions that I need answers to, and I want you to focus.
Can you do that? We can stop talking about Mason for now. But I have some questions about Liz.”
I nod again. He’s talking to me like I’m someone in the middle of a mental breakdown or a kindergartner.
How else do you deal with a traumatized teenager?
I suppose that’s what I am now, and unbidden, my mind drifts to the idea that this is exactly the kind of tragic thing a kid would put in a college essay to get ahead in one of the Ivy Leagues.
Not that I’m going to an Ivy, and not that I would capitalize on a tragedy just to get an edge. That’s more of a Liz Stratton move.
The more I think about Liz, the more I start to blame her.
The truth is, I want the cops to be questioning Liz, and I want them to be tough on her.
She’s clever, and she’s used to talking her way into and out of all kinds of trouble.
I wouldn’t have cared if it wasn’t for the fact that Sadie was usually standing right next to her while these things were happening.
God, if my sister could have just stopped putting herself in the middle of games that were way more dangerous than she’d realized.
If only she’d been smarter, been more aware. If only.
“Yes,” I say, squaring my shoulders and staring at the lukewarm, subpar tea still sitting on the metal table. “Ask away.”
“Thank you. The sooner we get through all this, the sooner you go home. And we are going to send someone to the school now, just to see if that picture you saw Mason Vreeland with is still down in the photography lab.”
I know it won’t be. But if it makes Detective Hunt feel as if he’s doing something that will make a difference, then who am I to say otherwise?