One of Us Is Next - Karen M. McManus Page 0,82

Does he really think I don’t respect his work?

When I don’t answer, Dad waves the pencil at me again. “Don’t you have homework to do? Or television to watch?”

Dismissed, like always. But this time, I can’t blame him, and I don’t know how to apologize or explain myself. Especially since he’s turned back to his work like I’m already gone. So I head upstairs with my Sprite, even though Nate’s words keep running through my mind, burrowing into the groove of foggy half memories from the day Brandon died.

If you were totally paranoid, you’d almost think somebody messed with the landing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Maeve

Monday, March 23

Knox is already in the drama club office when Phoebe and I get there at lunch, seated on the floor with an oversized Tupperware container in front of him. Phoebe peers into it, her expression quizzical, as she settles beside him. “Are you eating empty hot dog rolls for lunch?” she asks.

“Of course not,” Knox says. “They have peanut butter inside.”

Phoebe wrinkles her nose. “That’s weird.”

“Why? It’s just different-shaped bread,” Knox mumbles around a large bite. He swallows, takes a gulp of water from the bottle in front of him, and turns to me. “Any news from your doctor?”

He must have texted me that question a dozen times since Friday. But I don’t mind; I’m just glad we’re getting back to normal. “No, but the lab is open regular hours today, so hopefully I’ll hear something soon,” I say. Phoebe rubs my arm encouragingly and pulls a bottled smoothie out of her bag, popping the top and taking a sip of the thick purple liquid inside. I didn’t bring anything, but my stomach is knotted way too tightly to eat.

“So why did you want to have lunch here instead of the cafeteria?” I ask Knox.

Knox inhales the rest of his first sandwich and chases it down with another drink of water before responding. “I wanted to talk to you guys about something without people eavesdropping,” he says, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

“And by people, you mean Lucy,” I mutter. I’m still not over her giving me a hard time when I was looking for Knox at play rehearsal.

“Or Sean,” Knox says. “Or Monica, or Jules.” Phoebe raises her eyebrows, and he adds, “Or anybody, basically. Something’s been bugging me all weekend, so I want to see if you think it’s weird or if I’m overreacting.”

“Well, now I’m intrigued,” I say, but I’m only half listening as I pluck at the beaded bracelet on my wrist. Ita gave it to me for luck the last time I went into the hospital, more than four years ago. I haven’t worn it since and it’s a little tight, but—that ended up being a good day. So maybe today will be, too. “What’s up?”

“Okay, well, here’s the thing. I saw Nate Friday night—don’t ask,” he adds, when my eyebrows shoot up. “It’s a long story, work-related, not important. Anyway. Nate was looking at all these pictures from the construction site where Brandon fell. You know how I told you my dad is helping investigate the accident?” We both nod, and Knox continues, “Well, Nate says he thinks someone could’ve messed with the landing Brandon jumped on.”

“Messed with it?” I echo. Now he has my full attention. “Like how?”

Knox shrugs, his mouth tight. “Removed some supports, I guess? I don’t really know. I wanted to ask my dad, but…he wasn’t in a great frame of mind. And Nate said the whole thing’s inconclusive, anyway. But all weekend, I kept thinking about what that could mean. Why would anybody deliberately screw with an abandoned construction site? And that’s when I started wondering…do you think there’s any possibility that somebody wanted Brandon to get hurt? Like, was actually targeting him by giving him that Dare?”

Phoebe chokes on her smoothie, and I pound her on the back. “Are you serious?” I ask while she coughs. Knox nods. “Like who?”

He spreads his hands wide. “Not sure. Sean, maybe? He was right there when it happened, and he gave me a concussion when I got too close. Maybe he wanted Brandon out of the picture so he could finally be top dog at Bayview, or something.”

“Huh.” I prop my chin in my hands and stare at a poster for Wicked on the wall, a bold graphic print of a green witch with a sly smile. I think about the conversation I had with Lucy Chen in the auditorium during the Into

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