Please Don't Tell - Laura Tims Page 0,16

way it makes me feel, either.” His words are practiced. He rehearsed this. “Like you think I’m helpless.”

“You’re right. It’s bad, I’m trash—”

“You’re not trash! You make it very difficult to talk to you sometimes.”

I sit on my bed. How can I ask him for help now?

“Mom told me I should be honest with you about this.” He sucks in his bottom lip. “Please don’t decide to stop being my friend. I’m not that mad. Not end-of-relationship mad.”

“I dunno why you always expect me to stop liking you.”

“I don’t know why, either.” He rubs his forehead violently, sits next to me on the bed. “I’m sorry for being this way.”

I take a deep breath. “When I was a kid, my parents were always like you’re the big sis, you gotta look out for the small sis even though I’m only eighteen minutes older than Grace. But then she stopped needing me.”

“So what, I was your replacement protectee?”

“At first,” I admit. “But that’s not the only reason I became your friend! You’re fun to talk to and we like the same stupid shit and you’re really helpful with figuring things out.”

He tries to hide a smile. “What did you need help figuring out?”

Right. Okay. Back to this. I take the envelope out, slide the photos and the note onto his lap.

“Oh my God.” He blanches. “That’s Principal Eastman.”

I dig my nails into my wrist as he reads the note. When he’s done, his eyes glaze over, his mouth slightly open. Then he shakes himself, lightly hits his own cheek. “We are not going to panic.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“We are definitely not going to do that.”

“Right.”

“Say it again, slower.”

I breathe out. “Right.”

“Obviously we need to find out who this is.” He crumples the edge of the envelope. His eyes are still glassy. “It must be someone who was at the party. You must’ve been drunk enough where they knew you wouldn’t remember it. And they must know why you hated him so much you might believe someone who said that you were the one who killed him.”

Pres is a problem solver. I’m safe. I have him. I’m going to be okay.

Unless I actually did—no don’t think about it.

“You and me and Grace are the only ones.” I say it quietly, even though the treadmill’s still thumping down in the basement, loud enough for me to hear even from up in my room. “Grace doesn’t even know you know.”

“She must’ve told someone.”

“There’s less than zero percent of a chance she did that.”

“Then we have to assume Adam told.”

Told someone, maybe. Bragged about it, maybe. My gut clenches.

“Which means that this person, the blackmailer, was friends with Adam.” He’s zoned into his thought process. “And obviously not a big Joy fan, if they’re doing this to you. Here is my theory.”

“You have a theory already?”

“We can’t assume Adam’s death was an accident anymore.”

My hands go numb. “So you think I—”

“No! God, no. Look, there’s only one reason someone would try to pin Adam’s death on you when everybody thinks it’s an accident. That’s if somebody did kill him. And they’re scared people’ll find out.”

“You think the person who wrote this letter is a murderer.”

“It’s the clearest motive.”

“You think a murderer climbed the tree outside my window and left me this and, like, knows where I live.”

“I didn’t say it was ideal.”

I put my head between my knees and imagine the trapezoid, breathe with it.

But Pres is in problem-solve mode. “They must have figured out a way to frame you, so nobody finds out what they did. But first, since it’s convenient, they’re going to use you to get revenge on someone else they hate—Principal Eastman. Two birds with one stone.”

This still doesn’t fix it. But he’s getting there. He’s got this.

I scrape myself together. “It’s like everything that was jumping around in my head all panicked is lined up neat in a row now.”

“I’m good at this sort of thing,” he says. “And I think I have a pretty good guess as to who the blackmailer is.”

I’m okay, I’m safe, he solved it. “Who?”

“Cassius Somerset.”

“What?” No way.

“You saw his black eye? Cassius got in a fight with Adam at the party. I was there. He tackled Adam, and Adam punched him in the face.” He’s getting excited now. “It makes sense.”

“Cassius was Adam’s best friend.”

“That’s what I’m saying. He fits. Adam did something to make Cassius so angry that he’d attack him at his birthday party. Maybe even drunkenly push him when he was standing