Please Don't Tell - Laura Tims Page 0,32

find out about, like, alcohol.”

So I wasn’t the only one interviewed. Maybe the blackmailer didn’t send Roseby to my house as a threat after all. But finding that note right afterward—it’s too much of a coincidence. He’s threatening me. Telling me he’s not afraid to get the police involved.

“Adam lived next to that quarry his whole life.” Grief has turned Ben hard. “He wouldn’t fall in, drunk or not.”

My head is full of a thick fog. When was the last time I ate? How long I can keep doing this?

“It feels like everyone forgot about Adam.” Sarah’s eyes are blank. “Because of Principal Eastman and Savannah. Nobody cares anymore.”

“Adam’s half brother does,” says Kennedy quickly. “The new kid. He asked me all these things about Adam. I told him about that thing he always did with his car, and how he brought doughnuts to math class twice. . . .”

Levi’s sweatshirt and the baseball cap are in my backpack. I almost threw the cap in the trash.

Sarah starts, “If this thing with Savannah hadn’t—”

The door opens, and Cassius walks in as his sister’s name is dissolving in the air. It’s the first time I’ve seen him all week. His black eye’s mostly faded, but there’re bags under both eyes now. Grief or guilt?

I’m not scared, I’m a fighter—

His steps stutter when he sees me, but he doesn’t leave. He sits on the last free couch. It groans beneath him despite the weight he’s lost. A tree branch would snap.

But if it’s not him . . . it’s somebody else, faceless, scarier, someone capable of murder.

Then November follows him in. What’s she doing here? I tap the spot next to me, but for some reason she sits beside Cassius. All the rubber bands on her wrist are gone.

“Let’s go around the room, share our memories of that night.” Ms. Bell faces November, who’s closest to the door.

“I was only there for a second. So I don’t have much to talk about.” She doesn’t look at me.

A little fire kindles in me. I pull out my phone and text her.

u went to adams birthday party?

She reads my message with her brow furrowed, and starts typing.

It was a bad idea.

That doesn’t explain anything. Then something occurs to me.

did u see me there?

No you must have gone early and left early. I showed up late.

how come u didnt tell me u went?

Are you kidding? Don’t act like you’re entitled to information about my life when you’ve completely shut me out lately.

The fire in my stomach zips out, leaving me cold.

I hesitantly shut my phone off. “My biggest memory of that night is how Cassius punched Adam in the face,” Ben says suddenly.

The silence is acidic.

November stands up. “What are you trying to say?”

“All I’m pointing out,” growls Ben, “is that Cassius assaulted Adam, and that same night he ended up dead.”

“Rumors and accusations are not welcome here,” Ms. Bell says sharply, no trace of her usual lilting tone.

Even Sarah quits wiping her eyes long enough to glower at Cassius. I guess Preston’s not the only one who suspects him. I try to be afraid of Cassius but I can’t. There’s no way he’s capable of murder when he can’t even sit up straight.

“When they arrest you, I hope you resist.” Tears bud in Ben’s eyes. “I hope they have to shoot—”

November launches across the room and slaps him in the face.

“November!” cries Ms. Bell.

Cassius’s expression contorts. He rushes out of the room and Nov follows him out. Ben bark laughs, clasps his cheek. “I mean, come on! After what he said about Adam at the funeral? You’re all thinking it. Mysterious guy, never talks—fits the profile, right?”

Nobody pays attention to me leaving.

The halls are deserted. Everyone’s in class or in the cafeteria for lunch. I don’t realize I’m running until the echo of my footsteps bounces back at me. I slow down near Grace’s old locker, where I used to slip her notes and drawings.

I don’t see November immediately. I hear the splashing first. I stop and look up. She’s scouring the outside of a locker with wads of wet paper towels, her shoulders trembling with effort.

“Nov?” I say.

She jumps, knocks over her water bottle. The word on the locker in black paint is blurry but readable. KILLER.

“Don’t you dare tell me you think it was him, too,” she says fiercely.

“That’s Cassius’s locker?” I whisper. “Where is he?”

“He left school. Saw this and ran. Not sure where he went.” She squeezes the paper towels.