Please Don't Tell - Laura Tims Page 0,76
friend the way he really was. “We’re planning another memorial service for Adam next week. The point is to celebrate what a great guy he was. From the memories of people who knew him, not a lying bitch who hated him for no reason.”
November puts out a hand in front of me, but I’m not lunging, even though I’m quaking with fury. She’s right. She can handle this herself. My anger’s not the important thing. Sometimes being a good friend means standing back.
“The amount I give a shit about what you have to say is so small it couldn’t be seen with a microscope,” she says coolly.
Kennedy and Sarah press in behind us. Kennedy’s glaring. Sarah bites her lip.
Ben leans in. He’s breathing as heavily as he did the day he fought with Levi. “You can disguise it with fake-inspirational mental health bullshit all you want, but I know what you’re doing. You just want attention.”
The freshmen at the tables nearest me are motionless, sandwiches halfway to their mouths. It’d be funny if my skin wasn’t buzzing. Even the people who were coming out of the food line are still, their trays tipping in their hands.
One of them is Levi.
My stomach jolts. I thought he skipped today. Our eyes meet for a split second. He’s not smiling. He looks really tired. There’s only an apple on his tray.
Please let him believe her.
“You all realize she’s lying, right?” Ben addresses the cafeteria at large. “She said it herself. She got chucked in a mental hospital. She’s fucking crazy.”
I punched him in third grade. I’m burning to do it again, but November’s staring him down like a badass, unflinching, and he tenses.
Levi abandons his tray on a nearby table and walks toward us.
“You’re on my side, right?” Ben says to him. “Adam’s half bro?”
Levi’s cheeks are hollower than normal. His baseball cap is nowhere in sight. “Why don’t you fuck off?”
“I should’ve known.” Ben laughs mockingly. “You’re way more of a pussy than Adam—”
“Will you shut up?” It’s Sarah, trembling. She glances nervously at November.
“I liked your editorial,” she says rapidly, looking petrified. “It was—it—I’m sorry.”
The corner of Nov’s mouth lifts. She holds out a fist. After a moment, Sarah returns the bump.
Levi stares at all of us for a second. His throat works. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He backs away, turns, and half runs out of the cafeteria without telling me what it is.
Ben and Sarah are arguing, their voices raised, but I don’t catch a word of it.
“Go,” November mouths to me.
So I do.
But I hesitated too long. By the time I reach the halls, they’re empty.
I take out my phone to text him, even though I have no idea what to say.
There’s a new email on my screen from the address [email protected].
Instinctively I know who it’s from. My heart stops. But it’s done that so many times, and it always starts again.
“Joy?” someone says. I turn, and Preston is coming out of the science wing, one of his lunch hiding places. My chest uncoils at the sight of him.
“Perfect timing,” I say.
He steps closer, and I hold the screen up wordlessly. He squints at it, then his eyes go wide.
“You think?”
Breathe. I can handle this fear now. “Guess he’s entered the digital era.”
“We can track the IP address,” he gasps.
“Let’s read it first.” I keep my voice calm, but my palms are sweating. “Not here. Outside.”
We slip out through the side door beside the math classrooms and crouch together against the brick wall, next to the Dumpsters. When my hand starts shaking, Preston opens the email for me. We read it together.
To Joy Morris—
I guess I can tell you who I am now.
The day Adam died was the day I found out what he did to Grace. Do you know what it’s like to realize that the person you called your best friend was a stranger? A monster?
By the time I followed him to the quarry, everyone else at his birthday party had left. I hid in the trees while he walked, drunk, to the edge. I don’t think he jumped. But it wasn’t quite like he fell. It was like the quarry pulled him in.
Most of the time, when people do bad things, nothing happens to them.
It all began when I found those pictures in Savannah’s room. I don’t trust the police—I thought if I brought the photos to them, they’d brush me aside.
If someone caught me putting them up, Savannah would hate me forever. That’s