Truly Devious (Truly Devious #1) - Maureen Johnson Page 0,102
school. Allison instantly developed a face, an entire profile. She had long hair and a surfboard. She looked good in shorts. She got waxings. She laughed in her sleep.
Stevie slapped herself gently on the forehead to make it stop and continued to try to listen, but all had gone silent on the other side of the wall. Now it was just her and her thudding heart in Hayes’s room.
Pix would be back soon. Stevie shut off Hayes’s computer and tucked it back where she’d found it. She turned off the light, picked up her shoes, and returned the towel to the door. Then, after making sure there was no noise in the hall or coming from David’s room, she cracked open the door.
The hall was empty.
She slipped out, shutting the door quietly behind her. She got all the way to the steps when she heard a door open behind her. She turned to see David looking at her.
“Hey,” she said.
He didn’t reply. Nor did he seem to know that she had just come from Hayes’s room.
“Come on,” she said. “Say something. You can’t not talk to me forever. We live together.”
“Something,” he said. But there was no humor in his voice.
“How about this,” she said. “Can you listen? You don’t have to talk. I’ll keep it short. Will that work?”
David considered this for a moment, then shrugged.
“Can I come in for two seconds?” she said.
He indicated his door was open, and then went back inside. Stevie steadied herself, then followed.
David did not sit down. He stood in the middle of his room, his arms folded.
“What?” he said.
“I want to say I’m sorry.”
“Fine,” he said.
Then, nothing.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“Fine. If that’s it, you can go.”
“Seriously?” she said. The anger was building up again. All the feeling she had been pressing down for a few days shot up unexpectedly. “Come on. You won’t tell me anything about yourself. You lied at dinner.”
“I made a joke at dinner because I didn’t feel like talking about my dead parents.”
“I’m the worst. I know I am. But I’m also sorry. You don’t know how sorry.”
“Why are you holding your shoes?” he said.
Stevie had forgotten about the shoes.
“I just took them off,” she said.
He tilted his head to the side and looked at her for a long minute. She had an idea, which was probably a terrible idea. But lacking any other ideas, it was the one to go with. Radical honesty. Just tell him. Open up.
“I was in Hayes’s room,” she said.
He burst out laughing, but again, there was no humor in it.
“I know how that sounds,” she said, talking over him, “but I had a key. Listen to me. I had to go. Pix was about to box it up and everything would be gone.”
“And you just needed a few more minutes with his memory?”
“Something weird is going on,” she said. “I can’t put my finger on what it is. . . .”
“I think I can,” he said. “There’s someone in this house who keeps going through other people’s stuff. Someone should do something about it.”
That hurt. She felt her eyes sting.
“So why did you have to go in there?” he asked. “Do you have to get into every room in this hall? Is that your thing?”
“Hayes didn’t write The End of It All,” she said.
“Says who?”
“Says common sense. I worked on a show with him. He never did anything. And someone else did all of his schoolwork last year. And there is nothing on his computer that shows he did any of it or that he had any ability to write something new. And his ex-girlfriend thinks . . .”
“Gretchen,” David said, rolling his eyes.
“Gretchen,” Stevie replied.
“Gretchen was pissed at him. She broke up with him. It was a whole drama last year.”
“Hayes played everyone,” Stevie said. “Hayes used everyone. Hayes did none of his own work but took the benefits. And then Hayes dies doing the project that would have allowed him to go off to LA and reap the benefits of everyone else’s labor. Doesn’t it sound unlikely that Hayes would have gone to all that effort to do something that doesn’t even make any sense?”
“So what are you saying?” he asked. “Are you saying someone did it on purpose? That someone murdered Hayes?”
The words were surreal said out loud. Hayes. Murdered.
“No,” she said, staggered by the idea. “No . . . like, an accident. Some kind of plan to screw up the filming.”