When Maeve’s dad arrived to pick them up, Nika said she was staying on at the party. Mr. Khoury insisted on texting Celeste to make sure thatwas OK. It was, of course. Celeste didn’t mind what Nika did; she trusted her. Nika had discovered early on that if she confessed and confided small indiscretions to her mother, Celeste believed her daughter was the kind of child who told her “everything.” Which is why she believed she hadn’t been involved in the drama with Maeve in fourth year (“Mum, I left her on Delivered for, like, a day? And she called it bullying?”) and why she believed Nika didn’t drink (“I tried a small bit of vodka and Coke, but I hated it. I don’t know why people drink”) and why she believed Nika had had her first kiss at sixteen (ha).
Nika went back to Maeve’s the following morning to get her backpack, watching while Maeve searched for her diary, apologizing for not staying over the night before—vague excuses about her mother needing her home to keep an eye on Cody. She left saying she’d call her later. But she didn’t. The next day, when Maeve Snapped Nika, she ignored it. The end of a forty-day Snap streak and the end of an eight-year friendship.
And now, it’s time to use the diary.
41
Nika
Monday
Nika licks her finger and thumbs through to September 29. She reads the entry one more time, pushing down the small knot of something she can’t quite place.
Dear Diary,
I know the “dear diary” sounds very formal (and silly? Wait, are you judging me, diary?), but this is a big deal. Today I’m going to tell you something I haven’t told you before. I’m in love. OK, not in love. I do know the difference between love and crush. I have read many, many books, as you know. So here goes, I’m in crush with Ariana. Not Grande (though, yes, wow, love her obvs) but Ariana Webb from school. I know. Insane. And probably just a phase. But I can’t stop thinking about her. I don’t know what it is. But when I’m near her, I feel tingly. Self-conscious. Trying to impress her. As if she’d even notice I’m there. But actually she did. And that’s when it started. It was in Frenchclass. She sat next to me and asked if she could copy my homework, and then she said she liked my ring. The one with the skull. And that’s when the tingling started, and now it’s every time I see her. And then I had a dream that she kissed me. I know. I’m so embarrassed writing that, but, hey, you won’t tell anyone.
Nika sets the diary aside and picks up her phone. The new Snapchat account she set up last night has only six connections so far, but that’s going to blow up soon. AWGoss is the username and there’s nothing at all to link it to her. Meanwhile, there are dozens and dozens of new messages in the xNGx group. Hurtful, hateful comments, daring her to reply. Daring her to show her face. And still nothing from Ariana.
Nika angles her camera directly above the diary entry, making sure the shot is perfectly framed to capture every single word. Ariana will go nuts. Maeve will die of embarrassment. And Nika will finally be left alone.
42
Jon
Monday
On Monday evening, after a solo dinner (Susan had eaten earlier, something she never does) Jon pauses outside the living-room door, bracing himself. He has no idea what to say to her. The bracelet in her night-stand drawer and what that means haunt every minute of his day. Everything else is on autopilot. Should he say something? Just get it out and over with? But what exactly can he say? And if he asks her anything about it, he can’t take it back. And if he’s wrong…there’s no talking his way out of it afterward. Greta hasn’t been quite as much help as he’d hoped. The stupid bracelet. He grimaces. Even Jon knows it’s not the stupid bracelet’s fault. This all started with him and his wandering eye, the oldest story in the book. He just never meant for it to go this far or for Susan to find out…It was fun, but he certainly didn’t intend risking his marriage. And yet, once he strayed, of course that’s exactly what he’d done.
Deep breath. He opens the door. Susan is curled on the couch, a book on her lap. Deeply engrossed, not looking up. He can’t help thinking this is for show.
“Tea?” he offers.
A glance up. “I’m fine.” Back to the book.
God. This is excruciating. Should he go in and sit beside her, just as he normally does?
As though reading his mind, she uncurls and stretches her legs, taking up the length of the couch. Even Jon, not known for his ability to read between the lines, can pick up on that signal.
“I might head out for some air. Make the most of the long evenings.”
“Do,” she says, reaching for her phone. She meets his gaze. “Take your time.”
43
Susan
Monday
As soon as Jon closes the living-room door I sit up straight and click into the app. The front door shuts, I hear him lock it from outside, and, moments later, the AirTag shows that he turns left at the end of our driveway, walking past Juliette Sullivan’s house and up through Oakpark toward the main road. So, whoever she is, he can get there on foot, he hasn’t taken the car.
After a few minutes, it gets boring watching him and I go online to see if there’s anything more on the Cherrywood murders or Savannah Holmes. The newspapers have nothing new, but on a whim, I go to MessageBoards.ie, to the subforum where my Google Alert led me last Wednesday. There, opinions and speculation are rife.
Poor Savannah, RIP. She was an inspiration.HannahBan95
Lock ur doors guys, I heard it’s a serial killer. She shd never have answered the doorMaryAnnOBrienGargan82
She was a bit of a show-off. The pix of the shoes and stuff. And a lot of photos of drinks, glasses of champagne. A bit of a lush? Probably fell over and hit her head when she’d had too much to drinkEllengr8Santana
