“I know you put something in there to hurt her. As a threat.” I stare him down, unblinking, refusing to give in. I try to muster enough courage to sound unafraid. “I’m not scared of you. And if you’re going to keep attacking people, our deal is off. I’ll tell everyone the truth.”
He just continues to brush his teeth, looking bored.
When the toothbrush stops automatically, he spits in the sink, cups some water into his hand, and rinses his mouth as he runs the brush under the water, then puts it back on the charger, looking down at the running water.
Then he lunges at me.
I step back but his hands go right to my throat.
He squeezes tightly as my mouth opens. “Don’t make a sound or I’ll kill you.”
When I speak, it comes out as a whisper because I’m scared he’ll actually do it. “How will you explain that away?”
But he doesn’t look scared at all. “You forget you’re not really my brother. I’ll make it look like you attacked me.” His hands tighten around my throat and my heartbeat starts to pound in my head. “Stop acting like you have the upper hand here. All I have to do is tell someone the truth and you’re a court-ordered DNA test away from being sent to jail as a fraud.”
“And I’ll tell them you’re a psychopath.”
“What proof do you have?” he asks. “It’s the word of a serial liar against mine. An affluent, handsome white boy with a lawyer daddy, bright future in medicine, and no criminal record. You’re homeless trash. I willalwayswin, because I am smarter than you. I’m stronger than you. And nothing in this fucking world scares me. Can you say the same?”
Oh God, he’s right. I’ll never be able to prove he did it. And he does always seem to be ahead of me.
When I don’t answer he steps back, dropping his hands from my neck.
Without another word he turns and goes into his bedroom. I shut the door to my room, but there’s no lock. I take the hamper Valencia bought me and put it in front of the door. It won’t block him from coming into my bedroom, but it might make enough noise that someone will hear if he pushes it too quickly.
My phone lights up with a text from Miles.
Backyard. NOW.
I go downstairs, where Marcus is watching TV. Valencia hasfallen asleep in his lap, and he gently plays with her hair. I tell him I’m going to run over and talk with Miles, but I’ll be right back. Marcus looks at his phone and sees it’s almost ten thirty, but he just tells me not to be too long.
Miles is already standing by his fence when I walk out the back door. His arms are crossed, and he looks pale in the dim light of the deck. I turn to look up at Easton’s bedroom. The windows are dark, but I imagine him staring down at us with a grin.
Miles opens his mouth, but I shake my head and hold a finger to my lips. I nod toward his house. He walks along the fence with me and then leads me to his front door. Chardonnay doesn’t greet us when we enter; the house is quiet. We walk slowly up to his room and he shuts the door.
He turns and points a finger right at my chest. “Do you want to tell me why my parents just spent seven hundred dollars to induce vomiting only to find out Chardonnay ingestedpeanut butter?”
“Did they find any crushed-up pills or poison or anything like that?”
“They found her food, lettuce leaves my mom gave her that she swallowed whole, grass, and peanut butter. That’s it. There was no poison! But hey, we finally found something she doesn’t like—activated charcoal.”
Relief washes over me. I breathe out slowly and sit on the edge of Miles’s bed.
“Nate, what the fuck is going on?”
My eyes well up with tears but I don’t know if they’re from fear, frustration, relief, or because I need to tell him the truth now and it’sgoing to put him in danger. A sudden and horrifying thought comes to me.
“What did you tell your parents?” I ask.
“I made something up. Told them I thought I saw her swallow something and I had no clue what it was but that she was acting weird. Then when you made me look like a complete lunatic, I had to say I was confused.”
“She’s okay, though?”
Miles sits down on the bed next to me. “Yes. I mean, they’re keeping her overnight for observation—and to bleed us for more money, no doubt—but she’ll be fine. Tell me what’s going on.”
I sigh and more tears spill from my eyes. You’d think I’d be cried out by now, but apparently I’m great at hydration. I know Easton threw the jar of peanut butter over the fence, but he was playing with me. Saying he’s watching me. He probably watched me coming over here, entertained by how his game pieces are interacting—which means Milesneedsto know the truth. Because he’s part of this game, too.
“Easton killed Nate.”
