And she'd buried the camera. The one piece of evidence that might save Mia.
There could be time-stamped photos that might show exactly what happened on that bluff. And Peyton had taken it, hidden it, let Mia take the blame while it lay buried a hundred feet from where Leah died.
Adrenaline surged through my veins. My tongue felt thick and alien in my mouth. I could barely form proper sentences. "When you came up the stairs, did you see Peyton anywhere?"
"When I screamed. They all came running out of the patio doors. Peyton, too, with that Stanley in her hand."
My pulse roared in my ears. I had to get to that beach. Now. Before Whitney figured out what Zara had told me. Before Peyton dug it back up.
"This is huge, Zara. This could help clear Mia's name."
"I can't tell the police," she said, distraught. "If the other girls find out I snitched…" She shook her head violently. "They'd, like, destroy me. You don't understand what they're like."
Part of me wanted to shake her. A girl had died, and her fear of social rejection shouldn't matter more than justice. But I recalled being fourteen, how the world narrowed to the opinions of peers, how exclusion felt like death.
Hell, sometimes it felt that way now.
"What if I tell the police without involving you?"
Hope flickered across her ashen face. "How?"
"I'll dig up the camera myself." I touched her arm. "Thank you for telling me. That took courage."
She gave a bitter laugh. "No, it didn't. Courage would've been standing up for Leah when she was alive. Courage would be going to the police myself."
"You're being brave now. That's what matters."
Zara tore more small shreds of paper towel. The pieces floated to the floor like confetti. "Do you think Peyton… do you think she actually did this? That she pushed Leah?"
I thought of Mia, alone and afraid, blamed for something she didn't do. My fear hardened into resolve. "I have to find the truth, no matter who it hurts."
Zara nodded numbly.
The bathroom door suddenly rattled. The handle turned.
My pulse jumped. Instinctively, I moved to shield Zara from the door. Luckily, I had locked it.
"Zara? Are you in there?" Camille's voice filtered through the door, sharp with impatience. "Your father noticed you were missing. He's been looking for you."
Zara's eyes widened in panic. "One sec, Mom!"
"Hurry up. The other girls are speaking. It's almost your turn."
She quickly wiped her face, trying to erase the evidence of tears smudging her eyeliner.
"Zara, what are you doing? Is someone in there with you? I thought I heard voices."
Zara's eyes met mine, panicked. "No one, Mom. I swear, it's just me."
"Go," I mouthed.
Zara unlocked the door, opened it just enough to slip through, and slid out to join her mother. The door closed behind her.
I exhaled and wiped my damp palms on my dress. That had been close, too close. I remained in the bathroom for a moment, collecting myself, steadying my nerves.
I stared at my reflection in the gilt-framed mirror. The woman looking back at me had eyes I didn't recognize. Flat, calculating. Hard.
The memorial speeches continued outside. Brooke was speaking now, dramatically, through copious tears.
