I think of Weingarten, of Brown, of what I can do to really protect Jared. There’s still time for him. “I need to know what happened to Shaila,” I say firmly.
Rachel nods and leans in so our foreheads almost touch. “I want you to know something. The Players... all that bullshit. That’s not who I am anymore.” She looks me dead in the eye. “It’s not who you are either.”
She’s right. That Jill would never have responded to Rachel’s text back in the fall. She never would have agreed to meetGraham or go talk to Kara. She would have clapped along with everyone else at the Show and cheered when Jared laughed at Sierra during Road Rally. She never would have found herself being threatened in the headmaster’s office. That Jill would have graduated with a 96 average and a hole in her heart.
This one will not.
TWENTY-TWO
I NEED YOU.
Those three words are better than any, better thanI miss youor evenI love you. They send a rumbling sensation through my body, starting at my toes and ending at the tips of my split ends. And today, on the first Saturday in May, they come from Adam in the form of a text.
Big Keith hated my latest. He says I’m slacking.
The sun streams through my window, hitting my bed, and I squint to read his words again. I didn’t even know he was home. He must have just ended the semester.
Want me to come over?I type.
Yes.
My heart is heavy, filled with a desperate need to make Adam feel better. It’s the best distraction right now. Rachel and I have been going over file after file in Shaila’s case for the last few days and I’m exhausted. And, after what I owe him, I can’t imagine ever saying no.
I take a quick shower, pull on a coral-colored sundress and my jean jacket, and drive the route I know by heart. I roll the windows down and crank up Stevie Nicks’s first solo album. Awarm breeze floats through the car. This used to be my favorite season in Gold Coast. Those few weeks just after everything thaws for good but before the heat becomes oppressive. It used to feel like the only time of year when everything bubbles with possibilities. Now the weather just reminds me of losing Shaila.
Within a few minutes, I turn into the Millers’ familiar C-shaped driveway and I throw the car in park. As I begin to unbuckle my seat belt, my phone pings.
Check your email.It’s Rachel.
????I write back.
Kara found all of Shaila’s letters. Her mom kept them in some box in her office. Kara went through them and took a million pics. She just sent them over.
Shit! She came through... My heart starts to race. What could Shaila have possibly said?Anything good in there? Any leads?
Looking, but I can’t tell yet. Maybe you can see if anything sticks out?Rachel says.
I tap over to my inbox and see one email from Rachel. It has an enormous attachment. The wait time to download is minutes but it might as well be an eternity. I groan and heave myself out of the car.
I’m still staring at my phone, willing the letters to appear, when Cindy Miller answers the door.
“Oh, Jill,” she says through a bright smile. “You must be here for Adam. Rough meeting with Big Keith last night.” Her nose crinkles like she’s smelled something funny. “I’m sure you’ll cheer him up. You always do.”
I can’t help but flush. “Thanks, Mrs. Miller.”
She moves aside and I run up the stairs, shoving my phone in my pocket. The letters will be there later.
I push the door open gently. Adam’s room is just like I remember it, wallpapered with little blue sailboats. Two lacrosse sticks hang in an X over his king-size bed. Rows of well-loved paperbacks line two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
Adam’s flat on the bed, with his legs dangling over the side.
“You came,” he says.
“Of course.” I close the door and take a seat in his desk chair, the black swivel kind that goes up and down with the pull of a lever. “How are you?”
Adam groans. “Shitty. Feel like an talentless loser.”
“You know that’s not true.”
