She told me to avoid Adam as much as I could, planting seeds of doubt in his head so that when I finally called he would come no questions asked.
“Boys like that hate the word no,” she said. “But theydespisebeing ignored.”
She was right.
Then I had to recruit Nikki. I caught her after physics and asked her to meet me at her house after school, where I explained everything about Adam and Shaila, and what we needed to find out the truth for certain.
Her face went pale and she held my sweaty hand in her cold one for a long, long time as we sat on her deck, watching the water lap against the shore.
“My parents are gone until graduation,” she said. “Do it here.”
I flung my arms around her neck and breathed athank youinto her hair.
She bit her lip and nodded. “Let’s just get this fucker.” Rachel came out from the city later that week with two digital recorders. Her assuredness calmed me, but all I wanted to do was run.
After school on Friday when I showed up at Nikki’s, Rachel had her game face on. She was so ready it scared me.
None of us could eat or drink, or even really talk. But before I texted Adam, Rachel snaked one recorder down the front of my fleece, and one down hers. Nikki would listen to the receiver from inside the house, making sure we got every last word, every single piece of his confession.
When she had it all, that’s when she would call the cops. Maybe we should have let them handle it without us. Given over the evidence and watched it all play out. But we wanted to do it ourselves. To hear it from him. To take control. For once. For Shaila.
—
“Hey.” I hear a small, soft voice next to my ear. “Are you awake?”
The room is dark and frigid, but a soft hand takes hold of mine. I try to open my eyes, but only one relents. I turn the good side of my head and try to see who’s there.
“Nikki?”
“Yeah,” she says. “It’s me.”
“What time is it?”
“Nighttime,” she says. “Sunday.”
“Oh shit,” I murmur.
She laughs a little. “It’s okay.”
When my one eye adjusts I can finally take her in. Her long dark hair hangs unwashed and stringy, and she’s also in a white hospital gown. A little plastic intake bracelet circles her narrow wrist.
“Are you hurt?”
Nikki shakes her head. “Just here for observation.” She holds her arms out as proof. She’s all right.
“Rachel,” I say. “How is she?”
“A few broken ribs. A black eye like you. But she’s going to be okay. We all are.” Nikki sniffles and squeezes my hand tighter. “You were right,” she says. “He did it. Adam did it.”
“I know,” I whisper. “Where is he?”
Nikki’s shoulders heave up and down as tears stream down her face. “Upstairs.”
The rest of the story tumbles out through choked sobs.
When she heard what was happening through the recorders, Nikki called the police and told them to hurry. They were taking too long, she thought. It sounded like we didn’t have much time. She panicked and grabbed a field hockey stick from her mud room before running to the beach. She sprinted toward Adam, hoping to knock him off his feet. But when she collided with him, she swung the stick overhead and knocked him out cold.
Nikki shrieked, and was sure she’d killed him, that she’d brought more death and pain and trauma to this town. To us.
