“Hey, Alvarez!” Dave Halper’s booming voice cuts me off. Something nails Brandon in the head and he blinks, stunned. “Where were you yesterday? Coach is pissed!”
Brandon glances down where a foam football bounces and rolls at our feet. He slings me a guilty look and bends to retrieve the ball. “Okay, so it’s possible Coach noticed. But your sweet-talking boyfriend will be fine.” He stands, right elbow poised to launch the ball.
“He’s not my—” I mumble as Brandon hurtles through the crowd after Dave. But I don’t finish the thought.
Because Brandon’s left hand is still clutching his lock.
He and Dave disappear around a corner down the hall, and I set my books down on the floor, eyes combing the hall as I stand. Then I take a breath and fling open Brandon’s locker door. Inside is an overwhelming mess of crap, the boy-sized version of a junkyard. Several food wrappers—probably from the past few weeks—litter the space. I shove one aside, smearing my hand with what I hope is melted chocolate. There are class notes from possibly years back. Folded papers and even more crumpled ones. A couple flat sheets protrude from a pile of textbooks.
My pulse pounds in my ears, but I’m already inside. No backing out now.
I look around again. No one’s watching. I flip through his stack of books, searching for the small, spiral-bound notebook trimmed in silver. When I don’t find it, I stare down at the notes, hoping he tore out the pages and hid them in here. I unfold them, one by one, so rapidly I end up with two paper cuts within seconds. It’s all class stuff. Even a couple of tests, all with exemplary marks. But nothing mentions Melody.
Someone as smart as Brandon wouldn’t stick the evidence in his locker. I reach back, dragging my fingertips behind the stack of books, and let out a growl. I’m almost finished pushing everything back, when there’s a tap on my shoulder.
I jump, my hand knocking two crumpled pages and a loose pen to the tile floor. I’m caught.
But I swing around to find Gideon, eyebrows skewed. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” I scan the hall for Brandon before grabbing the fallen items. I cram them back inside, shut his locker door, and stoop to pick up my books. “Can we talk over there?” I ask, pointing toward the less-crowded, outdoor courtyard.
Gideon walks, keeping his narrowed eyes fastened on me. “Does Brandon know you’re in his locker?”
“Yeah, he said I could borrow his notes for Mr. Samuels’s class,” I lie calmly. “Did you go to Dave’s thing last night?”
He shrugs. “Mm-hmm.”
“How’s your head?” He reaches out, like Brandon did. Only this time I don’t flinch. I allow his fingers to brush my hair back as he inspects the bandage. It seems like my entire embarrassing display yesterday is fading to the back of his mind.
But Emily Greer rushes over, throwing an arm over my shoulder. “Did you guys hear?” She’s out of breath, stray ringlets springing loose from her ponytail. “Melody Davenport never came home last night. She’s missing.”
“She’s—” My stomach somersaults. I look at Gideon, whose dark brown eyes widen as the color drains from his face.
Emily darts off to inform the rest of the masses, and I’m left with Gideon gaping at me like he did yesterday.
The intercom crackles, startling us. “Cassidy Pratt and Gideon Hollander, please come to the principal’s office, immediately. Cassidy Pratt and Gideon Hollander.”
We turn down the passage to the office in silence, neither of us particularly familiar with the place. Brandon was right on one account: teachers take one look at Gideon’s charming smile and magically forget his crimes. Inside, the secretary glances up from her computer and points to the principal’s door.
I follow Gideon, finding the leather rolling chair behind Principal Diggs’s wooden desk empty. Instead, a large man with a beer gut is seated off to the side of the room. His brown hair is gelled back, his chin is stubbly, and he’s dressed in a beige law enforcement uniform with a name tag that reads SHERIFF HENDERSON.
“Hi, kids. Take a seat.” He motions to the two chairs in front of the desk, which are rotated to face his own.
I move to a chair, my limbs rigid. Before I sit, my phone dings in my back pocket. I fish it out to turn it off, mumbling an apology to the sheriff. But I catch a glimpse of the text message from an unknown number and open it, my head lowered over the screen.
An icicle of fear pierces my chest, and my fingers shake around the phone.
It’s a photo of a small, lined sheet of notebook paper, pink droplets smeared over the surface. It’s covered in perfectly legible handwriting; I already know the words.
I wrote them.
To Brandon Alvarez.
Cold sweat breaks out over my forehead. I zero in on the photo and the caption beneath it. Just one line that makes my skin prickle and my heart lunge.
I’m so glad we’re in this together.
The phone slips from my fingers, bouncing in my lap. I catch it, wrapping my fingers tightly around the screen, and look up, blinking to find Sheriff Henderson’s bulbous gray eyes on me, the color of an oncoming storm.
6
“Everything okay?” Sheriff Henderson asks, a timbre of insincerity to his deep voice.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, sorry. Just my mom.” But my vision is tunneling.
“Good. I’ve called you in to help with an investigation. Melody Davenport’s family reported her missing this morning. Apparently, she never came home last night, which is unusual for her.”
“Oh.” The gash on my head starts pulsing again.
“Gracie Davenport said the two of you came around asking about her sister yesterday. And then my secretary received a call that we traced to your number, Cassidy. She said you sounded pretty upset, but then you changed your mind.” His eyes never veer from mine.
“That’s right,” I say, my voice cracking. The text message spirals through my head. Brandon sent it to silence me. If I mention him or any of the details of the plan, he’s going to hand that notebook over to the sheriff. “Gideon and I were in the woods yesterday, and we heard something—well, we heard Melody. And then we heard—no, I heard, because Gideon had to send a text—we didn’t have a signal.” I shake my aching head and start over. “It sounded like she was being hurt.”
“How so?”
“She was with someone. At first it sounded like they were kissing. But then it sounded more like arguing, and Melody screamed.”
“What time was this?”
“Maybe one or so.”