Dangerous Girls
Page 31
“And you?” Niklas asks, turning to include me and Elise in the question. “What do you do? Go to school? Do your homework?” His voice is laced with amusement. “Are you good girls?”
“What do you think?” Elise flirts back with a wicked grin.
“I think you like trouble.” Niklas reaches out, tracing his index finger down the side of her face, her neck, along her collarbone. Elise doesn’t flinch.
“Promises, promises,” she coos. The look in her eyes is so intimate, I turn away.
• • •
We claim our food in Styrofoam cartons and plastic bags and begin walking back along the beach. I slip off my shoes and sink my toes into the cool sand, listening to the distant rhythm of the waves. My buzz has faded now to a sleepy satisfaction, and I snuggle against Tate, yawning. The ocean is an inky-black shadow to our left, with the lights of the hotels and beach houses string together in a line of glittering neon, snaking out around the bay.
“I don’t like him.”
Tate’s voice startles me from my reverie. I pause for a moment, then look ahead to where Niklas and Elise are a dark shadow, indistinguishable in the dim light. “He seems fine to me. He’s into her.”
“He’s an ass**le,” Tate replies, curt.
I laugh. “Maybe. But that’s her type, right?”
Tate doesn’t reply for a minute, but I can feel him, tense beneath his thin shirt. “She can’t keep doing this,” he says at last.
“What?”
“Picking up strange guys.” Tate doesn’t let it drop. “It’s not safe.”
“Come on.” I sigh. “She does it all the time.”
“Right.” He doesn’t sound placated. “And it’s bad enough back home, when one of us is around, but this is just stupid. She was going to just go off with him? He could be dangerous.”
“Sure, he’s a real criminal.” I laugh. “Come on, Tate. I told you, Elise can take care of herself. And she’s not going off on her own,” I add. “We’re all going back to the house.”
Tate kicks the sand. “I guess.”
I snuggle closer to him, slipping my hand into his back pocket. My fingers brush against something cool and metallic. “What’s this?” I pull it out. “My necklace!”
“Oh, yeah, I found it in my bag,” Tate replies. “Like you said.”
I smile, leaning up to kiss him. “Thanks, baby.”
There’s the sound of laughter ahead of us. His eyes flick past me, still tense. Niklas.
I sigh. “It’s cute you’re looking out for her,” I tell him. “But Elise does her own thing, you know that.”
“I still don’t like him.” Tate’s voice is petulant.
“I know. And if he turns out to be an ass, you guys can kick him out. She’ll be right down the hall,” I reassure him. “Nothing bad’s going to happen there.”
NOW
You see it now. It’s obvious. You’re probably wondering how I could have been so blind.
But I was.
It’s not like it was all laid out for me, so clinical and neat. I loved them. I trusted them. It never crossed my mind, not even for a moment. Why would it? We were happy, all of us. We were family. Even now, I go back over every memory, tearing them apart any way I can, trying to see the truth beneath the fabric of all of their lies. Still, I come up with nothing.
There was no reason for it; that’s what burns and blazes and aches, filling my days with sick confusion and my nights with restless questions. No f**king reason for them to break everything we had, to just shatter it as if it meant nothing.
As if I meant nothing to them.
Maybe it would be different; if I thought for one moment that she really loved him, maybe I could understand. If Tate and I were fighting, bored, unhappy. Something, anything, to explain why they could do this to me. To us.
But Tate? He won’t say a word. And Elise took her reasons to the grave. So I don’t get my answers. I guess I’ll never know.
EVIDENCE: TEXT MESSAGE RECORDS
ELISE WARREN, PHONE NUMBER 212-555-0173
FROM: ANNA
TIME: 9:17 a.m.
You want eggs?
FROM: ANNA
TIME: 9:22 a.m.
Hey sleepy. Wake tf up!
FROM: MEL
TIME: 9:25 a.m.
You coming? We leave in 10.
FROM: CHELSEA
TIME: 9:30 a.m.
you went hard last night. come dive.
FROM: ANNA
TIME: 9:45 a.m.
god you sleep through anything. we’re staying too, come meet us on the beach.
FROM: MEL
TIME: 9:50 a.m.
r u mad? txt back!
FROM: MEL
TIME: 9:55 a.m.
fine. c u when we get back.
FROM: ANNA
TIME: 11:22 a.m.
down by the café, look 4 the red towel.
FROM: TATE
TIME: 1:10 p.m.
trying to get away. c u at the house.
FROM: CHELSEA
TIME: 1:47 p.m.
<image attached> FISHES!
FROM: NIKLAS
TIME: 4:12 p.m.
want 2 hook up 2nite?
FROM: ANNA
TIME: 6:32 p.m.
guess ur out. call if u wanna grab dinner
FROM: MEL
TIME: 7:51 p.m.
on r way back. did i do something? talk 2 me.
FROM: AK
TIME: 8:19 p.m.
hey slut, where r u?!
FROM: ANNA
TIME: 8:26 p.m.
This isn’t funny. we’re worried. where r u?
DAY 52
I know it’s important when they come pull me out of breakfast. The routine is carved in stone here, every day the same. Unless you have a court date, visitors wait until the afternoon. No exceptions. So when I’m taken to the interview room and find Ellingham and my dad waiting, pacing in the small, empty space, I feel a shiver of fear.
“What is it?” I go quickly to my dad, forgetting for a moment that I’m not allowed to touch him. He backs away, looking to the guard.
I stop. “Sorry,” I murmur, deflating.
“It’s okay.” Dad gives me a tired smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You should sit down,” Ellingham tells me.
I obey, my fear growing. “What? What is it?”
“There’s been a . . . development.” Ellingham takes a seat across the small table. “I just got a call from Mr. Dempsey. They’re dropping all charges against Tate.”
It takes a moment for his words to sink in. My heart leaps. “I knew it!” I spring to my feet. “Did they find Juan? The officer said they were looking for him,” I babble, not waiting for a reply. “I knew it would be okay.”
“What do you think?” Elise flirts back with a wicked grin.
“I think you like trouble.” Niklas reaches out, tracing his index finger down the side of her face, her neck, along her collarbone. Elise doesn’t flinch.
“Promises, promises,” she coos. The look in her eyes is so intimate, I turn away.
• • •
We claim our food in Styrofoam cartons and plastic bags and begin walking back along the beach. I slip off my shoes and sink my toes into the cool sand, listening to the distant rhythm of the waves. My buzz has faded now to a sleepy satisfaction, and I snuggle against Tate, yawning. The ocean is an inky-black shadow to our left, with the lights of the hotels and beach houses string together in a line of glittering neon, snaking out around the bay.
“I don’t like him.”
Tate’s voice startles me from my reverie. I pause for a moment, then look ahead to where Niklas and Elise are a dark shadow, indistinguishable in the dim light. “He seems fine to me. He’s into her.”
“He’s an ass**le,” Tate replies, curt.
I laugh. “Maybe. But that’s her type, right?”
Tate doesn’t reply for a minute, but I can feel him, tense beneath his thin shirt. “She can’t keep doing this,” he says at last.
“What?”
“Picking up strange guys.” Tate doesn’t let it drop. “It’s not safe.”
“Come on.” I sigh. “She does it all the time.”
“Right.” He doesn’t sound placated. “And it’s bad enough back home, when one of us is around, but this is just stupid. She was going to just go off with him? He could be dangerous.”
“Sure, he’s a real criminal.” I laugh. “Come on, Tate. I told you, Elise can take care of herself. And she’s not going off on her own,” I add. “We’re all going back to the house.”
Tate kicks the sand. “I guess.”
I snuggle closer to him, slipping my hand into his back pocket. My fingers brush against something cool and metallic. “What’s this?” I pull it out. “My necklace!”
“Oh, yeah, I found it in my bag,” Tate replies. “Like you said.”
I smile, leaning up to kiss him. “Thanks, baby.”
There’s the sound of laughter ahead of us. His eyes flick past me, still tense. Niklas.
I sigh. “It’s cute you’re looking out for her,” I tell him. “But Elise does her own thing, you know that.”
“I still don’t like him.” Tate’s voice is petulant.
“I know. And if he turns out to be an ass, you guys can kick him out. She’ll be right down the hall,” I reassure him. “Nothing bad’s going to happen there.”
NOW
You see it now. It’s obvious. You’re probably wondering how I could have been so blind.
But I was.
It’s not like it was all laid out for me, so clinical and neat. I loved them. I trusted them. It never crossed my mind, not even for a moment. Why would it? We were happy, all of us. We were family. Even now, I go back over every memory, tearing them apart any way I can, trying to see the truth beneath the fabric of all of their lies. Still, I come up with nothing.
There was no reason for it; that’s what burns and blazes and aches, filling my days with sick confusion and my nights with restless questions. No f**king reason for them to break everything we had, to just shatter it as if it meant nothing.
As if I meant nothing to them.
Maybe it would be different; if I thought for one moment that she really loved him, maybe I could understand. If Tate and I were fighting, bored, unhappy. Something, anything, to explain why they could do this to me. To us.
But Tate? He won’t say a word. And Elise took her reasons to the grave. So I don’t get my answers. I guess I’ll never know.
EVIDENCE: TEXT MESSAGE RECORDS
ELISE WARREN, PHONE NUMBER 212-555-0173
FROM: ANNA
TIME: 9:17 a.m.
You want eggs?
FROM: ANNA
TIME: 9:22 a.m.
Hey sleepy. Wake tf up!
FROM: MEL
TIME: 9:25 a.m.
You coming? We leave in 10.
FROM: CHELSEA
TIME: 9:30 a.m.
you went hard last night. come dive.
FROM: ANNA
TIME: 9:45 a.m.
god you sleep through anything. we’re staying too, come meet us on the beach.
FROM: MEL
TIME: 9:50 a.m.
r u mad? txt back!
FROM: MEL
TIME: 9:55 a.m.
fine. c u when we get back.
FROM: ANNA
TIME: 11:22 a.m.
down by the café, look 4 the red towel.
FROM: TATE
TIME: 1:10 p.m.
trying to get away. c u at the house.
FROM: CHELSEA
TIME: 1:47 p.m.
<image attached> FISHES!
FROM: NIKLAS
TIME: 4:12 p.m.
want 2 hook up 2nite?
FROM: ANNA
TIME: 6:32 p.m.
guess ur out. call if u wanna grab dinner
FROM: MEL
TIME: 7:51 p.m.
on r way back. did i do something? talk 2 me.
FROM: AK
TIME: 8:19 p.m.
hey slut, where r u?!
FROM: ANNA
TIME: 8:26 p.m.
This isn’t funny. we’re worried. where r u?
DAY 52
I know it’s important when they come pull me out of breakfast. The routine is carved in stone here, every day the same. Unless you have a court date, visitors wait until the afternoon. No exceptions. So when I’m taken to the interview room and find Ellingham and my dad waiting, pacing in the small, empty space, I feel a shiver of fear.
“What is it?” I go quickly to my dad, forgetting for a moment that I’m not allowed to touch him. He backs away, looking to the guard.
I stop. “Sorry,” I murmur, deflating.
“It’s okay.” Dad gives me a tired smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You should sit down,” Ellingham tells me.
I obey, my fear growing. “What? What is it?”
“There’s been a . . . development.” Ellingham takes a seat across the small table. “I just got a call from Mr. Dempsey. They’re dropping all charges against Tate.”
It takes a moment for his words to sink in. My heart leaps. “I knew it!” I spring to my feet. “Did they find Juan? The officer said they were looking for him,” I babble, not waiting for a reply. “I knew it would be okay.”
