The Lies That Bind (4 page)

I walked back to my desk, lifted the screen of my computer, and clicked the Yes button before I could even think about what that really meant—how one of Beefany’s minions would “accidentally” spill her drink on me, or how Alistair Reynolds would inevitably crack jokes about my hair. Because none of that really mattered when you had just read some secret message in your dead best friend’s book that may or may not have been some sort of weird coincidence. I watched as my name disappeared from No Reply and materialized on the Will Attend list and wondered if that’s what Grace would have wanted.

I could almost hear my classmates repeating the Obsideo motto:
Vivere
disce, cogita mori
. “Learn to live, remember death.” They’d say the words, but would anyone really mean them? Would anyone there really be remembering Grace?

Someone
has
to
remember
.

And it would have to be me.

My phone vibrated again and I swallowed back a scream, feeling ridiculous and scared and nervous and entirely exhausted by the past ten minutes.

“So you decided to cancel on BJ. Good choice.” I could tell Liam was smiling by the sound of his voice. It calmed my nerves and made me feel like I’d made the right decision.

“His sister pulled out. It was a non-starter.” The words were light, but the delivery was off. My voice shook, a classic tell.

But if Liam noticed, he didn’t say. Because that’s just the way he was.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said before hanging up.

I folded and refolded the soft, orange fleece on my bed, smoothing the material into a perfect square. My heart thumped to life again as I approached the discarded book in the corner of my room, but I swallowed my fear and picked it up. The book and sweater had to be signs. Not scary, just signs. I placed the book on top of the sweater and considered adding Grace’s pearls for good measure, a tower of Grace, but I kept them around my neck instead. I’d need a little piece of her tonight.

Learn
to
live. Remember Grace.

I pressed my fingers into the imagined bruise on my leg, surrendering to the ache.

The large hands on the clock tower showed 4:47, which meant we were early, just in time for the pre-party that would no doubt be in full swing on the green. Winter had snuck back up on us as the sun hung low in the sky. Our breath hung in the air, while our fingers were numb to the bone. The memorial, the speeches, the crisp sunshine of the day all seemed far away as we snuck back onto campus. The president’s threat, however, trailed us like a shadow.

A wrought-iron fence lined the perimeter of the century-old cemetery. The ubiquitous Pemberly Brown crest decorated the gates, and I ran my fingers over the prestigious-looking key that was supposed to represent the act of unlocking knowledge, ironic considering that the gates were always supposed to be locked at dark. The block print was clear: “Cemetery closes at dusk; trespassers will be prosecuted.”

Yet another one of Pemberly Brown’s rules that had been made to be broken. No one was ever really prosecuted for trespassing. Especially during a Sacramentum. The truth was that the administration honored the age-old traditions more than the student body. They turned a blind eye, leaving a door ajar, a gate unlocked. But then again, why wouldn’t they? Pemberly Brown was built on these quirky after-hours affairs. Which made the announcement at Grace’s memorial even more baffling.

Sure, the Lees probably had their hearts in the right place—they didn’t want another tragic death at Pemberly Brown—but it was kind of shocking that the school had gone along with the Lees’ wishes. They might as well have listed Sacramenta ceremonies in the brochure. “For an annual tuition that costs more than a BMW, your kid can chant Latin and party in graveyards with the nation’s elite.” They’d probably even throw in a picture of the burnt-down chapel to really give the hard sell.

I swallowed the bitterness in my mouth. Tonight was about remembering my best friend. The whole expulsion thing had to be an empty threat, and judging by the turnout tonight, I wasn’t the only person who felt that way.

I could barely bring myself to slap the bronze plaque as we walked through the gates.
Pax
aeterna
. “To eternal peace.” I squeezed my eyes shut as my palm met the cold metal and prayed that Grace had found some sort of peace. Wherever she was. I sucked in a lungful of frigid air and braced myself for what lay ahead.

Liam squeezed my hand as we stepped through the gates, sensing my apprehension. “We can go home if you want. Get out of here and pretend that we go to a public school where students hang out at normal places, like malls.”

I laughed a little at the thought of hipper-than-thou Liam shopping at American Eagle. “No, I think I need to be here. Someone has to be, you know?” I looked up at him, seeing how his eyelashes made little crescent shadows under his eyes.

“I’m glad you’re doing this, Kate. I knew you’d do the right thing.”

I messed with the pearls around my neck, unsure how to answer. “Sounds like everyone is really taking that new school rule to heart, huh?” I laughed, deciding to try to keep things light as much as possible. A mass of students was all headed in the same direction, some holding hands, some hooked together by the arm and laughing.

We wound our way deeper into the cemetery, headed north to where the memorial garden led to the grave sites. I found it kind of shocking that people wanted to spend eternity buried at the same place where they served detention, but a surprising number of alumni thought PB was the perfect resting place.

As a result, the cemetery was as picturesque and overly groomed as the rest of campus. During the daylight hours, the grassy hills and carved stone benches made it feel more like a park than a graveyard. But the atmosphere shifted as darkness descended. The granite eyes of angels and gargoyles seemed to follow our every move; shadowy figures darted between graves, and soft voices hissed from the shadows. Even more reason to be thankful I had Liam at my side.

People were everywhere. Turns out those dark figures were actually second-year girls huddled close together, blowing into their bare hands for warmth. Guys wearing hats and ski jackets circled around them like sharks, shoving each other and laughing. Plastic red cups dotted the third- and fourth-year circles, while first- and second-years inched around the perimeter with hungry eyes.

I tugged at my scarf and felt the heat of hundreds of eyes staring at me as we walked through the party. Whispers followed me like ninja paparazzi, and I wanted nothing more than to go back to the warmth of Liam’s Jeep and pretend this had never happened. Speaking about my best friend at her memorial during the daylight hours was one thing. Attending an after-hours, forbidden ceremony that might or might not get us expelled was completely different.

But the moment I felt Liam’s fingers wrap around mine again, gently urging me forward, I threw my shoulders back and lifted my pink head just a little bit higher. If anyone had a right to be here, it was me. I just had to find somewhere I could blend. Kind of a tall order for a girl with a fading pink ponytail.

I was beyond grateful when all heads turned to the far-right corner of the crowd.

A circle had formed. Kids on the outside stood on tippy-toes trying to peer in, while the lucky few along the inside raised their fists, screamed excitedly, clapped, and laughed. I had my suspicions about who the crowd had formed around, and it was confirmed when every few seconds I caught a flash of spiky, blond, overly gelled hair. Ben Montrose.

Ben was from some uppity private school in Southern California, but he was more
Jersey
Shore
than
O.C
. Unless, of course, surfers gelled individual strands of hair at precarious angles and ripped baby trees out of the ground to demonstrate brute strength. But somehow that image didn’t quite jibe with all the
90210
reruns I’d been watching. I had the dubious honor of being Ben’s lab partner, which had resulted in a perpetual headache the entire span of Chem on account of his unique ability to force me to roll my eyes approximately every three seconds.

“For the love of God, please tell me he’s not walking over hot coals or something. Remember a couple of months ago when he broke his hand trying to prove he could karate-chop a brick in half?”

“How could I forget? He walked around with a Prada cast for the next three weeks.” Liam stepped aside just in time for me to catch a rather sarcastic round of applause.

“I actually feel sort of sorry for him. I’ve tried explaining that people aren’t really laughing with him, but the entire concept seems foreign to him.”

“How’s that saying go again? ‘He who laughs last laughs longest’?” Liam’s tone was full of mock solemnity.

“You just made that up, didn’t you?”

“Absolutely not. I read it on a Bazooka gum wrapper. The word of the gum.” Liam saluted and I laughed.

“You know I’m laughing at you right now, not with you. Just for the record.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Liam wrapped his arms around me, and I felt his mouth nip at my earlobe. I had to hand it to the guy; he knew how to get a girl to start taking him seriously.

“You guys are so cute. I just wish I had my camera.” Before I even turned to take in his expensive shirt beneath an open jacket or the rich color of his skin, I knew it was him. Maybe it was the way he lingered on the word “camera,” or maybe it was just because seeing Bradley brought me back to the night of Grace’s death. Either way, interactions with Bradley were more ambush than amiable. “Hey, Kate, toss me your phone and I’ll get some footage of you two lovebirds. Your phone has a video camera, right?”

My brain lit up with all kinds of four-letter words. Bradley was one of those guys who had passed tall, dark, and handsome and slid right into towering, black, and devastatingly hot. His dark features split into a cocky grin as he taunted me. Bradley and his sister, Naomi, the girl who’d deleted my evidence last night, were from one of the richest, most established families at Pemberly Brown. Their great-grandfather had been the first African American to attend school here, and after founding one of the biggest real-estate development companies in Ohio, he had become one of the school’s most valuable benefactors.

“What’s your deal, man? We’re just hanging out. No offense, but no one invited you.” Liam took a couple of steps toward Bradley.

“Oh, that’s right. Kate knows a thing or two about invitations. Why don’t you tell him what you and your Sisters were looking for last night? Naomi says you’re their resident videographer.”

“Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I’m guessing Kate doesn’t either. Just lay off, Bradley. Can’t you see she’s having a tough day?” Liam took another two steps toward Bradley.

I yanked on Liam’s jacket and inserted myself between the boys. Bradley’s golden eyes were framed by eyelashes that were short and thick, like fanned-out paintbrushes. He smelled exactly the same as I remembered, like mint and sandalwood.

“Enough.” It was all I could manage without going into detail about my actions the night before.

All of the anger leaked out of Bradley’s face and his eyes softened, almost pleaded. “What are you doing with them, Kate? I can’t believe that after everything that happened, you’re getting involved again. We need to sit down and talk…”

The word “talk” sent me crashing back to reality. The last time Bradley Farrow had wanted to “talk” was the night Grace died. “I have nothing to say to you.” I turned away from him so quickly that I felt the ends of my pink ponytail whip his cheeks. I grabbed Liam by the arm and hauled him around the corner of the mausoleum.

“What the hell is going on, Kate? Were you seriously with the Sisterhood last night? You promised this would stop. You promised you were done with revenge.”

I braced myself against the wall, my forehead touching the smooth marble and slowly bringing my body temperature back to normal.

“I promised you that I wouldn’t get hurt and I didn’t. But, Liam, they had people jumping out of the clock tower. They could have killed someone again. I had it on tape and it would have been all over for the Brotherhood, but then—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it, Kate.” I expected Liam to walk away, but instead he grabbed my hands and pulled me toward him. “You know I worry about you, like, constantly, right? Even when you’re not trying to fight a bunch of meaty assholes who think they own our school.”

“I know.” I tried to grab his hand, but he jerked away and headed back toward the party. For a second I thought about following him, but instead I closed my eyes, sank down to the ground, and rested my head on my knees, hating myself, hating our school, hating this night. But then somehow the memory of Grace, Maddie, and me sneaking into Obsideo in eighth grade snaked through the bars of my hatred like smoke through a grate.

Grace had spent hours picking out our outfits. Considering the fact that we had to be dressed in head-to-toe black, you’d think that would make things easy, but according to Grace, looking fashionable was never supposed to be easy.

She forced me into the softest black sweater dress with quarter-length sleeves in spite of my repeated protests that my forearms were going to freeze. Maddie still had all of her baby fat, leaving her at least two or three sizes larger than Grace and me, but Grace still managed to sausage her into a cute pair of skinny black jeans.

Grace tried to talk us into stealing black stilettos from her mom’s enormous shoe collection, but I patently refused to suffer for fashion and opted for my black riding boots instead. As a result, I was the one laughing the loudest when Grace and Maddie toppled to the ground after one of the first-year boys popped out from behind a gravestone and sent us running back toward Grace’s house.

The memory reminded me why I had come tonight. Grace. The note she’d scrawled in our favorite book.
Remember
Me
. Isn’t that all any of us wanted? To be remembered?

I opened my eyes and swiped my phone to life. 5:04 p.m. A sliver of sun clung to the horizon, which meant it was almost time for the ceremony. I hurried to my feet. This was stupid. I had to find Liam, I had to explain. He’d understand eventually. He had to.

And that’s when I saw her. Standing behind the same gravestone where she’d stumbled almost a year and a half ago. Her long, dark hair hung down to the center of her back, and her plaid skirt grazed her thighs slightly higher than the rest of us dared. For a second the world went completely still. All I could hear was the blood pumping in my ears, and all I could see was my dead best friend’s ghost standing three feet away from me.

Grace was back.