Truly, Madly, Deadly (11 page)

“That kid’s a weird one.”

Sawyer whipped around, sending a spray of ice water careening out of the bottle over her wrist, slapping her already soaked T-shirt and leaving a wet trail on Cooper’s chest. “Oh, crap.”

Cooper’s eyebrows went up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sawyer’s heart was in her throat, still doing a choking pound. “You didn’t,” she squeaked. “Okay, maybe you did.” Her eyes went to his wet chest. “Sorry—sorry about your shirt.”

Cooper was dressed almost identically to Sawyer: he was wearing the green and white Hawthorne High track uniform, fearsome, fisted, fighting hornet smack in the middle of his nylon tank top. Sawyer took a second to notice Cooper’s chest—and his broad shoulders, the bubbly muscles in his bare arms. “Why are you wearing a track uniform?”

“Because this is what the track team wears…right?”

“You’re on the team? You’re a runner?”

“I was at my old school. I thought I’d give the track team a try here. Coach let me on without trying out. My old times were pretty good, I guess.”

Sawyer studied Cooper, the way the thin material of his shorts fell over his tanned legs; they were thick with well-defined muscle. He didn’t have the powerful, sinewy legs of a runner.

“I know,” Cooper said on a smile, “I don’t look like I can run.” He seemed to be reading her mind, and Sawyer felt an involuntary shiver run through her. A dark cloud passed over Cooper’s face. “Are you okay? Let me get you my sweatshirt.”

“No.” Sawyer put her hand on Cooper’s arm. “I’m fine. I’m just wearing a refreshing beverage.”

Cooper slid back into that easy smile. “I prefer to drink mine, but whatever works for you. So, Ms. Nonbeliever”—he jutted his chin toward the empty track—“a friendly jog? Or an all-out race?”

Sawyer nodded and breathed deeply, testing out the ache in her diaphragm. The water seemed to have done the trick, and she had never been one to back down from a challenge—according to her father, it was both her best and her worst trait. She leaned over and set the water bottle on the bench, looking at Cooper through the dusting of long bangs that fell over her forehead.

Then she bolted.

She was on the track in a split second, legs pumping, wind slapping against her face when she heard the tail end of Cooper’s “Hey! Cheater!”

She vaguely heard his footfalls as he entered the track, could hear his huffing breath as he closed in on her. He was panting by the time he came up on her left shoulder.

“Is this how you win all your races?” he panted. “By cheating?”

Sawyer kept up her steady pace, her breath shortening. “So you know I win all my races?”

“And now I know how!” Cooper balled his hands into fists and put his head down, going head first into the oncoming wind, his sneakers kicking up bursts of red clay dust as he passed Sawyer by a hair. Then it was a shoulder, then a full body length. Sawyer felt the fire in her legs, felt her lungs expanding, and she blew by him. She crossed the finish line and hooked her arms over the bleacher gate, blowing on her nails when Cooper finished a few seconds behind her.

“What took you so long?” she said without looking up.

Cooper knotted her in a playful headlock. “Cheaters. Every one of you Hawthorne Honeys!”

Sawyer backed out of the headlock, laughing. “Honeys?”

A blush flitted over Cooper’s cheeks. “Honeybees. I meant honey
bees
.”

“We’re hornets!” She gave Cooper a hard hornet sting with her index finger, and when he came at her, she cringed. It was automatic; muscle memory burned in from dating Kevin, from never knowing just what it was that would set him off. She burned with shame.

He stopped. “Hey, I’m sorry.”

“What?” Sawyer felt a nervous twitter rush through her. She licked her dry lips and forced a laugh that sounded false even to her. “I was kidding. Let’s get some water.”

Cooper followed her out to the center of the field, Sawyer suddenly stiff with embarrassment—
was
she
afraid
of
everyone
now?
Cooper stayed silent, walking behind her.

They headed back toward the locker rooms, and Cooper sucked the last of the water from his bottle, stuffing the empty in his bag. “I guess this is where I leave you.”

Sawyer cocked an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“It means that I don’t usually shower in the girls’ locker room.” His eyes went over her head, gesturing at the
Women’s Locker Room
sign.

“Oh,” she said on a sheepish grin, “right.”

They stood in awkward silence for a beat before Cooper nodded, gave her a mannish chuck on the shoulder, and promised to beat her next time around the track. Sawyer grinned and was grinning still when Cooper disappeared into the men’s locker room; she went into hers.

The locker room was empty when Sawyer walked in, her half-dry track shirt stuck to her jog bra, her cheeks red hot and flushed. She slipped out of her clothes and into a towel and flip-flops, grabbing her shower bag and turning a shower on as hot as she could get it. When steam poured out of the stall, licking her knees and pressing against her chest, she slipped inside, letting the hot water rush over her, soaking her skin. She imagined it seeping into her aching muscles, dripping over her head and into her brain. She wished she could wash away the violent memories of Kevin, but knew the memories ran deep—so deep that she cringed even when she didn’t want to—and soon the water that rushed over her cheeks was salty with tears. She slumped against the shower stall and doubled over, letting herself cry until her stomach ached, until her skin was red and raw and overheated from the searing water. Finally, she turned the shower off and re-wrapped herself in her towel, shuffling to her locker.

That’s when she stopped dead.

The locker room was silent—so quiet that it seemed to hum with the vibe of desertion—but Sawyer’s locker seemed to scream. The word
whore
was spray-painted in an angry red across her locker door.

Sawyer stumbled back, foot over foot, clutching her towel around her but feeling the icy chill of the cold locker room air as it crept up her naked thighs. She swallowed repeatedly and knew that she would have to open her locker—what she would find, she wasn’t sure—wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Steeling herself, she used numb fingers to spin her locker combination, slowly pulling open the door. She let out a great whoosh of calming air when her locker contents appeared undisturbed—the usual jumble of school clothes tossed in a careless heap, a sneaker jammed with her bra, her jeans inside-out and balled up.

Looking over her shoulder, she quickly shuffled the wrinkled clothes out, putting her hand through the hole in her jeans.

Hole
in
her
jeans?

“Holy shit!” Sawyer spat out the words—in anger or sheer surprise, she couldn’t be sure—and held what was left of her jeans out in front of her. The waistband was still intact—the rivets, the zipper, the zippy little
7
logo—but that was it. The denim was shredded and wagged in long, primitive tongues, the fabric edges already starting to fray. The crotch was torn out completely, and one of the pockets fluttered down like a broken moth when she shook the tattered fabric. She dropped the jeans and went for her T-shirt, her sweater—both had met the same fate, as had her running clothes. Her bra was a mess of overstretched cotton, the inner pads busted embarrassingly open, spilling out their little tufts of fluff. Her panties were gone.

Sawyer’s stomach twisted, and she felt the need to vomit; she doubled over, hand still clutching desperately to keep her towel closed, and dry heaved, coughing until her eyes watered, her nose ran.

“It’s just a stupid prank,” she whispered when she could catch her breath. “A stupid prank. Probably Maggie.”

She used the back of her hand to wipe her eyes and nose, and stood up straight, feeling the burning anger roil through her.

“Bitch.” She said the word through clenched teeth, yanked out her sneakers, and slammed her locker shut. She listened to the phone ring after she speed-dialed Chloe.

“Speak and ye shall be heard,” Chloe said, smacking on something on her side of the phone.

“You’ll never guess what that—that bitch Maggie did!”

“Regale me.”

“First of all, I’m in the locker room. Second of all, I’m wearing a towel.”

“Okay…”

Sawyer took a lung-cleansing breath. “Ask me why I’m wearing a towel.”

“I’m assuming it had something to do with a shower, but why, Sawyer, are you wearing a towel?”

“Because Maggie shredded my clothes!”

“Shredded them?”

“Shredded. Think coleslaw. Sans mayo.”

“She shredded your clothes? Were you wearing them at the time?”

Sawyer sunk down on a bench, scooching forward so her towel would blanket her naked skin against its cold aluminum. “No, I was in the shower. I ran late today and Maggie was there—here—before I got in the shower, then when I got out, she had spray-painted my locker and shredded my clothes.”

“Like coleslaw?”

“Like coleslaw.”

“That bitch!” Chloe spat.

“I know.”

“We have to stop her. We have to fight back—fight fire with fire.”

Sawyer hung her head. “I don’t want to do that,” she muttered. “Maybe I’ll just put a complaint in with Principal Chappie.”

“A complaint? As in a note in his complaint box? That’s a horrible idea, Sawyer. Horrible! That’s not fighting fire with fire; that’s fighting fire with
paper
. Fire kicks paper’s ass!”

Sawyer sighed, fingering the fringed end of her towel. “I need to get going.”

“Do you want me to bring you some clothes? I can be there in a few minutes.”

“No, that’s all right. If I don’t get on the road now I’m going to be stuck in traffic.”

“Not if you hit the freeway naked,” Chloe giggled.

Sawyer smiled in spite of herself. “Thanks, but I’ve got a towel.”

“Très chic.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

Sawyer hung up her phone and plodded to her locker, shoving the shredded remains of her clothes into her backpack and pressing it against her chest. She tried to inch the towel down for a more demure look; it was either a school-wide glance of butt cheek or super cleavage, and she decided to go with the latter as she sucked in a deep breath and peeked out the locker room door. Luckily, the school was nearly deserted, so Sawyer picked her steps carefully, trying her best to stay close to the walls and out of public view. There was a student council meeting going on in the English room, desks dragged into a semicircle, students semi-interested in their speaker, and Sawyer tiptoed past, feeling both the draft from her nakedness and the heat from her embarrassment. She made it to the school’s double doors and was ready to take off in a full sprint when someone yanked the door open.

“Cooper!” Sawyer folded over herself, hands splayed over her toweled private parts.

Cooper paused, obviously taken aback. “Um, hi?” He tried his best to avert his eyes, finally staring up at the ceiling. “Did I—did you—I’m sorry, I just have no idea what to say.” His head inched downward, and Sawyer caught him eyeing her towel. “We just didn’t have this kind of thing at my old school.”

The shake started low in Sawyer’s gut and before she could stop it, tears were rolling down her cheeks and she was pinching her naked knees together. Cooper’s eyes went big.

“Are you okay?”

Sawyer just nodded, unable to speak. The laughter was wracking her whole body, the terror of the situation replaced by the sheer ridiculousness of it. “I’m wearing a towel in the middle of school.”

“Yeah.” Cooper shrugged out of his hoodie and looked away while Sawyer slid into it. He started to laugh with her when she didn’t stop. “Um, do you always run around school buck naked?”

Sawyer wagged her head before a snort escaped. That made her and Cooper laugh harder. Finally she straightened up, taking deep gasping breaths.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head.

“Don’t be,” Cooper quipped, his eyes running over her bare legs.

“Someone shredded my clothes. I was in the shower, and they shredded everything. My track clothes, my school clothes, everything.”

Cooper went suddenly serious. “Sawyer, that sucks.”

“Almost as much as making a break for it in a school-issued towel.”

“And a fine sweatshirt.”

“Yeah.” Sawyer giggled again. “Thanks for that.”

Cooper jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Can I drive you somewhere? To the mall or something?”

“No. The only thing better than cruising around here in my all together would be hitting the mall this way. I’m just going to head home.”

“Oh, right. Sure.”

They stood in awkward silence for a beat.

“So, maybe, once you get some clothes on we could go out or something sometime.”

Sawyer’s cheeks burned despite her lack of clothing, and her heart did a traitorous double thump. Before she could open her mouth, before she could say that she would love to, she was pelted with bitter guilt. A kiss—two kisses—she could pretend didn’t happen. But she couldn’t fall for Cooper. She was supposed to be in love with Kevin. She was supposed to be the mourning girlfriend. Still, the zing she felt while looking into Cooper’s eyes was undeniable, and she wanted to say yes.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. I”—she looked down at here bare toes on the cement—“I have to get going.”

She pushed past Cooper and took off at a sprint, pumping her legs until the heat roiled through them, ignoring the searing tears on her bare feet as she cleared the blacktop. When she was safely in the driver’s seat of her car, engine on, heat on full blast, she started to cry. The tears came slowly at first, little rivulets of angry sobs, but as she thought over the notes, the flowers sent to her house, the shredded remains of her clothes, the tears got heavier, her breath got shorter. Her body hiccupped, caught in the wretched fist of guilt—and fear.

At home, Sawyer changed into sweats and pulled her shredded clothes from her backpack. As she did, a single white business card floated out of her bag, settling on the floor like a flag of surrender. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands, rubbing her thumb over the raised gold insignia of the Crescent Hill Police Department. She sucked in a slow breath and dug out her cell phone; she yipped when it chirped in her hand.

“Oh, crap, Chloe, you scared the shit out of me.”

“And a holy hello to you too.”

“I’m sorry.” Sawyer tossed Detective Biggs’s card on her bureau and flopped onto her bed. “I’m just completely freaking out.”

Chloe clucked sympathetically. “Oh, sweetie. Maggie is really getting to you.”

Sawyer nodded. “I’m thinking of calling the police.”

“On Maggie?”

Sawyer pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. She struggled with how much to tell Chloe. She didn’t want her best friend to worry about her. She also didn’t want to have to tell Chloe everything—everything she’d been hiding. “Just…there’s a bunch of stuff going on and Maggie, well, she—it’s complicated, Chloe.”

Chloe paused, considering. “If you can’t explain it to me, how are you going to explain it to the police? I mean, what are you going to say?”

Sawyer sat up, hugged a pillow to her chest. “I’m not exactly sure.” She stopped then, holding the words in her mouth. “Maybe I’ll tell them that someone is stalking me.”

The words were out and hung in the air, oppressive,
real.
Sawyer felt the itch of tears at the corners of her eyes, the pound of the headache that came with, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “He knows stuff about me, Chloe, about people—people in my life.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m blowing the whole thing out of proportion?”

Chloe’s breath sounded weighted. “I don’t think you’re blowing anything out of proportion.”

Sawyer thought back on the notes now safely tucked away in her underwear drawer—the notes and the peanut butter label.

“He sent me a peanut butter label after Mr. Hanson died.”

Chloe gasped. “Sawyer, that’s evidence! You’ve got to turn that over to the police!”

“It’s evidence
against
me, Chloe. I’m the one with the label.”

“But he sent it to you. You have to tell them that! They’ll believe you. I mean, why would anyone believe that you wanted to hurt Mr. Hanson?”

“Because…” She paused, sucked in a deep breath. “The other day, after class. I think he—I think he may have—like, come on to me. What if the police think I”—she dropped her voice, swallowed heavily—“killed him?”

“Wait, what? Mr. Hanson came on to you? Like hit on you?”

“That’s not really the—”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Sawyer? God, I can’t believe you had to go through something like that alone. I mean, are you sure?”

Sawyer’s stomach wobbled. “No. I mean yes.”

“He is—was, I guess—really friendly. Maybe you misinterpreted it? What happened exactly?”

Anger pricked in Sawyer’s gut, and she felt herself narrow her eyes. “I shouldn’t have to explain to you—or prove anything to my best friend. Are you saying you don’t believe me?”

“No, of course I believe you, sweetie. I was just asking because—”

The anger blossomed. “Because the medication makes me a little loopy? God, Chloe, I thought you would be the one person to understand.”

“I do, Sawyer, and what I was going to say was that, you know, he drove Libby home that one time, and he is always super helpful with the honor society. He talked to everyone.”

“
Was
always super helpful.”

“What?”

Sawyer licked her lips. “He
was
always super helpful. I’m sorry I’m snappy. It’s just—I almost wasn’t sure it was a pass either. But I know how I felt and it was gross. I felt gross afterward. Like I needed a shower. Or a shot of penicillin.”

“Are you going to tell the police that?”

“No. I can’t, Chlo—they’ll think I did something to him.”

“But the note! And Kevin! He was your boyfriend. Why would you kill your own boyfriend?” Chloe’s voice hitched on a sob. “You loved him. He was crazy about you.”

Sawyer wanted to confide in Chloe, but how could she after she’d kept Kevin’s feelings, his abuse, hidden for so long? The lie—even the simple lie of omission—sat in Sawyer’s gut like a fat black stone. “Yeah,” was all Sawyer could answer.

The next morning Sawyer dressed quietly and slipped out the door while Tara and her father were still sleeping. By 7:00 a.m. she was parked in front of the Crescent Hills Police Department, listening to her heartbeat and watching the automatic glass doors of the station swing open and shut as officers came and went. Her hands felt clammy gripping the steering wheel, and her fingers itched to click the key in the ignition, to start the car and drive away.

On a deep, steadying breath, Sawyer got out of the car and stepped into the police department, blinking in the harsh, fluorescent overhead lights. She wasn’t sure what she expected of a police department, but this wasn’t it. The main office was relatively quiet and heartlessly businesslike, with wall-to-wall gray industrial carpeting and dusty silk plants interspersed between modern metal desks manned by uniformed officers. Sawyer started to nervously tug at the strap of her purse.

Maybe
this
wasn’t such a good idea.

“May I help you?”

The officer who smiled down at her had a head of close-cropped dark hair that made his bright green eyes stand out. He was tall and pale and there was something incredibly familiar about the lopsided smile he offered.

“Can I help you?”

Sawyer bit her lip. “Um, maybe? Yeah. I guess.”

“Okay…how about we start with your name?”

“I’m Sawyer.” She wasn’t sure if she should put out a hand to shake or just wave. She chose the latter. “Sawyer Dodd.”

“Are you a student, Ms. Dodd?”

Sawyer nodded, not sure why that would matter. “Yeah, at Hawthorne.”

The officer nodded and smiled. “I thought I recognized you. My brother goes to Hawthorne. I’m Stephen Haas.”