Vengeance (10 page)

“Josh,” I said. “You can’t stand Josh.”

“Bingo!” he said, his eyes lighting up with sarcasm.

“Graham, this makes no sense,” I said, leaning back against the
shelf as he shoved some hardcover books back and forth into one another. “You guys used to be friends.”

“He doesn’t understand the concept,” he snapped.

“I know he had a history with your sister—”

Graham snorted and turned away from me, crossing to the other side of the aisle.

“But what are you going to do? Walk around being pissed at every guy she ever dated? Everyone who upset her in her life?” I asked.

One of the librarians walked past slowly, shooting us a silencing glare. Graham stopped messing with the books and finally turned to face me.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” he said, shoving his hands under his arms, bunching up his striped cotton sweater in the process. “That guy is not stable, Reed.”

My face burned, offended. “I know he’s manic-depressive,” I informed him. “That’s old news. And as long as he takes his meds, he’s fine.”

“Yeah. You keep telling yourself that,” Graham said sarcastically. He reached out and picked at a sticker on one of the shelves, an old label reading BRA–BRE.

My heart slammed against my rib cage and all of a sudden I was back in Mitchell Hall on the night Josh had been arrested on suspicion of Thomas’s murder. He’d been so scared, so manic, so not himself. He’d gone off his medication without consulting his doctor, and he’d been acting odd for such a long time I had even started to suspect him myself. Was this why he’d been acting all
shifty and forgetful lately? Had he gone off his meds again?

Graham watched me closely, almost like he could tell what I was thinking. I lifted my chin in defiance.

“I don’t have to listen to this,” I told him. “I know Josh. I know he’s a good person.”

“Oh my God, Reed! Can you just think about it for five seconds?” he blurted, stepping closer to me. “His roommate at our old school killed himself. Then my sister, his girlfriend, killed herself. Do you really think that’s a coincidence?”

“Yes,” I said firmly. “I do.”

Graham shook his head slightly, looking me in the eye as if he felt sorry for me. “I like you, Reed. I really do. And my brother . . . he’s, like, beyond in love with you.”

I felt a warm and prickly sensation around my heart and averted my eyes. I knew how Sawyer felt about me, but that didn’t mean I was comfortable with his brother saying it aloud.

“And it just makes me
sick
that you would choose a liar and a psycho like Josh Hollis over a good, honest guy like Sawyer.”

My jaw dropped.

“Is that what this is all about?” I demanded. “Are you trying to play matchmaker here? Because you’ve picked a sick and twisted way to do it.”

Graham blinked, then backed away. It was almost as if my words had just woken him up from some kind of crazy dream.

“No,” he said, knocking his fists together as he stepped backward. “No. It’s just . . . we just don’t want you to end up like our sister, that’s
all. I’d hate to see that happen to you, Reed. I really would.”

I swallowed hard, my heart lodged somewhere between my breastplate and my voice box. Why did that sound more like a threat than an expression of concern? And what the hell did he mean by calling Josh a liar, anyway? I knew about Josh’s medical history, his meds, his therapy.

“Just think about it, okay?” Graham implored as he reached the end of the stacks. “That’s all I ask.”

And with one last, pitying look, he was gone.

“That accident was just horrifying, Reed. Just horrifying,” Janice Winthrop said, gesturing around with her mimosa. “I just hope you can find some way to reverse this bad PR, because otherwise . . .”

She let her thoughts trail off, raising her penciled-in eyebrows as she sipped her drink. I glanced around the crowded party room at Isabella’s, the pretty restaurant I’d commissioned for the Billings Sunday brunch, just hoping that someone, anyone, would save me from this awful conversation.

“Well, I’ve been assured by my team that everything is already back on track,” I told her, forcing a confident smile. “Personally, I think that when a project can bounce right back after an accident like that, it can only create
good
PR.”

Janice frowned thoughtfully as she eyed me up and down. “I have to admire your pluck.” Then she patted me on the arm with an icy hand. “Good luck, my dear. And do let me know if there’s anything I
can do,” she said, then walked over to join a group of old friends near the buffet.

All around the sunlit room, Billings alums chatted with Easton faculty and students as they noshed on croissants and fruit. My friends circulated the room in small groups, talking up the former Billings Girls, punctuating their conversations with charming smiles and polite laughter. Everyone was doing their job, but all I wanted to do was go home and crawl back into bed. Left alone for the first time all morning, I decided to take advantage of the temporary freedom and made a beeline for the bathroom for a breather.

But once inside the gleaming, porcelain bathroom, I found myself staring into the mirror. Who was I kidding? A moment alone just meant a moment to obsess. All I could think about last night and this morning was Graham’s rant. Specifically the part where he’d called Josh a liar. What did he mean by that? Did he mean that Josh knew something more about his roommate’s and Jen Hathaway’s deaths? Or did it mean that he’d gone off his meds and not told me?

Or maybe . . . maybe Josh
was
the one sabotaging the Billings project. Maybe Graham had somehow found out about it and was trying to warn me. But then why not just come out and say it? Besides, I just couldn’t picture it. I couldn’t picture Josh going behind my back. And I definitely couldn’t picture him jeopardizing that worker’s life yesterday. Unless he
had
gone off his meds and was having a seriously bad reaction—an uncontrollable reaction. Which would mean he was lying to me about
two
huge things.

I groaned and gripped the sides of the white pedestal sink. Why
was all of this happening? Why now? I had way too much to do to be sitting here obsessing about crap like this.

I wondered if anyone back at Croton High ever had to deal with stalkers and murderers and mystery texters. My guess was no.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I quickly washed my hands and walked out, holding the door open for the woman who’d been waiting. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for more butt-kissing and explaining-away-of-disaster, and turned toward the restaurant.

“Um, Reed?”

I whirled around, startled. Sawyer hovered near the end of the short hallway, in front of a brocade bench, looking tense and uncomfortable. His blond hair hung over one eye and he wore a gray sport jacket over a wrinkled black T-shirt. I hugged my arms against the air-conditioned chill in the hall and tried to smile, wondering what he was doing here. I couldn’t imagine that his father would have encouraged his attendance, even though the headmaster had been forced to show up for appearance’s sake.

“Hey, Sawyer.”

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I tried for a casual shrug. “Just kind of can’t wait until this whole weekend is over. But then I guess I get to go back to stressing about finals, so . . .”

Sawyer cracked an understanding smile and pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “Like the rest of us.”

I nodded, wondering if he’d been waiting for me to come out of the bathroom, or if this meeting was just a coincidence. Sawyer toyed
with a button on his jacket, twisting it around and around.

“Are
you
okay?” I asked.

He looked into my eyes, seeming to steel himself. Then he blew out a sigh, his cheeks puffing up and deflating.

“I heard about what happened with you and Graham,” he said, biting his lip.

“Oh,” I said, my heart fluttering with sudden nerves. “That.”

“Yeah.” He sat down on the bench behind him and pressed his hands together between his knees. “That.”

The toilet inside the bathroom flushed. I moved over to the bench and sat next to Sawyer as the woman emerged and headed back to the party.

“I’m really sorry, Reed. Graham . . . he tries to be a good brother, but . . . he has no idea what he’s talking about,” Sawyer said, looking at up at me through that lock of blond hair.

“He seemed pretty adamant,” I said.

“You have to understand, he and Jen, they were inseparable,” Sawyer told me, sitting up straight. “I don’t know if it was the twin thing or what, but they were best friends. When she died, it was like he died with her. He’s had his good moments, don’t get me wrong, but he’s a different person than he used to be. And it’s like he’s always looking for someone to blame for it.”

I shook my head. I couldn’t imagine what it had been like for Graham, not to mention Sawyer. If my brother Scott ever died . . . I wasn’t sure how I would ever get through it.

“Like Josh,” I said.

“Yeah. Like Josh,” he repeated, his blue eyes sad. He licked his lips and looked down at his lap. “And about the other stuff . . . the stuff about me and you—”

“It’s okay,” I said, my gut twisting in knots. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“No,” he blurted, so vehemently it startled me. He wiped his palms on his jeans. “No, I do. I mean, I don’t know what he said
exactly,
but there is something I want you to know.”

My breath caught in my throat.
Please don’t let him profess his undying love. Please, please, please.
That was something I definitely wouldn’t be able to deal with on top of everything else. Sawyer reached over and took my hand. He tugged it toward him, holding it between our two knees. My first instinct was to draw it back, but it seemed so unnecessarily cruel. So I just sort of froze. Froze and prayed for this to be over quickly.

“All I want is for you to be happy,” he said seriously, looking me in the eye. “That’s really all I want. You know that, right? Even if it’s with some other guy.”

My heart thumped. Hard. Definitely not what I expected. And I had no idea how to respond.

“Okay,” I said finally, awkwardly.

And then Josh walked into the hallway. Sawyer sprang to his feet, which of course just made the whole thing look even worse than it really was.

“Josh!” I said, standing. “Hey!”

There was something in his eyes as he looked at me right then,
something I’d never seen before and knew right away I never wanted to see again. He looked like he wanted to tear me limb from limb. In that moment I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even think. And then, just as suddenly, it was gone.

“I should get back to my dad,” Sawyer said.

He waited for Josh to move so that he could get past, but Josh stood his ground, forcing Sawyer to turn sideways so he could slide by. He lifted his hand in my direction before disappearing around the corner.

Josh’s lower jaw shifted to the side, then righted itself. “Moving on already?” he said archly. “I haven’t even graduated yet.”

My pulse was still pounding from his awful glare. I just looked at him, trying to see the guy I loved and not the one who had just momentarily scared the crap out of me.

“I’m just kidding!” he said, cracking a grin. “Wow. Are you okay?”

He reached for my hands and I let him take them, but kept my distance otherwise, leaning back against the wall. His fingers were cold and calloused.

“I’m fine.” I looked into his eyes, but there was nothing there other than jovial Josh. “You know I’m not interested in Sawyer.”

“Of course I do.” He moved his hands up my arms, enveloped me in a hug, and gave me a quick, dry kiss on the lips. “I was just messing around.”

Then he let me go and turned toward the end of the hall. “So, you ready to get back in there? People are asking for you.”

I took a deep breath and tried to calm the beating of my heart.

“Ready,” I said, hazarding a smile.

He reached for my hand and then, just like that, we rejoined the party as if nothing was wrong. As if I wasn’t starting to wonder, just the teeniest, tiniest bit, if Graham was onto something.

Josh was off his meds. It was the only reasonable explanation for all the odd behavior. As I sat in the solarium on Monday night along with Constance, Astrid, and Lorna, I couldn’t stop staring at him. He was sitting on the other side of the room, alone, slumped in a chair with one hand against his temple. His focus was on a novel for English class, but beneath the table, one leg bounced up and down, like he was some kind of speed freak coming down from a high.

“So who do you guys think is going to win the scholar-athlete award for the seniors, Trey or Lance?” Astrid asked, taking a slug of her double espresso. “Because Trey’s, like, freaking out about it.”

“Oh, please. Trey has it in the bag,” Lorna said. “He plays three varsity sports and was MVP in basketball. Lance is only on crew and fencing.”

“Yeah, but Lance has the better grades,” Constance pointed out. “And it
is scholar
-athlete.”

“Exactly what Trey keeps saying,” Astrid put in. “What do you think, Reed?”

“No contest,” I said distractedly. “Trey’ll win.”

A pair of guys from the soccer team walked in through the side door and Josh nearly jumped out of his skin. A moment later Marc Alberro strolled close to Josh’s table and Josh’s head jumped up, as if he were startled. As if he was waiting for someone to attack him.

“Well, I know I’m not winning anything, but I don’t care,” Lorna said, untangling a knot in her beaded necklace. “I’d rather not be sitting there nervous all night, sweating into my new Zac Posen.”

“Ew!” Constance whined.

A couple of freshmen at the table next to Josh’s cracked up laughing and he lit into them so fiercely they both turned pink in the face. Then he slumped even lower in his chair, yanking his iPod from the pocket of his Easton sweatshirt and jamming the buds into his ears.

“Reed?” Constance asked.

Josh’s knee jerked upward so suddenly he knocked over the salt and pepper shakers on his table—which he didn’t seem to notice.