With Malice (22 page)

The rehab hospital had tried to make the rooftop deck a pleasant place, but that plan had failed. There were planters built by volunteers. I knew this because there was an engraved sign:
PLANTERS A GENEROUS GIFT FROM COMMUNITY VOLUNTEERS.
They likely had the sign made so people wouldn't think blind individuals who'd had some kind of seizure disorder had created them. They looked ready to fall apart at any moment. The plants inside, limp and slumped over, weren't doing much better.

The roof was covered with a layer of slate-colored pea gravel, but swaths of black tarpaper showed underneath where the stones had worn away. There were clusters of chairs sprinkled around up there, but today it was empty. The cold gray clouds that pressed down from the sky seemed to have scared everyone off.

There were a few dozen wet discarded cigarette butts rotting just below a sign that declared
THIS DECK IS A NONSMOKING AREA. THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT.

Anna had wheeled over to one of the clusters of patio furniture and had her face tipped up to the sky. “You left early,” she said without even opening her eyes. She had a laptop balanced on her knees.

“What did you find?” I asked.

“The Internet exploded. So that guy, Nico? Not only was he hooking up with both you and Simone, but he also followed you guys to that small town, for some reason. He lied to the cops.”

My stomach felt sour, like I'd drunk a Big Gulp of red wine vinegar. I wasn't sure what that meant. Had he followed me or Simone? And did I even care?

Anna's nose wrinkled. “Your best friend hooked up with your boyfriend. That shit's messed up.”

I shrugged. “I'd be mad, but I don't even remember dating him, let alone finding out he cheated on me with my best friend.” I looked out over the staff parking lot. Simone prided herself on her ability to get any guy's attention. It was like her superpower. When we were younger and went to the ice rink, we'd see if she could get some random guy there to buy her hot chocolate or one of the cookie ice cream sandwiches they sold at the concession stand, and she did, every single time. It was one of those unwritten understood things in our friendship. She was the hot one. I was the smart one. We used to joke that if we could combine into one person, we'd be unstoppable. I could get that Nico would be attracted to Simone, but what still confused me was why she did it. Maybe Dr. Weeks was right that Simone did it because she was hurt, but what if she did it just because she could? Simone wasn't someone who let people's feelings get in the way of what she wanted, but I wasn't just some person—I was her best friend. I knew she could be cold with people, but I'd never thought she would be that way with me.

“Was Nico the one who told people? Because maybe it's not even true. Maybe he wanted Simone to like him, but she shot him down.”

“That's not how it sounds,” Anna said.

I blew out a frustrated sigh. “But that's the whole point. People are spinning all of these stories, half of which aren't even true. Maybe he wants people to think he's irresistible. Or reporters want to have a fresh scandal, so they're creating a new twist.”

Anna shrugged. “I doubt it. If he was the one who broke the news hoping it would make him look good, that was a bust. He comes across like a loser. Some reporter dug up dirt that he's done this before. It looks like bagging naïve schoolgirls is his thing. They've found four other girls from different programs who have come forward, saying he slept with them, too.” She glanced at me. “No disrespect on the naïve thing.”

I couldn't really be annoyed. It was obvious that for my first serious relationship I had chosen poorly. “I bet it was the cops who told the reporters. They're pissed that they can't make me return to Italy, so they want me to look bad. Why not tell the world that my first real boyfriend was also making out with my best friend?” I paused. “And apparently everyone else.” I picked at the skin near my thumbnail, tearing off a thin sliver of flesh.

“They leaked some other stuff too,” Anna said. She opened the laptop and passed it over, showing me the latest on the
Justice for Simone
blog.

“Dastardly Plan?” I asked, pointing at the headline. “Who the hell talks like that?”

“I think you're focusing on the wrong part, but I'll give you that it's sort of a shit word choice.”

I scrolled down so I could see the copy of the actual note the blog had posted. There was no denying it, I'd seen it in front of me in a thousand notebooks, in cards, on to-do lists. It was my handwriting. It was hard to tell with the copy, but it seemed like the exclamation point was almost torn through the paper. I must have been really pissed when I wrote it. My finger touched the laptop screen, trying to connect with the amount of emotion behind the words. I imagined when the police found it, they must have danced around in glee. It didn't prove anything, but it was another brick in the case they were building against me.

The blog also had a picture of Nico. He was jogging toward a small car; his hand was thrown up to cover his face. The caption was “Student Sex Fiend Flees Reporters.”

“Don't read the comments,” Anna advised.

I instantly scrolled down to see what people were saying. I kept hoping someone would stick up for me, but the comments just kept going—page after page after page. Commenters arguing with each other, but in agreement on one thing—I sucked. I passed the laptop back to Anna.

“If one of my girls messed with my man, I would fuck her up,” Anna said, looking down at the screen. She glanced up. “Not saying you did, just that I would.”

Irritation made my stomach cramp up. “Why do we always blame the friend and not the guy? He's the real loser.”

Anna tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Because we expect guys to be dogs. We expect more from our friends.”

I rubbed my thigh just above where the walking cast cut into my leg. “That's sexist.”

“Whatever.”

I motioned to the laptop. “What are the other sites saying?”

Anna clicked around. “Pretty much everyone has a version of the same thing. Basically that if you found out Simone was with Nico, it gives you a motive and that maybe he was involved in the accident in some way. The thing with the car is weird.”

Anyone who says “sticks and stones might break some bones, but words will never hurt you” has never been in my shoes. I'd prefer being beaten with rocks—it would hurt, but it would be nothing compared to the razor cuts of a million nasty words. People hated me. Not just a little, a lot. People who didn't even know me. They'd never spoken a word to me, never seen me in the flesh, but based on a few pictures and a story, they'd made me into some kind of monster. They talked about how torture was too good for me. They wrote in detail what kinds of things should happen to my family. I rubbed my temples. Another headache was building.

“Maybe I shouldn't have shown you,” Anna said.

“No, it's better for me to know.” I knew neither my parents nor Evan would show me. There had been hushed discussions about how I was “holding up” and the importance of “keeping up my spirits.” I think after my last breakdown, they were all worried that I was going to snap.

“I wanted to show you because I wanted to ask you something,” Anna said. She fidgeted in her chair. “Your dad has a lot of money, right?”

My eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I think maybe you should leave.”

“If I leave the rehab hospital, they're going to make me go to Italy,” I said. “That's the whole point—I can't go.”

Anna looked around as if she half expected someone to pop out from behind one of the planters. “No, I'm saying I think you should just leave. Get some money from your dad and disappear.”

I stared at her. Was she actually suggesting that I run? I was pretty sure I wasn't fugitive material.

“Where would I go?”

Anna shrugged. “I don't know. Someplace that doesn't send people to Italy. Brazil, maybe.”

My mind was blank, trying to come up with an image of Brazil. The only thing that I could think of was bananas and soccer. And I wasn't even sure that bananas actually grew there. “I can't go to Brazil. What would I do—hide out forever?”

“At least until no one cares about this anymore,” Anna said. “Let it blow over. People have short attention spans. If you're not around, eventually people will get bored—focus on something else.

She was serious. This wasn't “Hey, let's imagine the wildest plan we can come up with” or a daydream. Anna actually thought I should run away.

“They took my passport,” I said. The knowledge of this fact sat like a rock in my gut.

Anna slumped in her chair. “Shit.” That seemed to sum up my situation. “Is there a way to get another one?”

I had an image of meeting a guy in an alley behind a Starbucks and peeling off some crisp fifty-dollar bills, then him pulling a passport out of a trench-coat pocket. The whole process would take place by dim light and smell vaguely of garbage from the nearby Dumpster. My picture would be inside the passport, but with a different name. An alias. All very
Bourne Identity.
I let out a slow breath.

“I wouldn't know how to do it,” I admitted.

“Do you want me to ask around? I know a guy who does driver's licenses. Mostly so kids can buy or get into the clubs, but he might know who to talk to,” Anna said.

“I don't want to run away. What I want is to prove that I didn't do this.” I reached for her arm. “You believe me, right? I know it looks like I did and that all of this”—I gestured to the laptop—“makes it seem like I had a good reason, but I
know
I didn't. I wouldn't. I'm not that kind of person.”

“I think anyone is that kind of person if the situation is right,” Anna said.

I drew back, surprised. “How can you say that?”

“Because it's true. People don't want to be that kind of person, but push anyone far enough, and they'll fight back.”

I stood and stormed toward the door. I hated what she said, because I was pretty sure she was right, and it made me mad that she was dangling it in my face. The funny thing was that it was exactly something Simone would have said. She always believed the ends justified the means, that a person did what a person had to do. But I didn't believe that. Or, at the very least, I didn't want to believe it. I wanted to believe that the world was a better place than that. That there were people who did the right thing for no other reason than it was right.

I stopped short near the door. “Well, that's just great. Now no one believes me,” I said. “You all think I'm just a killer.”

“I didn't say that. I said I think anyone could.” Anna shook her head. “And spare me all the drama. I'm trying to help you.”

“By telling me to go into hiding. That's how you suggest people deal with their problems?”

“When the problem is that their ass could land in jail for twenty years, then yes. You think everything will turn out because shit has always turned out for you, but life isn't like that. Trust me, it may not matter if you did it or not. What matters is what people think, and people think you are guilty as hell.”

I drew back as if she'd punched me in the gut.

Anna rubbed her face. “Look, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to upset you, but I'm trying to give you a dose of real life.”

“I know it's real,” I said. “You're forgetting that this is my life we're talking about.”

Anna shook her head. “You don't have a clue. You've always had it easy. There's always been food in your fridge and heat on in your house. When you see a cop, you figure of course he's there to be helpful. You think the world turns okay as long as you try your very hardest—but it's not like that. I'm trying to wake you up before it's too late.”

I drew myself up, hating that I probably looked prim and stuck-up like a spinster schoolteacher from the 1800s. “I am very aware that the world is not a fair place. I don't need you to tell me that.”

The expression on Anna's face screamed that she thought I was in denial. “Fine. Whatever.”

I tapped my foot on the gravel. “Fine.” I wanted her to say something else, but I had no idea what.

“You better run along to your next appointment,” Anna said. “You wouldn't want them to discharge you.”

Let's Travel!
Guidebook

POLICE STATEMENT FROM SAMANTHA YU, STUDENT ON ADVENTURES ABROAD PROGRAM

Transcript to be provided to Italian police

Our first day in Montepulciano, we were given free time in the morning to spend any way we wanted. You could go on a walking tour, but most people were sort of walking-toured out. Plus, we knew we were headed to some church or cathedral in the afternoon. A lot of people slept in or did laundry. A few of the guys were playing some weird magic card game in the lobby, and some others were just sitting around.

I saw Jill go off on her own. Everyone knew what had happened between her and Simone. I mean, it wasn't a secret or anything that Nico had been fired. A bunch of people were choosing sides—sort of Team Jill, Team Simone kinda thing. There was no doubt Simone had really been a bitch, but people liked her more than Jill, so it was weird. Anyway—my former best friend made out with my boyfriend last year at prom, so I was totally Team Jill.