“Seriously?” Monica asks, grinning. “To which twin? Or both? Please say both.”
“To Spencer Hargrove,” I admit, holding up my phone, so she can see a picture of him. I only have this one that I took at the last Culinary Club meeting, of me and him. It makes my heart hurt to look at it. “Isn't he cute?”
“Cute? No way. Handsome. Feisty. Looks like trouble. What happened with the twins then? I thought you guys were dating?”
I almost choke on my own spit.
“It's complicated.”
“Did you break up?” she asks, and then pauses. “And when they said you were dating both of them …”
“I'm sort of trying the polyamorous angle, you know?” I lean back against the door, waiting to see her reaction. “Like, dating Spencer and both twins.”
“Yeah? I'm sort of into that, too. Dating two guys right now, but like, with their full knowledge. It's been interesting.” Another pause. “What are you doing back here anyway? I mean, not that I'm not glad to see you …”
“My dad forced me to move back,” I admit, sighing. “I didn't want to. I mean, at first, when we moved, all I wanted was to come home and be with you and Cody. But then you guys kept blowing me off, reading my messages and not responding, and then I got here and found out about …” I trail off. There's no point in saying it aloud; we both know what happened. “Anyway, I like what I have going on back at Adamson.”
“Girl, I like what you have going on back at Adamson.” She glances over and then cringes a little. “Sorry, too soon? It's awkward, isn't it?”
“If you sleep with one of these guys, I'll never forgive you,” I say, but also, I'm not worried. Not because of Monica, but because I don't think Spencer or the twins, or even Church or Ranger, would do that to me.
“Understood,” Monica says, and then we both get quiet and stay that way until we pull into her driveway. Her parents on their way out, but they give me a quick pair of hugs before leaving.
That's when I remember what Micah said about the Peters being behind on their mortgage payments.
“Is everything okay?” I ask as Monica waves them off, and then glances over at me, frowning.
“Not really. But my grandpa's stepped in, so we don't lose the house. Other than that, I don't know what's going to happen. My parents' business is in the toilet. Eventually everyone in town will know, and I won't have any reputation left to stand on.”
“There are worse things,” I say, thinking of Jenica. Of Eugene. Of the crazy stalker who's been calling himself Adam. “You'll figure it out.”
“I hope so.” Monica pauses awkwardly for a minute. “Do you want to get your suit on and just chill in the pool for a while? I can make us drinks.”
“Sounds good,” I tell her, and then I head upstairs to dump my bags. Maybe I'll stay a while? It's gotta be better than letting my mom drag me to LA, right?Hanging out with Monica is both nice and weird, all at the same time. I missed her like crazy, but despite our familiarity with one another, it’s like we’re starting all over again. The trust and the friendship we had before is broken, shattered really, and I’m still bleeding from those wounds.
In a way though, it’s sort of a good thing. I broke up with Cody, realized I never actually liked him all that much to begin with, and now here I am with a dozen messages from my, uh, three new boyfriends?
It’s fucking weird, man.
I reply to everyone, trying to hold back a rush of irrational tears. This isn’t the end of the world. Sure, it fucking feels like it, but it’s just a blip. I keep telling myself that, keep trying to look on the bright side. At least I won’t get hung from a tree, right? But the nooses, the notes, the stone, the dead bird … it’s a lot. And leaving that mystery unsolved is leaving me unsettled. On top of that, I’m worried about my crew. That one week of thinking Spencer was dead was almost too much for me. How would I survive if I had to go through it again?
With a groan, I roll onto my side and pull up Jenica’s journal instead. Ranger’s sent me screenshots of every page, including the one that has the stone’s symbol drawn on it. That, and he’s also sent me her suicide note. Church was able to quote it word for word, but seeing it written out in Jenica’s loopy, whimsical handwriting makes it seem more tragic somehow.
I flip to the beginning of the journal and start reading.
It begins with her first day of high school at Adamson, as the only female student. Unlike me, however, Jenica Woodruff was a hell of a lot braver. She walked in wearing a skirt, her long hair thrown over one shoulder, and she marched right into the cafeteria. According to her words, she announced: I’m not here for dick; I’m here for academics.
