Page 63 of The Fall of Iris Henley
“A ton.” He shakes his head again. “Wonder if Not-Jonah is one of them.”
“Not-Jonah seems to be pretty resourceful,” I say. “Would you send me a link to Marcus’s account though? It might be useful.”
“Sure. In the meantime, I’m going to message every single person I know and tell them to remove every single picture that’s ever been taken of me.” He drums his fingers rhythmically against the back of my phone. “Do you mind if I show my sister the Sekrit posts? She’s a tech person. She may have some ideas how to figure this out.”
“Ugh, I don’t want anyone seeing that who doesn’t have to,” I say, making a face. “But sure. Yes. See if there’s anything she can do.”
That’s when the door swings open, and a janitor with a large wheeled trash can looks in. She sees us and gives a start.
“What’re you kids doing in here?” she asks, looking up the risers at us. “This part of the building is closed.”
“Yeah, sorry.” Jonah jumps to his feet and we follow suit. “I, uh… I just had to get my viola. Come on, guys.”
We follow him into the locker area just off the main room, the janitor following us with her eyes. Jonah opens one of the flat white lockers and pulls out his viola case. Then he pauses and looks at us. “I guess I’d better get back out there,” he says. “People are going to be wondering. But I have about a million more questions for you.”
“How about we talk on the phone when you’ve got time,” I say with a rueful smile. “Not sure I feel up to texting with you.”
“Fair.” He hesitates for a moment, then puts down his viola case. “Man, I’m sorry, Iris, this really sucks. I hate that you’ve been going through it.”
I think about hugging him. This is not the Jonah I’ve fallen for in the past few months—but it is the Jonah I hung out with at camp, who played brooding shoegaze music for me in the dorm rooms, and gave me a quarter of his cinnamon roll at the breakfast table. That slow-danced with me at the camp social. But the two Jonahs are too tangled, too confused in my mind. So instead, I just nod.
“I’m sorry too. I’m sorry you got pulled into this.”
After we exchange real phone numbers in the hall, Jonah goes one way, and Max and I go the other. Once again I have more questions than answers. But one thing’s come into sharp relief: Whoever the catfisher is? It’s someone close enough to know exactly how to get me.
Back in the car I scroll through my text history with Not-Jonah one more time. All that gentle flirtation. All the stupid banter. But this time my embarrassment gives way to anger. This guy, whoever he is, tricked me. Fuck that.
I don’t know who you really are,I type, fingertips stinging from the force.But when I find out? I’m going to make you pay.
DAY TWELVE
CHAPTER 34
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 18, 7:45AM
HENLEY HOUSE
“Iris Henley, you have five minutes to get out of bed and get some clothes on.”
My mom’s voice cuts through a series of feverish nightmares—dreams where I am falling into jagged, chaotic holes, where I am alone in a dark maze feeling along walls.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in bed. I’ve been tumbling in and out of sleep and panic attacks for what feels like hours. Now Mom is in my doorway. It’s not even eight but she’s fully dressed, not a hair out of order. She’s in her powder-blue suit, the one that always means business; it’s what she usually wears to talk to the HOA or the city council.
“Mommy?” The word comes out as a rasping croak. Her carefully made-up lips disappear into the line of her mouth.
“You heard me. We have to be at the sheriff’s station at eight. Get up, do something with your hair, and be ready.”
I sit bolt upright. “The sheriff’s station? Why? Nothing even happened, it was just…”
“I don’t want to hear it.” She holds up her hand. “Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”
When we pull into the sheriff’s parking lot, I let out an involuntary gasp. There’s one car in the lot. Only one, but it’s one I know well.
A dark gray Jeep. Pom-pom-shaped sticker on the back window that saysHAYDENbeneath.
Mom parks right next to it. She narrows her eyes when she sees it, but she doesn’t say anything.
But the door of the station opens just as we approach, and there she is, eyes swollen and baggy, dark red hair frizzing out of its ponytail. Even with everything going on, my first thought is that she’s been hurt. I remember the way Carter looked at homecoming, the way his muscles strained against his suit. I take a step toward her. “Hayden, oh my God. Are you okay?”
