Page 108 of Grown

My tongue is too dry to moisten my quivering chapped lips.

“I didn’t kill him. I swear I didn’t kill him! I wouldn’t.”

Mr. Pulley pats my hand. “I know, hon. But let’s not worry about that for now. How about you tell me everything that you remember?”

Tonight’s movie:Peter Pan.

The Littles sit on the opposite side of the sofa, clutching Shea, sneaking peeks at me every few minutes. They’ve been locked in the house ever since the media caught wind of where we lived, taking over our once-quiet street, circling like sharks.

In the kitchen, Mom and Daddy pore over some paperwork on the table, their backs to us, Mom quietly sobbing.

“All you need is faith, trust, and a little pixie dust.”

Peter Pan kind of reminds me of Korey. Flying high on blissful thoughts, he was fine never growing up, wanted to stay a kid forever. He was also forgetful, self-centered, and cocky enough to put himself in danger, skating by without consequence over and over again.

Meanwhile, all I wanted to do was grow up fast, love him hard, and sing around the world. But the adult world pushed me down a plank and fed me to the crocodiles.

Maybe Korey had the right idea all along.

My phone buzzes. An unknown number.

Gab?

“Hello?”

“You’re fucking dead, bitch!”

“W-w-w-what?”

“You’re fucking dead! If I see you, I’m slicing your fucking throat, you little slut.”

The line drops and I look at Shea. The voice was loud enough for her to hear.

She stares back then sighs, returning to the movie.

Chapter 75

Pictures Worth a Thousand Words

There are so many pictures of Korey when he was younger. Every news outlet shows them on repeat.

“Did you know Korey Fields couldn’t read a single sheet’s worth of music? He could just about play any instrument you put in front of him using his ear, like a blind man.”

I scroll through the various feeds. Mom said to stay away from the news, but I can’t help it. Seeing young Korey makes me long for the Korey I thought I knew. The big kid trapped in a man’s body.

I scroll to another picture of Korey, standing next to Richie. Back then, he barely reached Richie’s chest, hair in slick cornrows, dressed in baggy clothes. The caption reads, “Grammy After-party. Luv U 4eva KF!” This was the party he told meabout, where he lost his virginity. I flip to the next photo and my jaw hits the floor, at the woman standing next to him, his skinny arm wrapped around her tiny waist, his head just at her breast. Her hair is different, blond finger waves. Her face is different too. But I recognize her.

Jessica.

To anyone else, the photo would seem innocent. But something about the way she leans into his arms, his childlike arms, makes my stomach clench. I click on another link and it brings me to a Facebook post with almost three hundred comments:

If you mourning him, you’re mourning a pedophile!

Pedophile? She was a GROWN ass woman.

Bruh, GROWN ain’t SEVENTEEN

She didn’t look seventeen. *shrugs*