Page 115 of Grown

“You have some fucking nerve calling me after what you’ve done!”

Jessica is scalding hot. I’m surprised she even answered. So I don’t give her time to hang up on me before I ask the question.

“Did you see the picture I sent you? The watch? Do you recognize it?”

“I shouldn’t be talking to a killer,” she seethes.

I wipe the acid off my face. First time someone’s called me a murderer.

“The watch. In the screenshot. It’s Korey’s, right? Korey was wearing it when I saw him that night. He never took it off—youknow that. It has his grandma’s diamonds in the center.”

“He... told you that,” she murmurs in utter disbelief.

“Yeah. So how did Richie get it?”

Silence.

“What?”

“Richie has Korey’s watch. He was wearing it at the funeral.”

More silence. More breathing.

“Jessica, please. Just tell me, how did Richie get Korey’s watch?”

“Why should I tell you anything? Everything that’s happened has been because of you. Korey went crazy after you left him. He couldn’t eat, sleep, or record. He loved you. More than anyone. Did you know that? He moved heaven and earth for you.”

“You think it’s right for him to love a kid?”

“You weren’t a child! You knew exactly what you were doing.”

“I was doing what he told me to do,” I snap back. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, Jessica. He’s dead. I didn’t kill him. I don’t remember much, but I know he had his watch on that night. So how did Richie get it?”

Jessica takes a deep breath, righting herself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says in an impossibly calm voice. “Don’t fucking call me again.”

The phone clicks.

Chapter 81

Charged

“They’ve found sufficient evidence for an arrest warrant,” Mr. Pulley says from across his desk, face sagging, as if already defeated. “Now that you’re eighteen, they can try you as an adult.”

Mom’s bottom lip trembles as tears fall. Daddy rubs her shoulders.

A sob climbs up my throat. “I didn’t do it, Mr. Pulley. I swear I didn’t.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But we should think about strategy. I spoke to the DA’s office and worked it out that you’ll turn yourself in on Friday morning.”

Mr. Pulley continues going over our options, suggesting expert witnesses and psych evaluations, my PTSD diagnosiskey to our defense. The question floats around my head until it nearly drowns me, and I gasp for air.

“Do you have a report of what they found on Korey?” I blurt out.

Mr. Pulley raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Like, one of those lists of all the items they found on his, um, body?”