Phoebe
Tuesday, July 7
“Thanks for the ride,” I say stiffly as I get into the passenger seat of Cooper’s car.
“Of course,” he says over a loud, rattling hum. “Sorry about the noise.”
“It’s fine,” I say, clipping my seat belt. It doesn’t sound good, but in the greater scheme of things…who cares? This is the first time I’ve left the house in almost two days, and I’d probably still be in my room if Cooper hadn’t offered me a ride to Café Contigo to meet up with the rest of the Bayview Crew. Even my mother, as horrified as she is about what happened on Fourth of July weekend, feels like I’m safe with Cooper around.
“Nonny wanted me to give you these,” Cooper says, reaching into the back seat to hand me a Tupperware container. “They’re cookies. She says she hopes you’ll come by sometime when you’re feeling up to it. Doesn’t have to be to deliver lunch.”
“Tell her thanks,” I say, swallowing hard. “And I will.” Then my throat closes up before I can tell him that I’m sorry I missed his commercial. I watched the clip last night, and it almost made me smile.
“How are you doing?” he asks as he backs out of my driveway.
“Okay,” I say. A small, simple word that does nothing to convey the weekend I had. I don’t remember much of it, because according to toxicology reports, there were traces of Rohypnol in my system when Bayview Memorial Hospital got back the results of all the tests they gave me. “Roofies?” I’d asked the doctor, clutching the edges of my hospital gown tightly around me. “So somebody…”
“Somebody drugged you,” she confirmed.
A wave of nauseated horror washed over me. I’ve never been so drunk that I’ve blacked out, so maybe I should’ve realized sooner that something was deeply wrong. But I didn’t understand, until right that second, how calculated my lost night had been. When I’d woken up with Addy and Nate beside me, my mouth dry and my head aching, I thought maybe I’d wandered into the shed on my own. Even after I saw the word on my arm, I thought some jerk did it at the party. But as soon as Detective Mendoza said Somebody drugged you, all I could think was: Who? And why?
When I came to, my clothes were dusty from the shed, but not torn or out of place. The knot I’d tied in my belt in Nate’s bathroom was still there. That was a comfort, but it didn’t change the fact that somebody doctored my drink, took me from Nate’s backyard, and then wrote on me. My arm is scrubbed clean, but every time I look at it, I’m positive that I can still see a faint outline of the letters. That I can feel them, like they were burned into my skin.
“A sick, nasty prank,” one of the nurses said at the hospital when he thought I couldn’t hear. “The kids in this town are flat-out horrible, aren’t they?”
They can be. But somehow, I don’t think prank even begins to cover what happened to me. The police asked where I’d gotten my drinks that night, and the last one I remembered was the one Sean handed to me. While I wouldn’t put it past Sean Murdock to roofie someone, the doctor at Bayview Memorial said the drug shouldn’t have kicked in that fast, and the double vision I’d experienced while talking to Sean, Jules, and Monica probably meant it was already in my system. Plus there’s no way Sean brought me to the Bayview High equipment shed; Crystal took his keys and sent him home with one of her friends.
Before that, I’d gotten drinks from Knox and Luis—both of whom I’d trust with my life. Vanessa gave me a drink after I stalked away from the Bayview Crew corner, and then I stole another one from her, which the Bayview Police found interesting. I suppose I could’ve grabbed a drugged drink by mistake, but if somebody was targeting Vanessa, why am I the one who was taken from Nate’s house and dumped in a shed?
And then there’s the time I spent in Reggie’s room, which I barely remember. Could someone have handed me a drink there? Was it Reggie? I don’t think so, but parts of the night have such a surreal quality that I’m not sure what really happened from the time I left the bathroom until I staggered out of Nate’s house.
I’m positive I didn’t send that text to my mother about staying over at Addy’s—for one thing, no matter how out of it I was, I wouldn’t have forgotten that Addy was mad at me; and for another, there’s no way I could’ve sent such a long message with no typos at that point in the night. But if I didn’t, who did? It had to be someone who knows who my friends are. Somebody who probably held my phone up to my face to unlock it, searched for “Mom” in my contacts, and made sure that nobody would check up on me for a good long while.
Oh, Phoebe. You’ve made a big mistake.
Did someone actually say that, or was I dreaming? I can’t be sure, especially because it’s exactly the kind of thing I’d say to myself.
I shake off my thoughts and try to focus on the road. “You missed the turn for Café Contigo,” I say as Cooper sails past it.
“Yeah, I know,” he says. “I thought I’d take you someplace else first, if that’s okay? It’s right down the street.”
My curiosity is piqued despite myself. “Where?”
“The auto shop where Manny used to work,” he says, making another turn.
“I…um, okay,” I say, confused. “Are you getting your car fixed?”
“No, nothin’ like that,” Cooper says. He pulls into a deserted lot surrounded by a chain-link fence and parks beside the most decrepit car I’ve ever seen. It’s missing all four tires and both the front and back bumpers, and it’s covered with rust and dents. “This just got stripped for parts, and it’s getting hauled to the junkyard soon. Before it does, well…let me show you.”
We get out of Cooper’s Jeep, and he picks up an oversized hammer leaning against one side of the car. “After Simon died, when things got really bad, Luis brought me here,” he says. “There was another car just like this one. He handed me a sledgehammer and told me to whack the hell out of it until I felt better. Seemed like a dumb idea until I actually did it. It helped, so I thought maybe it’d help you too.”
I blink at him, frozen in place, and he swings the sledgehammer lightly, making a small dent in the driver’s-side door. “Phoebe, I can’t relate to everything that happened to you Saturday night,” he says. “But I know what it’s like to feel like your life doesn’t belong to you anymore. And to feel like you can’t talk about it.”
Cooper swings the hammer again, his gaze locked on the car. “When I told Nonny what happened, you know what she said? She said, ‘That’s terrible, especially because that girl is already in a world of pain.’ ” My eyes sting as he continues, “I asked her what she meant, and she said, ‘Well, she hasn’t said anything specific. But I can tell.’ Nonny’s never wrong about stuff like that.” Cooper turns and holds the sledgehammer out to me. “You don’t have to say anything. But if it’d help to take a swing at something—go ahead.”
I gingerly grab the handle. It feels good in my hands, but my feet stay rooted in place, long enough that Cooper adds, “And if this was a bad idea, we can leave.”
“No,” I say, taking a deep breath as I lift the sledgehammer over one shoulder. “It wasn’t.” I step toward the car, take aim, and hit the driver’s-side door with every ounce of strength that I have. It makes an incredibly satisfying dent, so I pull back and hit the car again. Then I move toward the hood before taking another swing. And another, and another, and another, for every single awful thing that’s happened over the past few months. Learning how my dad died, the Truth or Dare game, Brandon’s death, the blowup with Emma, Jared’s plot, Nate’s injury, Owen’s lies. Feeling like I had to separate myself from Knox and Maeve and Addy and everyone I care about, and then getting drugged and dragged into a goddamn shed…
I hit the car so many times that, if my arms were as strong as the hurt and anger coursing through me, it’d be pulverized into dust. It’s not, but it’s an even bigger mess of deep dents when I finally stop, breathing heavily, and look into Cooper’s kind, judgment-free eyes.
“Thanks,” I say. “You were right. I needed that.”
