Addy
Tuesday, July 21
I stare at the gun in Chelsea’s hand and ask, “How do you know this?”
“Simon Kelleher told me,” she says.
The name frays the last of my nerves. “Simon? You knew him? He told you what happened and then—what? You didn’t say anything for six years?”
Chelsea shakes her head. “I didn’t know him. I met him once, the summer my father died, when he was cutting through my backyard. And he didn’t tell me anything back then. I got a letter with all the details a few months ago.” From my startled look, she adds, “He’d used some kind of service that sends mail on a future date. It was dated three days before he died. He wrote that he was tying up loose ends.” She glances behind her, where Gavin is still standing guard at the door. “Gavin said the letter was someone’s idea of a sick joke, but I didn’t think so. There were too many details that made sense.”
My pulse hitches as questions spin through my brain. Jake’s head is bowed now, his eyes on the floor. “But why didn’t Simon tell anyone when it happened?” I ask.
Chelsea barks out a laugh. “Why do you think? Jake made him promise not to. But we all know how Simon felt about secrets, right? They have to come out eventually.”
Jake’s head snaps up. “Simon was a liar,” he growls.
“Simon never lied.” The words slip out of me before I can stop them, and I look away from Jake before I have to see what I’m sure is a rage-filled reaction. “But Chelsea—why didn’t you tell someone? As soon as you got the letter?”
“Because it was right around the time that the whole Juror X thing exploded,” she says. “I knew there wasn’t any point. Even if I could prove the letter was from Simon, who would care? They didn’t care that Jake tried to kill you.” My hand goes instinctively to my throat as she adds, “You thought Jake helped Simon with his revenge plan because of you, didn’t you? Because you cheated, and Jake wanted to get back at you.”
A strangled sound comes out of me. “Well, yeah,” I say. “He made that pretty clear.” I’d come to understand after the whole TJ nightmare that cheating was unforgivable to Jake, but I never could’ve imagined the twisted reason why.
“That was part of it, but it wasn’t the whole story,” Chelsea says. “Jake owed Simon for keeping quiet about what happened to my father.”
I’ve been avoiding Jake’s eyes for a while, and now that I’m looking at him, he won’t look back. I search his face anyway, desperate for answers. Is this true? Is it real? Did Jake go all-in with Simon not only because he was angry with me, but because Simon was holding on to an even bigger secret of Jake’s?
His clenched jaw is all the answer I need. Yes.
Chelsea levels her gaze at Jake. “But God, Jake, you were seriously naïve for believing that Simon would stay quiet. You spent all that time with him, working on a plan that would ruin the lives of everyone he hated, and it never occurred to you that he hated you too?”
Jake glares at Chelsea as she continues, “After I read the letter, it felt like my father had died all over again. I couldn’t stop watching his old ad campaigns, especially the one he’d been working on right before he died. Practice Makes Perfect. That was a better slogan than people realize, you know. It has so many connotations.” Her voice hardens. “It went over big in Bayview, where they love to coddle boys like Jake. Always practicing, always perfecting. Weren’t you, Jake?”
She nudges his foot with hers, and he jerks away like she scalded him. “But we all know what Bayview’s real game is, right?” she continues. “Revenge. Except they keep doing it wrong. Nobody ever targets people who are actually guilty. Even though this town is full of them. So I decided it was time to change that. Once Juror X surfaced, I could tell Jake was going to be released—I would’ve bet every cent I inherited from my father’s life insurance policy on it—so Gavin and I moved to Bayview in May. The day of Jake’s hearing, I used my dad’s old security credentials to hack the Clarendon billboard and let everyone know that this time, we’re playing by my rule. Practice makes perfect. Something that would get justice for my dad, and honor him. Step by step.”
“Step by step?” I echo.
She nods. “Step one was somebody who’d done something wrong, but not unforgivable. Someone who could learn. That was supposed to be Vanessa, because of the way she supported him.” She jerks the gun toward Jake. “Enabled all his worst behavior. Guys like Jake are made bit by bit, you know? And Vanessa played her part better than anyone at Bayview High. But Phoebe stole the drink I’d drugged from Vanessa at Nate’s party. After she nearly passed out in the backyard, she told me what really happened with Jared Jackson.”
I blink, confused. “Huh? What do you mean?”
Chelsea cocks her head. “Phoebe didn’t tell you? How her brother stepped in for Emma and kept the Truth or Dare game going until Brandon died? She’s been covering for him all this time.” My jaw drops at the revelation, and Chelsea snorts out a mirthless laugh. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s a great liar until her defenses are down. Once the drugs kicked in, she couldn’t shut up. I listened to all her pathetic justifications and made a spur-of-the-moment swap from Vanessa to Phoebe.”
Phoebe. Owen. Oh my God, no wonder she’s been a wreck all summer. I’m desperate to know more, but the last thing I want is to make Chelsea any angrier at Phoebe than she already is. I swallow my questions and ask, “What about Reggie?”
A spasm of something like angry regret crosses Chelsea’s face. “Reggie had no problem telling the world that Jake was a good guy, even after everything he did to you and your friends. And to Simon. He was always pretty cool to me,” she says in a way that makes it clear that she, too, has memorized that Bayview Blade article. Jake, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet all this time, gives a smirk that Chelsea fortunately doesn’t catch.
“Plus, Reggie was a disgusting predator,” she continues. “I saw Katrina Lott’s TikTok, just like everybody else who’s ever lived in Bayview. The comments made it clear he hadn’t changed, and I knew he never would unless he got the scare of his life.” Her voice drops lower. “He wasn’t supposed to die, though. That was an accident. Jake, on the other hand…”
Panic floods my veins, and I try to tamp it down. The most frightening thing about Chelsea is how calm she is. And how absolutely sure of herself. If I could put even the tiniest dent in that confidence, maybe there’s a way to get everyone out of here alive. “Chelsea, this is horrible, and I understand why you’re so angry, but Jake was just a kid when his father”—Not his actual father, I think, but she’ll know what I mean—“killed yours. I’m sure Jake would have stopped it if he felt like he could. He must have been terrified.”
“Really, Addy?” Chelsea asks, her voice dripping with scorn. “After everything he’s done to you, that’s your response?”
Time for a new tack, especially since she’s making a fair point. If I think about that for too long, it’ll be harder to do the right thing. “But you said that this is about getting revenge the proper way. Targeting people who are actually guilty,” I say. “So why are you going after Jake instead of Scott Riordan?” Of course, it’s a horrible punishment for Scott to lose the son he killed Alexander Alton to keep, but it doesn’t seem fitting. Even though I haven’t known this version of Chelsea for very long, that strikes me as the sort of distinction that she’d care about.
Chelsea’s lips curve into that half smile I’ve come to dread. It’s as though she’s been waiting for me to ask the question, and she’s pleased that I finally got there. “Because I haven’t told you about the rest of the letter,” she says. “That wasn’t all that Simon said.”
SIMON
Six Years Earlier
They listened for what seemed like hours.
Listened to Mr. Riordan give up on reviving Alexander Alton, pace the kitchen, and agitatedly stalk between rooms. It was a minor miracle, Simon thought, that he hadn’t spotted them. Mr. Riordan had passed by the spot where he and Jake crouched behind the couch at least a half-dozen times. Simon was pretty sure he knew what Mr. Riordan was thinking: Get rid of the body, get rid of Alexander Alton’s car, and hope and pray that nobody ever noticed it was here. It was dark enough, Simon thought, that Mr. Riordan might get lucky in that regard. The Riordans, after all, were the luckiest people he knew.
“You can’t tell anyone,” Jake said in a panicked whisper when Mr. Riordan’s footsteps faded down the hallway. “He didn’t mean it.”
“You sure about that?” Simon whispered back.
“Simon, please. Promise me. Please.”
“I promise,” Simon whispered, just to shut him up.
Jake pressed his head into his hands, curled into a ball behind the couch. Mr. Riordan was still out of hearing distance, but he wouldn’t be for long. Whatever he was planning next, one thing was for certain: he wouldn’t want a witness. So when Jake started rocking back and forth, seemingly lost in his own world, Simon took advantage of the opportunity to get to his feet and slip outside, as quickly and noiselessly as he could.
All the way toward the patch of grass where he’d left his bike, Simon expected to feel a hand on his arm—Jake or Mr. Riordan pulling him back, begging him to stay quiet. Or maybe they’d insist on it. Get angry and threaten that he’d wind up like Alexander Alton. Simon was so caught up in the drama of what felt like an inevitable confrontation that when he reached his bicycle and glanced over his shoulder, he was disappointed to see nothing but the empty stretch of grass he’d just crossed.
He was a murder witness, and the Riordans were still treating him like he didn’t exist.
Simon picked his bicycle up from the grass and slung one leg over the seat. Then he paused, unable to tear his eyes away from the Riordans’ palatial home.
He didn’t want to leave yet. He wanted to know what happened next.
Simon made his way to the Riordans’ kitchen window and hoisted himself up onto the flower-covered trellis below it until he could see inside. Instantly he spotted Alexander Alton’s body, all stiffness and unnatural angles. And beside it—there was Jake. Staring at the floor with wide, blank eyes.
Any minute, Simon thought. Any minute, Mr. Riordan would come back and see the boy he’d always believed was his son standing over the body of his real father. Simon couldn’t even begin to guess what would happen then. This was the strangest, most surreal experience of his entire life, and he wasn’t one hundred percent certain that he wasn’t dreaming.
And then, the body twitched.
Simon nearly fell off the trellis, certain his imagination had gotten the better of him until he saw Jake recoil in shock. Neither of them was seeing things—Alexander’s hand moved, and then his head. Faint, but definite.
He was still alive, which meant—what? Would Mr. Riordan call an ambulance? How was he going to explain what had happened? And what would Alexander Alton do once he got out of this house? He could take Jake away, Simon thought. It’s probably what he and Ms. Riordan were planning to do, anyway.
Before Simon could wonder for too long, though, Jake grabbed a towel that was draped over the oven door and folded it in two. He knelt beside Alexander Alton and then, as Simon watched through the window, pressed the towel over Alexander’s face. Even as Alexander struggled weakly, Jake held it there. After a few minutes that passed with agonizing slowness, there was no movement at all.
Simon dropped from the trellis, breathing hard. He could tell someone, he thought. He could rip the entire Riordan family apart and let Chelsea Alton and her brothers know exactly what had happened to their father. That was the right thing to do, probably, but it wouldn’t bring Alexander Alton back.
He’d promised Jake that he would stay quiet. That was when they’d thought Alexander Alton’s death was an accident, though. Simon didn’t owe Jake anything now.
But Jake owed him.
Even before he’d watched Jake finish what Mr. Riordan had started, Jake owed Simon a staggering debt. The kind where Simon could tell Jake to do anything, and he’d have to do it.
He would wait, Simon decided, settling himself onto his bike. Wait and see whether Mr. Riordan got away with what he’d done. He and Jake might feel safe then, like they were still the picture-perfect family they’d always pretended to be, but they weren’t. Not when Simon could reveal the truth at any time.
Secrets are power, Simon thought as he pedaled away.
