Knox
Monday, March 2
It’s a reflex to check my phone, even at work. But there’s nothing new from Unknown on Monday. The last texts were from Friday night:
DARE: Kiss a member of the Bayview Four.
STATUS: Achieved by Jules Crandall. Congratulations, Jules. Nice work. Accompanied by a picture of Jules on Nate’s lap, kissing him as though her life depended on staying attached to his face.
The next player will be contacted soon. Tick-tock.
I’m kind of glad I had rehearsal and couldn’t make it to Café Contigo on Friday. Maeve said the night went downhill fast after Jules interrupted dinner. Plus, the whole restaurant turned into such a mob scene that they ran out of food and Cooper had to leave through the back entrance.
“In this particular instance, the contributing cause is false confession,” Sandeep says beside me. We’re sharing a desk today at Until Proven, and he’s been on the phone nonstop since I arrived. He holds a pen in one hand, tapping it rhythmically on the desk while he talks. “So I don’t see that it applies. What? No. Homicide-related.” He waits a few beats, pen tapping. “I can’t confirm that yet. I’ll call you back when I can. All right.” He hangs up. Until Proven still has desk phones—big, clunky things with actual cords plugged into the wall. “Knox, can you order some pizza?” Sandeep asks, rolling his shoulders. “I’m starving.”
“Sure.” I pick up my iPhone, because I don’t even know how to work the desk ones, then put it back down when Eli materializes in front of us. He looks different, but I can’t figure out why until Sandeep speaks up.
“You cut your hair,” he says. Eli shrugs as Sandeep leans back in his chair and spins in a semicircle, his fingers steepling beneath his chin. “What’s up? You never cut your hair.”
“I assure you that I do,” Eli says, pushing his glasses up on his nose. He looks a lot less like Einstein now. “Do you have the Henson file?”
“Is this a wedding thing?” Sandeep asks. “Did Ashton make you?”
Eli rubs his temple like he’s trying to draw out some patience. “Ashton and I don’t make one another do anything. Do you have the Henson file or not?”
“Um.” Sandeep starts sifting through the piles on his desk. “Probably. It’s here somewhere. What do you need?”
“The name of the convicting DA.”
“I have it,” I say, and they both turn toward me. “Not the file, but the name. I made a spreadsheet. Hang on.” I pull up Google Docs and tilt my laptop toward Eli. “It has all the basic background information on the D’Agostino convictions. Names, dates, addresses, lawyers, things like that. I noticed you keep asking for that stuff, so…” I trail off as a crease appears on Eli’s forehead. Was I not supposed to do this, maybe? It’s all publicly available information, so I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong by putting it into one document.
Eli’s gaze roves across my screen. “This is great. Can you share it with me, please?”
“Um, yeah. Of course,” I say.
He meets my eyes. “What’s your name, again?”
“Knox. Knox Myers.” I smile a little too widely, happy to be noticed for once.
“Thanks, Knox,” Eli says sincerely. “You just saved me a lot of time.”
“Eli!” Somebody yells from across the room. “Judge Balewa on line one for you!” Eli takes off without another word as Sandeep punches me lightly in the arm.
“Look at you, getting praise from the big man! Nice job, kid,” he says. “Don’t let it go to your head, though. I still want that pizza. And could you sort the mail?”
I order a few extra-large pizzas for the office, then grab a stack of envelopes from a tray next to the front door and bring them back to my chair. Some of it’s registered and I’m not supposed to open that, so I put those aside for Sandeep. A lot of it’s bills, and those go into another pile. Then I sort through what’s left. Mostly, it’s requests for Until Proven to take on a particular case. It’s surprising how many people write letters instead of emailing, but I guess they’re hoping to stand out. Until Proven gets way more pleas for help than it could ever handle, even if it tripled its staff.
I pick up a letter-sized envelope with Eli’s name scrawled across the front. I tear it open and there’s a single sheet of paper inside. I pull it out and read the few short sentences:
You messed with the wrong people, shithead.
I’m going to fuck you like you fucked us.
And I’ll enjoy watching you die.
I recoil like somebody punched me. “Sandeep!” I croak. He looks up from his laptop with a quizzical expression, and I shove the paper toward him. “Look at this!”
Sandeep takes the letter and reads. He doesn’t look nearly as shocked as I expected. “Oh yeah. We get these sometimes. I’ll log it in the death threats file.”
“The what?” I can’t keep the horror out of my voice. “There’s a whole file?”
“Death threats come in during every big case,” he says matter-of-factly. “Disgruntled assholes blowing off steam, for the most part, but we need to document everything.” He scans the sheet of paper again before folding it and putting it back into the envelope. “At least this one doesn’t contain hate speech. Eli gets a lot of anti-Jewish rhetoric. Those go in a special file.”
“Jesus,” I say weakly. My pulse is racing uncomfortably fast. I knew Until Proven lawyers had to deal with a lot of crap, but I never imagined anything like this.
Sandeep pats my shoulder. “Sorry, Knox. I don’t mean to be blasé. I know these are disconcerting, especially the first time you see one. It’s par for the course in this line of work, though, and we have procedures in place to deal with it.” His brow knits in concern as he takes in my clammy, probably ghost-pale face. “Are you feeling unsafe? Do you want to go home?”
“No. I’m not worried about me.” I swallow, watching Eli through a conference room window as he gestures animatedly. “But Eli—”
“Is used to it,” Sandeep says gently. “He chose this line of work, and he’s not afraid of people like this.” Disgust settles over his features as he tosses the envelope onto the desk in front of us. “They’re cowards, really. Hiding behind a screen to threaten and intimidate, instead of doing something meaningful to improve their situation.”
I glance at my phone, full of gloating texts from Unknown. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”
I’d planned on going straight home after work, but when five o’clock rolls around I’m still rattled and out of sorts. Where are you? I text Maeve as I walk toward the elevator, holding my breath to avoid the pungent aroma of the men’s hair club.
She answers right away. Café Contigo.
Want some company?
Always.
There’s a bus sitting in traffic a few yards ahead of me, and I jog to make it to the stop as it pulls up. My phone is still in my hand as I board, and it buzzes when I sit next to an old woman with tight gray curls. She beams at me as I dig out my earphones and plug them into my phone, giving her a polite smile before I stuff the buds into my ears. Not today, Florence.
Imagine Dragons blasts while I read a text from Kiersten. Download this. New messaging app for family chats. I follow the link for something called ChatApp. The icon is a text bubble surrounded by a lock.
Never heard of it, I text back. What’s wrong with the ten apps I already have?
Kiersten sends a shrug emoji. Idk. Kelsey wants it. Syncs easier with her laptop or something. Our middle sister is a technology dinosaur who prefers messaging via computer instead of phone. Better privacy, too.
Oh good. Wouldn’t want Katie’s top-secret wedding details to leak.
Ha. Ha. Did Wing Zone fix the chicken yet?
Yes, it’s fully a chicken once more. With a leprechaun hat in anticipation of St. Patrick’s Day. Kiersten replies with six laughing emojis and a couple of shamrocks.
I finish downloading the new app, and once I sign up I see four invitations waiting for me, from Kiersten, Katie, Kelsey, and Kara. I’m not ready for the sisterly deluge, though, and exit the app without accepting any of them. It’s practically my stop anyway, so I get up and make my way to the doors, hanging on to a pole for balance as we lurch toward the sidewalk.
Café Contigo is just a block away from the bus stop. When I get inside Maeve is at her usual corner table, a cup of coffee in front of her and her phone in one hand. I pull out my earbuds and take the seat across from her. “What’s up?”
She lays her phone down on the table. It vibrates twice. “Not much. How was work?”
I don’t want to get into the death threats just yet. I’d rather not think about them. I gesture to her phone, which vibrates again. “Do you need to get that?”
“No. It’s just Bronwyn, sending pictures from some play she’s watching. The set’s really great, apparently.”
“Is she into that kind of thing?”
“She thinks I am. Because I did a play once.” Maeve shakes her head in amused exasperation. “She and my mom are exactly alike. Any time I show the slightest interest in something, they hope it’s my new life’s passion.”
A waiter comes by, a tall, thin college student named Ahmed, and I order a Sprite. I wait until he walks away to ask, “How’s Bronwyn doing after that whole mess on Friday? Did she and Nate break up again?”
“I’m not sure you can break up when you never officially got back together,” Maeve says, resting her chin in her hand with a sigh. “Bronwyn’s not talking about it. Well, she talked about it at length on Saturday, but now that she’s back at Yale she’s totally clammed up about Nate. I swear to God, that place short-circuits all her emotions or something.” She takes a sip of coffee and makes a wry face. “She thinks Nate was into it. The kiss from Jules, I mean. Which wasn’t my read on the situation at all, but Bronwyn won’t listen.”
“Did you tell her it was part of a game?”
“I tried.” Maeve bites her lip. “I didn’t want to go into too much detail, because she’d freak if she knew there was even a slight connection to Simon. And she was already so upset about Nate. That stupid picture Monica took was all over social media this weekend. Which reminds me…I’ve been meaning to show you something.” Maeve swipes at her phone a few times, then holds it out to me. “I found this the other day. You remember that revenge forum Simon used to post on?” I nod. “Well, this is a new version, except now the posts disappear after a few hours.”
“What?” My eyebrows shoot up as I take her phone. “How do you know that?”
“I found it when I was searching Simon’s old user name last week. There was a post a while back that mentioned Bayview, and something about a game.” She drums her fingers restlessly on the table. “I can’t remember exactly what it said. I wish I’d taken a screenshot, but I didn’t know then that the posts disappear.”
I scan the handful of posts on the page. Somebody named Jellyfish is seriously pissed off at his teacher. “Okay, so…you think what, exactly? That this Jellyfish person is running the Truth or Dare game?”
“Not him specifically,” Maeve says. “That guy seems to have a one-track mind. But maybe that other poster is involved. It’s weird, don’t you think? That the texting game starts by referencing Simon, and then this revenge forum pops up and does the same thing?”
“I guess,” I say uncertainly. Seems kind of tenuous, but then again, Maeve knows a lot more about tracking vengeful gossips than I do.
“I should set up a monitoring service or something. Like PingMe,” she says thoughtfully. At my puzzled expression, she adds, “A tool that notifies you when a website updates. It’s faster than a Google Alert. Then I could keep track of these disappearing conversations.”
Her eyes get a faraway look. Even though I think she’s getting way too obsessed over a random Internet post, I can tell she won’t listen if I tell her so. Instead, I hand back her phone without comment. When she takes it, her sleeve pulls up on her arm, exposing an angry-looking purple bruise. “Ouch, how’d you get that?” I ask.
“What?” Maeve follows my eyes, and I hear her breath catch. She pales and goes so still that she looks like a statue. Then she pushes her sleeve down as far as it can go, until the bruise is completely covered. “I don’t know. Just—banged something, I guess.”
“You guess?” Her eyes are on the floor, and unease stirs in my gut. “When?”
“I don’t remember,” she says.
I run my tongue over dry lips. “Maeve, did…did somebody do that to you?”
Maeve’s head snaps up, and she lets out a startled, humorless laugh. “What? Oh my God, Knox, no. I promise, nothing like that happened.” She looks me straight in the eye, and I relax a little. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Maeve, it’s that she’s incapable of maintaining eye contact when telling even the whitest of lies. You should never, for example, ask what she thinks of your new haircut if you’re not fully prepared to handle the truth. I learned that the hard way when I decided to go a little shorter last week.
“Okay, so…” I pause, because now I can’t remember what we were talking about, and Maeve’s gaze wanders over my shoulder. She waves, and I turn around to see a thin boy with strawberry-blond hair and glasses hovering a few feet away from us.
“Hi, Owen,” Maeve calls. “Phoebe’s not working today.”
“I know. I’m picking up takeout.”
Maeve lowers her voice as Owen approaches the counter. “That’s Phoebe’s little brother. He comes here a lot after school, even when he’s not getting food. Just to hang out and talk with Phoebe or Mr. Santos when they’re not busy. I think he’s kind of lonely.”
Somehow, this whole texting game mess turned Maeve and Phoebe into friends, which is the only silver lining so far. Maeve’s been kind of lost since Bronwyn graduated, and Phoebe could use somebody on her side. Slut-shamey crap about her is still flying around school, and her friend Jules eats lunch with Monica Hill’s clique now. I guess Jules found her own silver lining: social climbing via Truth or Dare success.
Mr. Santos appears from the back and hands Owen a large brown paper bag, then waves away the bill Owen tries to give him. “No, mijo, put that away,” he says. “Your money’s no good here. How is school? Phoebe tells me you have a big spelling bee coming up.”
Owen starts talking a mile a minute, but I’m not really paying attention because I’m still thinking about the relieved look on his face when he put the money away. My mom was an insurance adjuster on Mr. Lawton’s worker’s comp settlement after he died. I remember her telling my dad, when she didn’t know I was listening, that she thought the company’s payout for the accident was a lot less than it should have been. I don’t think Melissa Lawton realizes how quickly that money will go when nothing’s coming in, she’d said.
When Owen finally turns away from the counter, he has a big smile on his face. He needed that, I think. Some kind of dad figure, or a big brother, maybe. I get it. I know what it’s like to grow up surrounded by older sisters who might be great but can’t tell you how you’re supposed to function as a guy in the twenty-first century. When Owen passes by our table I find myself saying, “Hey, do you like Bounty Wars?”
Owen pauses and gestures to his T-shirt with his free hand. “Um, yeah.”
“Me too. I’m Knox, by the way. I go to school with Phoebe.” Maeve nods and smiles, like she’s confirming my trustworthiness. “Who’s your avatar?” I ask.
Owen looks a little cautious, but answers me readily enough. “Dax Reaper.”
“Mine too. What level are you on?”
“Fifteen.”
“Damn, really? I can’t get past twelve.”
Owen’s entire face lights up. “It’s all about weapon choice,” he says earnestly, and then bam, he’s off. The two of us talk Bounty Wars strategy until I notice the bag he’s holding is starting to soak through with grease from whatever’s inside. “You should probably get that home, huh?” I say. “People must be waiting for dinner.”
“I guess.” Owen shifts from one foot to the other. “Are you and Phoebe friends?”
Good question. Not exactly, although now that Phoebe is spending more time with Maeve at school she is also, by default, spending more time with me. In the snake pit that Bayview High has turned into lately, that’s probably close enough. “Yeah, sure.”
“You should come over and play Bounty Wars with us sometime. I’ll tell Phoebe to invite you. See ya.” Owen waves as he turns away. Maeve, who’d been scrolling through her phone the whole time, nudges my knee with hers.
“That was really nice,” she says.
“Stop calling me that,” I grumble, and she smiles.
A tall kid with shaggy brown hair comes through the door, holding it open for Owen to slip out under his arm. He scans the room, his eyes flicking past me and Maeve without much interest and pausing on a waitress arranging condiment baskets in the back. He looks like he’s only a year or two older than I am, but there’s something a little too intense about his gaze. Mr. Santos, counting receipts at the register, glances up and seems to notice it too. “Good evening,” he calls.
The guy crosses half the dining room with his eyes still on the waitress’s back. She turns, displaying a middle-aged face that doesn’t match her bouncy ponytail. Intense Guy shifts his attention to Mr. Santos. “Yo, Phoebe here?” His voice is too loud for the small space.
Mr. Santos leans on the counter, arms folded. “I can help you with whatever you need, son,” he says. No mijo for this kid.
“I’m looking for Phoebe. She works here, right?” Mr. Santos doesn’t answer right away, and the guy’s jaw gets tense. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his green hunting jacket. “You understand English or what, señor?” he asks in a mocking Spanish accent.
Maeve sucks in a sharp breath between her teeth, but Mr. Santos’s pleasant expression doesn’t change. “I understand you perfectly.”
“Then answer my question,” the kid says.
“If you have a food order, I am happy to take it,” Mr. Santos says in the same even tone.
“Look, old man—” The kid strides forward, then stops short when Luis and Manny emerge from the kitchen one after the other. Luis pulls a towel from his shoulder and snaps it hard between his hands, making every muscle in his arms stand out. It’s probably the wrong time to wish I had another guy’s moves, but damn, Luis is smooth. Somehow, he manages to come across like Captain America while wearing a grease-spattered T-shirt and a bandana.
Maeve notices, too. She’s practically fanning herself across the table.
Manny’s not as athletic as his brother, but he’s big and burly and plenty intimidating when he crosses his arms and scowls. Like he’s doing now. “They need you in the kitchen, Pa,” he says, his eyes locked on Intense Guy. “We’ll take over out here for a while.”
Intense Guy might be an ass, but he’s not stupid. He turns right around and leaves.
Maeve’s eyes linger on the counter until Luis goes back into the kitchen, and then she turns toward me. “What the hell was that about?” she says. Her phone vibrates again, and she makes a frustrated sound in her throat. “God, Bronwyn, give it a rest. I don’t care about set design nearly as much as you think I do.” She picks up her phone and angles it so she can see the screen clearly, then pales. “Oh no.”
“What?” I ask.
She holds her phone toward me, amber eyes wide. Maeve Rojas, you’re up next! Text back your choice: Should I reveal a Truth, or will you take a Dare?
