He took a step back. He shifted his backpack on his shoulders. “Of course I’m here. Where else would I be?”
“Well . . . I was at your house last night. Late. You weren’t there.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You were at my house?”
“Your mom didn’t know where you were. You weren’t in your room and—”
“I stayed at a friend’s,” he said. “I left her a note on the fridge. But I guess she didn’t see it. She never sees my notes. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
He didn’t seem like Keith. He seemed super tense, as if he was lying. Or maybe he just didn’t want to talk to me. He kept gazing down the hall, checking to see if anyone was watching us.
“You stayed at a friend’s?” I said.
“Yes. Believe it or not, Poppy, I have friends.”
He couldn’t hide his bitterness, his anger.
“Who did you stay with?”
“It’s none of your business, but it was Lucas.”
I gasped. “The creepy guy from Harlow’s?”
“He isn’t creepy when you get to know him. He’s a pretty good guy. Weird but good. We’ve become friends.” Keith snickered. “He sure has a crush on you.”
“Tell me about it!” I exclaimed. “He attacked me in the parking garage. Seriously. I . . . I can’t believe you two are friends.”
Keith sneered, an expression I’d never seen on his face before. “I don’t care what you believe.”
The bell rang right above our heads. We both flinched. He shifted his backpack again and walked away.
I watched him till he was at our homeroom at the end of the hall. I thought about him and Lucas. How strange was that? I just couldn’t imagine what they had in common. Lucas, the dropout, pushing a broom in a convenience store. Keith, planning to go into premed at Tufts.
Did it make sense in any way?
I made it through the morning without anything terrible happening. I was on super-alert, and my skin kept tingling because kids were looking at me, accusing me. It may have been in my own mind. No one said anything to me. No one tried to confront me, which was a relief.
I had lunch with my sister at a back table in the lunch room. She wanted to talk about her taking acting lessons at the drama school in the Old Village this summer. I just mumbled and tried not to say anything that would start a fight.
What I wanted to say was, Heather, choose something else. You’re not very good-looking and you don’t have any talent. I’m not a cruel person. Sometimes I have cruel thoughts like that, but I had learned my lesson before. I learned I should never try to be honest with my sister. There was just no point to it, and it only resulted in hurt feelings.
After lunch, I saw Jack and Rose tucked away in a corner back by the music room, their arms wrapped around each other, kissing as if their faces were glued together. Jack was facing me, but I don’t think he saw me. I think his eyes were closed.
How romantic.
Seeing him there with her sent a shiver down my whole body. I had a million questions I wanted to ask him, mainly about Ivy and Jeremy. I’d always thought Jack was dangerous. But how dangerous?
I reminded myself it wasn’t my business. I was through with Jack and with Rose. I knew the police must have questioned him. I knew the police must have asked all the questions I wanted to ask.
I had to stop suspecting everyone I saw.
After school, I ran into Manny in the student parking lot. He usually greeted me with a grin, but today his face remained solemn. “How’s it going, Poppy?”
I shrugged. “Weird times,” I murmured.
He nodded. He stared at me as if he was studying me. I pulled open my car door. “Want a ride home?”
He shook his head. “No. I’ve . . . uh . . . got to be someplace.”
Why is Manny acting so nervous?
Does he think I attacked Ivy and Jeremy?
He hadn’t tried to reach me since they were attacked. He hadn’t called or texted. It wasn’t like him.
He ran a hand back through his straight black hair. “Are you coming to the play tomorrow?”
Since Mr. G’s play, starring Rose Groban, had been postponed because of our little car-accident prank, they were performing it in the auditorium in school tomorrow.
I rolled my eyes. “Do I have a choice? It’s at one o’clock. Right after lunch. Everyone has to come.”
He nodded. “I just thought . . .”
“What? That since I hate Rose, I’d stay home or something? Things are too serious for that kind of stupid jealousy,” I said. “Things got too real, Manny.”
He nodded. “Too real,” he repeated. He waved to a guy at the other end of the parking lot. Then he turned back to me, his usually grinning face still serious. “Are the police still questioning you? Have my brother and his partner—?”
“No. I haven’t seen them today,” I said. I grabbed his arm. “Why? What did you hear? Did Benny say something to you?”
“No. Not really. I’ve got to go, Poppy. Catch you later.” He took off.
Not really? What did that mean? Why did he say not really?
Did Manny think I was the attacker? Did the police still think it was me?
I slammed the car door and sat behind the wheel, staring at the brick wall outside the windshield, just stared at it until it became a rust-colored blur.
How can I make people stop suspecting me?
The horror of the next afternoon didn’t help.
