CHAPTER SEVEN

MY LIFELONG FEAR OF TURNING INTO MY MOTHER

GRACE

          I was gracefully waiting for my impending doom, the emptying of my stomach all over my mother's brand new pair of Jimmy Choo pumps, and for the police to barge into the gym and handcuff me. It sounded a lot kinkier in my head than it actually was—and it was certainly inappropriate for the current circumstances—yet a voice in the back of my head laughed at that thought.

          The floor swayed beneath my feet, and I instinctively reached out for Christina, the one person who had never let me fall, but the hands that grabbed me didn't belong to her. They were too harsh against my arms as they firmly gripped my wrists, instead of being comforting like I wanted—needed—and pulled me forward, not to the side.

          "Grace, listen to me," my mother insisted, trying to pull me back to reality. My head spun and my brain kept coming up with new ways everything could go wrong—they had found out who the bicycle belonged to, they thought I had been at the motel the night June died even though I knew I hadn't, they thought I had killed my friend, and that I was trying to pass off as innocent. "Listen to me. You're zoning out."

          I would much rather have a glass smoothie than listen to her, but everyone's eyes were on me—including Meridian's. Sofia hadn't left his side the entire day, afternoon, or evening, but even she was oblivious to what was going on with me. Meridian, on the other hand, had noticed the commotion.

          Sometimes I wondered if he could read minds. His blue eyes drilled into mine, dark eyebrows furrowed, and I felt sweat run down the nape of my neck as I tried to remember if I had ever mentioned my bicycle around him during the past few days. If I had, I could kiss my freedom goodbye—both literally and figuratively, as he would never forgive me, and I was on my way to jail either way.

          So. That's what I had going on for me.

          My friend—if we could even call Meridian that—was probably pissed at me despite not knowing the full truth. My mother hadn't given a damn when I first started stressing out over my bicycle and, now that it was finally blowing up, she still kept a cold distance from me. My ankle was aching from all the pressure it was being put through, and scalding tears prickled the corners of my eyes; this could easily mean the end of my figure skating career.

          Of course, neither that nor medicine could save me if I went to jail. That would end up on my record and would stay there until I turned eighteen, which wouldn't happen until after college acceptance letters were sent out, and Ivy League would know if I had gotten in trouble with the justice system.

          Was there a fighting chance for me? Or should I just surrender willingly and have my entire life be torn into shreds over something I hadn't done?

          "Grace," Christina called, and I turned to face her so quickly I got whiplash. It shattered the ice coating my joints, but I was still in a nearly unbearable amount of pain and needed to sit down—stat. "It's okay. You just need to explain what happened and—"

          "She won't talk to anyone without a lawyer present," my mother dryly corrected, and Christina's cheeks flushed crimson. The only times I had seen that happen were not safe for work and were also incredibly inappropriate for the time being, so, the fact that my mother was able to do it just by publicly embarrassing her in front of our friends made my blood boil. "Her lawyer just so happens to be her father, who is in San Diego—"

          "I can talk to them," I retorted, and was pleased to notice my voice was a lot steadier than I thought it would be. Meridian had stopped paying attention to us, as his parents had met up with him and Sofia, and someone had to deal with the wreckage his speech at the funeral had left behind. However, that problem didn't concern me. "It's fine. I'm fine."

          "You look like you're minutes—no, seconds away from either passing out or throwing up," Felix pointed out, because of course he did. He was the one to always break the ice in awkward conversations, which was both a blessing and a curse simultaneously. "It's kind of low that they're choosing to crash a candlelight vigil over something that could be handled in the morning. If it were urgent, they would have already barged into the gym."

          If it weren't for Christina standing right next to me and for my exclusive attraction to women, I would have kissed Felix right then and there. He had a strange way of managing to calm people down, even during critical moments, and, for a split second, I almost forgot I was on my way to getting arrested.

          I let out a nervous laugh that didn't fool anyone. If anything, it only pissed off my mother even more—her nostrils flared, and she tightened the hold around my wrists.

          "We're going home, Grace," she announced.

          "Like hell we are," I spat. "I'm staying here. For June."

          Her eyes narrowed, while Xena shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "Do I have to remind you Juniper is the reason you're in this mess in the first place? Your bicycle—"

          "Oh, don't give me that crap!" I stepped away from her to make her drop her hands, heavily aware of the attention we were attracting. Christina tugged at the back of my jacket, silently asking me to tone it down, but why would I do that while my mother thought she had the right to insult my friend? "I spent an entire week worrying about my bicycle, you gave me hell for it, and now that you have to deal with the consequences, you want me to run away? You want me to ditch my friends after someone just died?"

          "I'm trying to help you, Grace! It's going to be the city scandal if you get arrested—"

          "I'm doing it anyway, but you're not forcing me to leave."

          I didn't wait for an answer. Instead, I walked past her, bumped against her shoulder as I limped across the gym, and even had time to flash a very incredulous-looking Leon the middle finger before being blasted with the cool evening air outside.

          They saw me first. My family was relatively well-known, mostly for being nouveau riche and for not being a long-time resident in Palo Alto, so I doubted they had had any trouble memorizing my face. If they didn't know me, they certainly knew my mother and had just put two and two together, considering we looked exactly alike.

          That fact also fueled my lifelong fear of turning into my mother, but that was currently irrelevant. You don't really need to worry about that stuff when you're in prison.

          "Grace Sato?" one of the deputies called and instantaneously assumed he'd gotten the right person, as I simply stood there and waited for them to walk up to me. The nameplate on his shirt read JOFFREY and I mentally snorted. "I'm Deputy Joffrey and this is my partner, Deputy Clare." The woman standing next to him gave me a short nod. I didn't return it. "We need to ask you some questions about Juniper Beaumont. We understand this is a difficult time—"

          "There's a vigil going on inside," I said, before I could stop myself from running my mouth. I had an awful tendency to do so whenever I was nervous, which had been happening way too frequently for my liking. "I need to sit down. I sprained my ankle."

          "Of course." Deputy Joffrey gestured towards a cement bench, and I knew Christina would have wanted to bash his head against it as soon as his fingers curled around my arm. You know, as one normally would under those circumstances. "We'd just like to clarify you're not under arrest; we just have a few questions we'd like to get out of the way while we proceed with the investigation. You're seventeen—"

          "My lawyer is in San Diego and my mother is inside." Just as I finished that sentence, the gym doors burst open and my mother stomped her way towards us, completely invalidating what I had said. "Never mind."

          ". . . minor . . . lawyer . . . Miranda," she breathed out, pressing a hand against her side. Once again, I was suddenly overcome with the strangest urge to burst into laughter. "She . . . knows . . . her rights."

          "With all due respect, ma'am," Deputy Clare intervened, "we just want to ask Grace a few questions." My mother put a hand on my shoulder, standing behind me, and I really wish I could dig a hole and hide in it. "We've found some evidence that could potentially place Grace in the scene of the crime—"

          "Crime?" my mother gasped. "You think Grace killed her friend?"

          "As of right now, we can't disclose any details to the public, but we're considering the possibility of murder, yes." I leaned forward and buried my head in my hands. Despite knowing I hadn't done anything, I hadn't had anything to do with June's death besides letting her steal my bike at one in the morning, I still knew the circumstantial evidence could point towards me. "Murder, accident, suicide—those are all possibilities we're exploring, and we want to make this investigation swift."

          "So you've resorted to pointing fingers? Grace never left her house that night; whatever that Beaumont girl did or had be done to her had nothing to do with our family."

          "We found Grace's bicycle at the scene, ma'am," Deputy Joffrey explained, then set a reassuring hand on my free shoulder. I raised my head to look at him, proving I could tell the truth while looking him in the eyes. "Where were you on the night Juniper died?"

          "At home," I replied, feeling my body shake beneath their hands, "asleep. I didn't—I only found out about it in the morning, and my bicycle was gone by then. June took it."

          "I see." His tone told me he didn't see it. At this point, they were grasping at straws to give the Beaumonts some answers, and I understood. "Had you noticed any changes in Juniper's behavior? Did she seem . . . upset? Angry?"

          I shook my head. "No. That's why it's so strange to me, but"—I stared down at my lap, with guilt gnawing at my brain, my words, my lungs—"I suppose we were all so busy with our own lives she could have been acting differently and no one noticed."

          "How do you know she'd been the one to take your bike?"

          I sniffled. "The lock was picked, not broken, so it wasn't some random person. It had to be someone who knew how to do it, and June likes—I mean, she liked Nancy Drew." I pulled out my phone and opened my conversation with June, handing him the device. "She sent me this text that night. It wasn't personal. Whatever happened in that motel room, it didn't involve me, but I wish I had woken up when she texted me." I exhaled, and watched my breath form a cloud in front of my mouth. "Maybe I could have stopped her from leaving. Maybe—maybe she'd still be alive, you know? I think all of us feel that way, especially with all the texts she sent us—"

          His eyes widened. "Sorry?"

          Oh, shit.

SOFIA

          "Congratulations on not getting arrested," Felix greeted, as soon as Grace met up with us the following morning.

          "Woo," she sarcastically replied, raising her hands, and waving her fingers. She was still limping, but I couldn't imagine what had been the worst part of the past couple of days: getting injured and risking losing her figure skating career or being interrogated by the police right after June's funeral. It had taken some serious nerve, but I supposed that, if there were any of us who could handle something like that, it had to be her. "Sorry to burst your positivity bubble, but we have a small problem. I might have accidentally let slip that June texted all of us on the night she died."

          Everyone reacted differently.

          Leon looked more annoyed than anything else, really, but I didn't expect anything other than that coming from him (after all, I'd seen the glare he threw Meridian at the funeral after his speech, as if he didn't feel horrible enough already). Courtney and Xena both gasped, but only the latter bothered covering her mouth with her hand. Felix's hands flew to his head, eyes wide open. Christina stared down at her feet, leading me to believe she already knew what Grace had done.

          Then, Grace looked at me. Even though she was wearing sunglasses (indoors) and she had always been facing me, I still knew she was looking me in the eyes—and I knew why.

          "I'm sorry," she said, and I could count on both hands the times I had heard those words come out of her mouth with her actually meaning them. I could feel the remorse in my bones and, despite not being able to see her eyes behind the tinted lenses of her glasses, I knew they had softened. "I'm so sorry, Sof."

          "What happened?" Courtney asked, and I felt her hand give mine a gentle squeeze. She had always been so good at comforting people it frequently made me think about what I lacked in that department. "What did they ask you?"

          "Well"—Grace rubbed her cheek with one hand—"they found my bike at the motel, traced it back to me, and wanted to know if I was there that night. I said no, because I obviously wasn't, and that June had taken my bike in the middle of the night. Even if they don't believe me, they won't find a single trace of me in that place." She shrugged. She was blunt, went straight to the point, and it saved us from the anxiety of not knowing what would happen next. "I showed them the text she sent me, and it just slipped out of my mouth. I'm so sorry, you guys. They'll look into it, but . . ."

          ". . . but I'm in trouble," I completed. Grace didn't reply, but I didn't need her to—I had been trying to come to terms with it, but no one knew how to prepare me for possibly being considered a suspect in the investigation of my best friend's death. We still didn't have a cause of death, just like we didn't know which path they were following, but, if I were standing on that side of the fence, I'd explore every possibility I could find.

          Even if that involved pinning the murder on the best friend.

          I mean, that's what they all say, right? It's almost always the work of someone close to the victim—parents, siblings, significant others, best friends—and I hadn't been cleared out, even if I had a solid alibi.

          "Well," Leon began, and Grace's movements were so stiff as she turned to face him that I could almost hear her joints complaining from the lack of oil, "I'm certain we don't have anything to be worried about. After all, it's not like someone here committed a crime." He glared at us, doubting his own words, and my skin began to heat up. I didn't like the accusation behind his actions, and it was seriously getting on my nerves. "Or so I'm assuming."

          "Bold of you to assume any of us wanted to murder June," Grace retorted. "Shut up for a second, Leon, will you? Save yourself from the embarrassment."

          He raised his hands defensively. "I'm just saying. You can all blindly trust each other for all I care, but that doesn't mean the same applies to me." He looked straight at me, and, at that moment, I knew exactly what was going to come out of his mouth—and I knew I wouldn't like it. "Lover Boy, for example, doesn't trust any of you, so he'll probably try to ease his own guilt by—"

          "Don't you dare," I snapped, and a pair of arms snaked around my waist to pull me back. I hadn't realized I was almost nose to nose with Leon until my feet were dangling above the ground as if I weighed close to nothing, but it did nothing to calm my fury.

          How dared he pin it all on Meridian, who was suffering a lot more under pressure than all of us combined? How dared he blame us for what happened to June and basically accuse us of murder, especially in a place where anyone could eavesdrop, listen to the worst parts of the conversation, and run around and spread rumors?

          Hadn't our lives been destroyed enough? Weren't June's parents in enough pain already? Why did he think it was fair to hurt them even more—with feelings of betrayal, out of all things?

          "I don't care if I hit a nerve, Sofia," Leon argued, and people stopped to watch. I was mortified, being pulled back by Felix, but I couldn't let Leon speak about me or my friends that way. We were all on the same boat. "In fact, you should be worrying about yourself!"

          "Leon," Felix warned. "Leave her alone. We should all get to class—"

          "Why? Why are her feelings the only ones we should be taking into consideration?" I could swear his eyes glistened, but all I saw in front of me was red. I sank my nails into Felix's arms, over his plaid shirt, but, if he felt it, he didn't show any signs of it. While he didn't react to physical pain, I still knew how he felt on the inside—unlike Leon, who was nothing but an empty shell. "Why am I supposed to purposefully go out of my way to not hurt her feelings, when not even June did it? She took the bike, died, and never bothered to text her, not once; what does that say about her? Why is that my fault?"

          Then, the slap came, and all the oxygen was sucked out of the building. Leon stared at Grace in utter shock, while she simply massaged her wrist, watching the skin of his cheek redden.

          "Because she's not accusing anyone of murder, you idiot," she sneered, in the middle of the silent hallway. "Get over yourself."

psa: i do not condone violence. please do not applaud grace for slapping leon, when we all know hell would have been unleashed upon him if the roles were reversed, okay? he shouldn't have said what he said, and she shouldn't have slapped him.

these are teenagers who probably never had any significant deaths in their life. something completely tore apart their routines, and the show must go on—as they try to repair something that can't be fixed (because you can't bring someone back to life), they learn how to properly deal with all the anger and the grief.

i'm aware this is like 75% dialogue. i'm sorry. proper chapters will follow.

hi northlanes i love u!