I Swear (13 page)

“Did you ever find the video at your dad’s office?” Macie snapped.

I didn’t answer one way or another. “All I know is that Patrick said it was an unmitigated disaster.”

No one was smiling. I’d been round and round in my head trying to figure out if I should show Macie the video of the deposition, but I just couldn’t see what good it would do. We
were already in this deep, and I didn’t want to make this any worse on Beth than it was going to be.

“Why was it such a disaster?” Krista asked, looking from me to Beth and back again.

“The only reason it would have been a disaster is if somebody didn’t deny everything the way we’d planned.” Macie was on pins and needles. She was about to blow her stack, and for the first time in almost a year, I was ready to stand back and watch it happen.

Jillian reached over and patted Beth’s hand. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” she said. “What did he ask you about? What was he like?”

Beth glanced up at all of us from the couch I’d been sleeping on the morning we’d found out Leslie was dead less than two weeks ago. It felt like it had been a year. Suddenly I felt tired. Tired and old. As Aunt Liza called it, weary.

“He’s handsome,” said Beth. “He’s got blue eyes and a nice smile . . .” Her voice trembled. She cleared her throat.

“Oh, who gives a shit what the lawyer is like?” blazed Macie. “They’re all the fucking same. They want one thing. To trip us up. And it sounds like he succeeded.”

“I’m sorry!” Beth yelled back, fighting tears. “It was awful. He brought up stuff that happened in ninth grade. He asked me if Leslie and I had been friends first.”

“Friends,” scoffed Macie, rolling her eyes. “I’ll say.”

“Shut up,” Beth shot back. “Just. Shut. Up.”

“Did you deny it?” Krista asked.

“I couldn’t,” Beth said, almost pleading. “I was under oath.”

“Oh. My. God.” Macie fell back against the couch across from Beth and closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger like this was a bad dream and she could massage away the vision. “What else?” she asked, defeated.

“He asked me about the very first rumor. The one about the breast implants.”

Macie didn’t move a muscle, her hand still on her closed eyes. The room got very still as Krista and Jillian took in this news. They looked at Beth, and then at Macie. She musta felt the eyes all burrowing into her like a gopher in a bluegrass backyard ’cause her eyes popped open and she was on fire.

“What?” she spat. “What are you all looking at?”

Jillian and Beth both dropped their eyes, but not Krista. She glared at Macie, but turned to Beth. “What did you tell him about that rumor? Did you deny it?”

Beth kept her eyes trained on the shaggy blue area rug between the toes of her pink Chucks and shook her head.

“I told him I heard it. Then he wanted to know if I’d repeated it.”

“And what did you say?” Macie asked in a tone that could have frozen the Mississippi in May.

Beth started crying. Hard. She covered her face with her hands. “I told him that he had no idea what it was like to be in high school—,” she started.

“Great,” Krista said flatly. “So basically you admitted that you were part of it.”

“Fantastic,” sneered Macie. “Way to go.”

“Whatever, Macie.” Beth was yelling now. “You’re the one who started that rumor. This was all your idea in the first pla—”

Macie stood up, stopping Beth in midsentence, and took a very deliberate step around the coffee table between the couches. She slowly knelt down and looked into Beth’s eyes.

“I swear to God, Beth. Don’t you get it? If you don’t start claiming not to know who started the rumors, we’re all going down for this.”

She stood back up and surveyed the rest of us like a mother mantis deciding whether to eat her husband now or later.

“So, how do they even know about all of this?” Krista asked. She was picking at the red polish on her nails, sending tiny flakes drifting into the carpet.

“It’s their job to know,” I said. “They’ve subpoenaed Facebook records, and between that and all the police interviews that were done last week with kids in the school, there’s plenty to go on. They may even start to cooperate with Graham Braddock’s office.”

“What?” Macie asked, shocked.

“Who is Graham Braddock?” asked Jillian.

“The district attorney,” I said quietly.

“They’re working with the DA’s office? On what? This is a civil suit,” said Macie.

I took a deep breath. There was no way around this. “All I know is that Daddy said the DA is working with a couple of police detectives, continuing to take statements from students.”

“That bastard . . .” Macie was grabbing her purse and fishing for her phone and her car keys.

“Why would the DA care about this?” Jillian was frowning, worried.

When I didn’t answer right away, Macie looked up from her phone and rolled her eyes. “Go ahead, Katherine. Tell her. Clue them in, for fuck’s sake.”

“The DA would mainly be interested if there was going to be a criminal trial.”

Macie’s phone buzzed, and she glared at it, then tossed it into her bag. “There will be no criminal trial,” she said. “My dad has enough dirt on Graham Braddock to bury him six feet deep. But let me assure you ladies that if we do not circle the wagons now, this will get far uglier before it gets better.”

Just like that, camera-ready Macie was back in action, and I realized in that moment that I hated her. Truly, deeply hated her.

“Krista,” she said. It was more a command than anything
else. When Krista looked at her, Macie said, “You and Josh are tomorrow after school, correct?”

“Yep,” chirped Krista.

“I need you to stick with the plan,” said Macie. “Deny it. Downplay it. Whatever they ask you about, just stay calm and tell them it didn’t happen.”

“You got it, boss.” Krista smiled.

“Katherine?” The way she said my name made the back of my neck burn. I stared straight ahead. She waited for some confirmation that I’d heard her.

“Hello, Kat? You go on Monday, correct? Are you with me?” She snapped her fingers in front of my eyes like she was trying to bring me out of a hypnotized state.

“Don’t call me ‘Kat,’” I said slowly.

“Don’t let me down,” she said through clenched teeth. “Okay, Monday night after Katherine’s deposition, let’s meet to regroup at Pike Street, deal?”

Then she smiled and whirled toward the door. “And for chrissakes, cheer up, people! I mean,
really
, you guys. Nothing happened here. We weren’t involved. Leslie Gatlin was a wing nut who killed herself because her parents weren’t aware of her mental instability. Period. Unless one of you did something to Leslie on your own that I’m not aware of, you have nothing to worry about. I’ll see you all tomorrow. Remember to be there early—it’s TeenReach volunteer sign-up day. I’ll need all four of you to help me man the table.”

Then she blew us a kiss like we’d been discussing pom-poms and push-up bras, and disappeared into the hallway.

•  •  •

Aunt Liza called when I was on my way home from Jillian’s. It’d been a coupla weeks since we’d talked. I almost didn’t answer when I saw her on the caller ID. I wasn’t sure what to say. I wasn’t sure how to tell her. I wasn’t sure how to ask for help. I wasn’t sure that I needed help, but I pushed the button on the steering wheel that answers my phone hands-free anyhow, ’cause I was sure I needed to hear her voice.

“Hey, Aunt Liza.”

“Hey, Li’l K.”

And something about hearing her voice broke me open just a little on the inside and I choked out a sob that musta sounded like a hydrogen bomb in a blender, so I gripped that steering wheel and told her the whole story about what was going on in Seattle.

•  •  •

When I’d finished, Aunt Liza was real quiet. It had started to rain lightly, and I turned on the windshield wipers. They made a slow, smooth
swoosh
across the windshield.

“Li’l K, you remember when you first wanted to do pageants?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “After that night you and I watched Miss America on TV while Mama and Daddy were in New Orleans for the weekend.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said. “And you remember what we watched the next night?”

“
My Fair Lady
,” I said with a smile.

Aunt Liza laughed in the way she does. “That Audrey Hepburn was more’n just a pretty face,” she said. “She had brains like you, too. In fact, you’re more like her than you’ll ever know. But, Li’l K, when you go into that room and you sit there with those lawyers, you got to tell the truth. Even if you afraid. Fear is what got you into this mess—fear of what other people think, fear you ain’t beautiful enough as you is, fear that if you stand up, you’ll be all alone.”

I was crying again.

“You was too young to remember this when we watched the movie together, but that Miz Hepburn always been one of my favorites ’cause a something she said ’fore she died. I wrote it down when I heard it years and years ago. Keep it in my dresser drawer with my favorite things.”

“What was it?” I asked.

“It was her instructions for bein’ beautiful,” Aunt Liza said.

“What were they?”

I heard her clear her throat and I pictured her there in Atlanta, talking into the phone with her eyes closed, remembering.

“For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone.”

It’s funny how a lifetime of people talking at you can make you numb to hearing your own voice, but somehow the right person can say the right thing in the right moment—even if it’s something they’ve said before, or something you’ve heard before—and when it rat-a-tats across your eardrum, for some reason at that precise second, you hear it. You hear it loud and clear, like a heavenly bullhorn, or the beat of the bass in a song you’ve always loved.

Aunt Liza cut through the haze of all the other voices I’d been hearing in my ears and my head, and suddenly, in the silence, I heard the voice in my heart.

I pressed down on the gas and finally felt ready for my deposition. I knew exactly what I had to do.

19. BETH

When I got home from Jillian’s, Mom’s Bible study was just finishing up. There were still seven or eight women hanging out, drinking coffee and eating cake and cookies. I’d almost made it through the living room when I heard my mom’s voice.

“Oh, Bethany, honey. How wonderful you’re home! How did things go at your deposition? Mrs. Warren, Bethany has been called as a witness in a civil case! It’s very important! Did you say hello to Mrs. Warren, Bethany?”

I stopped, then slowly turned. “No, Mom, actually I was fleeing through the living room in hopes of not being noticed. I’m tiny and fast.” I smiled to Mrs. Warren, who must’ve been eighty if she was a day. “Usually I can get away with it.”

Mrs. Warren blinked at me, then said, “My grandson Stanley is at the Christian school down by the airport. He’s a
junior there. Plays basketball. Bet you all would have a lot in common.” She smiled.

“I’ll bet we would,” I said. “Especially calculus homework. Nice seeing you, Mrs. Warren.”

“Bethany . . . ,” Mom said. “I wish you could stay for a moment—”

“That makes one of us.” I smiled sweetly and waved as I rounded the bend with my bag and headed upstairs.

I opened my laptop and logged on to Gmail. The first message was from Coach Stevens with the details for the meet next weekend. The second email was from an address I didn’t recognize, but the subject said, “Regarding Leslie.” I clicked it and froze.

Inside the email was a screenshot of Leslie’s Facebook page from the morning she died. There was the message she’d left for me on her wall:

List Chick, I’m sorry I didn’t feel the same way about you. I could’ve been your friend. Anchors away.

Underneath the screenshot in bold black letters were the words:
You’re only as sick as your secrets.

A wave of nausea swept over me and I ran into the bathroom just in time. I wanted to cry, but there were no tears, just fear. I was sweating and freezing at the same time. A cold sweat
broke out on my forehead as I wiped my mouth and flushed the toilet. I used some mouthwash, then raced back into my room and locked the door.

I looked back down at the screen and noticed a Gchat window blinking with the message: “hipstermatic94 has invited you to chat.” It was the same address the email was from.

listchick1: who is this?

hipstermatic94: Let’s not play games okay?

listchick1: FUCK YOU KRISTA

listchick1: WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?

hipstermatic94: You better come see me if you want to find out. We should talk.

listchick1: I can’t. I have homework to do.

hipstermatic94: We all do. So you should come talk now so we can get back to Calculus.

hipstermatic94: Or you can just find out how it goes down in my deposition tomorrow.

listchick1: You are such a bitch.

hipstermatic94: See you soon . . .

I slammed closed my computer, grabbed my keys, and drove to Krista’s.

Krista’s little brother Sam buzzed me in at their loft when I knocked. He was wearing a SPAM T-shirt and holding a hot glue gun.

“Hey,” he said. “Krista’s in her room.”

“Thanks,” I said, and pushed past him. When I got to the top of the stairs, I paused and looked at the light coming out from under Krista’s door. My hand was shaking. I grasped the top of the banister to steady it. I couldn’t tell if I was furious or terrified. I settled on both and walked down the hall as silently as possible.

“Oh—totally.” Krista’s goose honk laugh was coming through the cracked door. “I swear to God she’s shaking like a leaf.”

I reached out to push open the door, but a second voice stopped me.

“It’s so genius that you took that screenshot.”

It was Macie.

“She was so upset that morning that I wasn’t sure she saw it, but the minute she got in the shower, I nabbed a screen grab and sent it to myself,” said Krista. “That’s when I knew for sure.”