The Liar Society (6 page)

It occurred to me as I walked into Starbucks with one bare foot that I might not qualify for coffee, given their “No shirt, no shoes, no service” clause. Fortunately the barista ignored my broken sandal and took my order for a full-fat, full-sugar, venti Mocha Frappuccino with extra whipped cream.

As soon as she announced that my drink was ready and handed me the cup, I took one long sip of the cold, sugary concoction and felt my muscles begin to relax. I turned around and plopped myself into a comfy overstuffed chair in the corner.

“Ahem.” The sound came from the couch behind me. I turned around to see Liam Gilmour lounging on the couch like he lived there; tall coffee in his hand, shit-eating grin on his face.

In that moment I almost wished I was back in the car with Cameron. It would have been less humiliating. Well, less humiliating and potentially fatal, but at that moment Cameron seemed like the lesser of the two evils.

“Uh…hi,” I managed to stutter while running my fingers through the rat’s nest situated on top of my head. My hair was a lost cause. Pink + frizz = disaster, so I casually wiped the mascara from beneath my eyes.

“Rough night?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” I gave up trying to pull myself together and took a long sip of my drink. As I peeked over the rim of my cup, I realized that Liam was even cuter than I’d remembered. I recalled my promise earlier not to care, not to get involved, but I couldn’t help it. I noticed. His retro T-shirt clung to his arms and waist, promoting some band I’d never heard of, and his jeans were perfectly broken in. But the most surprising thing about Liam had to be that he really looked at me.

I wasn’t used to that.

One of the unexpected side effects of your best friend dying and your other best friend publicly disowning you was that people stopped looking directly at you. They stared at my hair or feet or sometimes (and you know who you are) even my chest, but no one ever looked me in the eye. It was like the grief in my eyes burned with such intensity that no one could look directly into them.

Uncomfortable, I glanced down and pretended to examine my fingernails.

“Do you need a ride home or something?” he asked eyeing my grubby foot.

“No!” After the word left my lips, I realized it might have sounded a little abrupt. “I mean, no thanks. I’m fine. Really.”

He looked me up and down. “You don’t look fine.”

I bristled. Yeah, I was a complete freaking train wreck, but the last thing I needed was some random hipster-gangster hybrid reminding me of that fact.

“I’m fine,” I repeated tonelessly.

“Listen, I’m not leaving you here with one shoe on. I’ll take you home. It’s no big deal.”

I looked down at my dirty foot. Who was I kidding?

“Fine. Can I just finish this first?”

I needed some time to pull myself together before going home. My parents were going to have lots of questions when I walked into the house looking like a mess, and I needed some time to mentally prepare.

“See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly in victory. Bastard.

The door swung open, and I turned to see who had arrived, thrilled to have a minute to think about how to fill the impending awkward silence. I should have been ready for what happened next. After all, I was walking, talking proof that the theorem of worst-case scenario was a law as concrete as gravity. Unfortunately when Maddie, Taylor, and Beefany breezed through that door, I almost fell off my chair.

There was no hiding the horrified expression on my face, just like there was no hiding my hideous hair, my broken shoe, my dirty foot, and my three-thousand-calorie drink.

I won’t lie. I have indulged in occasional (okay, fine—frequent) revenge fantasies involving me looking gorgeous, flirting with the hottest boys, and pretty much kicking ass in general, while Maddie, Taylor, and Beefany are relegated to the sidelines because they’re dressed all wrong and feel awkward and out of place.

But the reality was that I was here in Starbucks trying to pull myself together after I had literally run for my life. And there they were, looking like they’d just spent the afternoon at a spa and were in the mood for a quick, calorie-free drink before they headed to some fabulous party that I, of course, knew nothing about.

When I looked back at Liam, I saw that his face had darkened. He was staring directly at Beefany, of all people. Creepy. At least I could kind of understand why guys obsessed over Taylor. I mean, she was gorgeous. Blond, flawless, poised. But Beefany? Yeah, she was pretty, but she probably had five inches and twenty pounds on him. The look on his face made all the rumors about Liam’s shady family and rocky past a little more believable.

Taylor and her posse must have felt our eyes on them, because Taylor whispered an order to Maddie, sending her rushing over to the barista. After a few more hushed words to Beefany, they glided over to our little corner. Beefany did all the talking while Taylor just stood there reeking of perfection.

“Hey, guys, it’s so nice to see some fellow PBers out and about,” Beefany said, her voice rasping like she’d just come off a weeklong chain-smoking binge.

“Uh, hi. I was actually just getting up. Kate, I’ll be right back.” Liam looked at me and nodded to the bathroom.

Way to throw me under the bus, Liam
. But Beefany swooped in before he could escape.

“Don’t you go running off.” She placed a meaty hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “What would your date think?” She looked directly at me and raised one perfectly manicured black eyebrow.

I stared into her eyes for a second but was drawn to her strong fingers as she massaged Liam’s shoulder. He shot me an apologetic look, but he didn’t push her away. I threw up a little bit in my mouth.

“So I hate to do this when you’re on a date, but I really need to talk to you, Liam. In private.” Beefany turned, her long black hair swinging over one shoulder, and began walking toward the corner of the coffee shop without even bothering to wait for a response. To my complete and utter shock, Liam promptly followed.

The only upside to my bucket-sized Frap was that I had something to keep me busy while I tried to pretend that our school’s reigning queen bee and my ex–best friend weren’t standing a few feet away whispering about me.

Instead I focused on observing Liam and Beefany. I’d had no idea they were even friends, but they were deep in conversation. Liam’s back was to me, but Beefany was laughing and touching his arm, stealing glances in my direction every so often. Liam was tall, but Beefany was taller. When she whispered in his ear, her cheek grazing his, my skin crawled. I glanced up at Taylor, who watched with a small smile playing on her lips.

Finally the happy couple headed back in my direction. Liam’s face was completely blank as he sank back into the couch. Taylor whispered something in Beefany’s ear, and I had no doubt that she was pulling the strings on this entire awkward encounter. Apparently, Beefany saved Queen Taylor from getting her hands dirty.

“Well…I’ll let you two get back to your little date. Hope you feel better, Cat. You look like you’ve had a rough one. Ciao!” Beefany said with a final flip of her hair.

“It’s…Kate. My name is Kate,” I said. But the two of them were already laughing among themselves on their way out the door. I wondered if Taylor had told Beefany to get my name wrong, the icing on my cupcake of humiliation.

Maddie obediently waited near the exit, holding three iced black coffees with her spindly arms. She must have expanded her diet to include ice and coffee. Impressive. Taylor walked right past her, and Beefany followed. Neither of them bothered to help Maddie with the drinks. Typical.

I turned back to Liam, who was staring into space, lost in thought, with the same dark expression on his face. He finally snapped out of his daydream and looked back at me. He wrinkled his forehead a little before his mouth twisted into a smile.

“Did she just call you ‘Cat’?”

I tried to look annoyed, but I started laughing right along with him.

“Yeah, she hasn’t once gotten my name right. We practically grew up together, and last week she called me Christy and now…Cat. Must be a royal decree from Queen Taylor that no one should get my name right.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not all loyal to the queen,” he said, his face darkening. “Ready?” He took the last sip of his coffee.

“Yep. Let’s get out of here. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Don’t mind a bit, Cat.”

“Very funny,” I said, rolling my eyes. I waited for him to walk toward the door, but he just stood staring at me for a second. My cheeks flushed, and I examined my feet.

“I should probably get your number, though, you know, in case you ever want to refuse a ride from me again.”

My mind flashed back to the darkness in his eyes when he’d stared at Beefany and then the cozy little conversation that followed, but I listed the numbers anyway. For the first time in the after-Grace, I felt a shivery wave of desire. As usual, my timing totally sucked.

A piece of hair hung in his eyes as he typed, a slight smile playing on his lips. He was hot, but he was also a distraction. And I didn’t need any of those right now.

Of course, if I was the kind of girl who doodled potential married names in my notebooks, you can bet your ass my margins would have been covered with “Kate Gilmour” when I did my homework that night.

But I wasn’t that kind of girl. At. All.

“Got it,” he said, sliding his phone back in his pocket and pushing through the door.

My phone vibrated on my way out. I had one new text from an unfamiliar number.

bc youll prob need a ride again sometime

I smiled. Turns out there was a lot to like about Liam Gilmour.

My phone buzzed again and I glanced back down, expecting another text from Liam. Even though he was only a few feet away from me, I liked this game.

Seeing Cameron’s name made my stomach sink.

we need 2 talk

Game over. I deleted the text. I wasn’t sure what I needed from Cameron, but I knew I wasn’t ready to talk to him. At least not yet.

My cell phone buzzed on and off throughout most of the night. Every time I checked, it was Cameron. There was something scary and kind of obsessive about his persistence. Truthfully, I was terrified to talk to him. I just wasn’t sure I was ready to hear whatever he might confess.

I promised myself that I’d deal with him tomorrow, when the long shadows in my room weren’t making me so jumpy and the branches that scraped against my window didn’t sound so much like fingernails. The morning seemed like a much safer time to hear the truth about Grace.

As usual, things seemed more manageable in the light of day. Yeah, I’d gotten approximately thirteen texts and missed ten calls from my dead best friend’s stalker boyfriend, but I was sure I could handle the situation. I’d wait until my parents were both home and call him back. You know what they say, safety first.

In the meantime, I decided to proceed as normal, and a normal Saturday for me always included a trip to the mailbox. One of my sole responsibilities as the only child of Greg and Beth Lowry was to get the mail every day. Apparently, Mom and Dad had a thing for their responsible daughter retrieving the mail and leaving it in a tidy pile on top of our granite countertops.

Getting the mail was one of the only artifacts of the “old Kate” that remained in place. I think it gave my parents some kind of false hope that their perfect daughter was buried somewhere underneath the sullen teenager who’d replaced her over the past year. The reality was that I didn’t complain about the chore because it came in handy when demerits were mailed home.

Analyze that, Dr. P.

As I stood at the mailbox, I learned that my search for Cameron had landed me a demerit for cutting English Lit. I guess Seth never came through with that excused absence. I’d have to open that bad boy and forge my dad’s illegible initials.

But the small package at the bottom of the heap was what made my stomach flip-flop.

It was a manila envelope lined in bubble wrap, addressed to me. Besides the fact that I pretty much never received mail (unless you counted those freaking demerits), there was no postage, no return address. But I didn’t need either of those to know who had left the package in my mailbox. The handwriting was the same blocky script used to scrawl Grace’s name next to the mysterious crest.

I looked left and then right, half expecting to hear Grace yell, “Gotcha!” in between fits of giggles. But the only person around was Seth, making his way down the driveway to his own mailbox.

“You okay, Kate?” he yelled over. He was chowing down on what looked like a s’more, and I had a vision of his family gathered around a campfire in their backyard roasting marshmallows and singing songs. Who made s’mores at 11:00 a.m. on a Saturday? He bypassed his mailbox and headed straight for me like some kind of Kate-guided missile.

“Hey, did you get some bad news or something?”

He craned his skinny neck and attempted to zero in on the bunch of mail I held. I pulled the pile to my chest and shook my head.

“I’m fine, Seth, seriously.” I wiped at the corner of my mouth with my finger, trying to clue Seth in on the string of marshmallow dangling from his lip. He didn’t take the hint.

“So I’m planning on heading up to the um…observatory later tonight. I have those new neighbors under surveillance. Wanna come? We can research that weird crest thing or whatever. Our Wi-Fi works great up there.”

“Just to be clear, by ‘observatory’ you mean tree house, right?”

Seth’s cheeks caught fire. “Well, yeah, but I’ve added some really cool stuff since the last time you saw it. There are chairs and a telescope, and it’s, like, really private.” He stuffed the rest of the s’more in his mouth and nodded his head as if he’d just told me he’d reserved us a suite at the Four Seasons.

“Yeah. Not a selling point, Seth.” I turned around and started back up my driveway.

“So I’ll take that as a maybe?” he called out hopefully behind me.

“No. Take it as a no.” I didn’t even bother turning around to tell him. Cameron’s weird package was calling to me. I held Grace’s pearls to my chest and picked up my pace.

Once I was back inside, I threw the mail pile on the counter and rushed up the stairs to my room. I ripped open the envelope before I even closed the door, and something fell to the wood floor. A delicate silver charm engraved with the words
Audi, Vide, Tace
sat nestled in the chain it was connected to. I crouched next to it and dumped the contents out of the envelope. An invitation almost identical to the one I’d received over a year ago slid to the hardwood floor. Only this version was addressed to Grace.

The same creamy card stock caressed my fingertips, and I cursed myself for losing mine. I still couldn’t believe I’d been so careless, and it made me want to cry thinking about how different the past year would have been if I’d only managed to hang on to it. There would have been an actual investigation into Grace’s death, and maybe even answers.

I examined Grace’s invitation closely, and as far as I could tell, the only difference was that instead of a drawing in the bottom right-hand corner, where mine had been, hers appeared in the bottom left. Clearly the drawings were a part of a bigger picture. Cameron’s careful block letters appeared on a sticky note taped to the back.

Kate,

You know Grace. She couldn’t keep a secret.

And I’m sick of keeping mine. I don’t know why she was there that night. But I was supposed to be with her. She told me to wait for her in the chapel basement, but I saw her with some other guy and I didn’t bother to show. It’s my fault she died. I should have been down there to save her.

You have the symbol I drew, and now you have this charm I found the day after she died. That’s as far as I could get. There’s more to this story, and if anyone can figure it out, it’s you. It’s over for me.

Cameron

I rubbed my eyes, trying to understand what all of this meant, and then I reread Cameron’s final words: “It’s over for me.”

Oh, God.

I fumbled in my purse for my phone and with shaky hands scrolled through my contacts until Cameron’s name was highlighted. After three rings, I figured the phone would go to voice mail, but a man’s hoarse voice filled my ear.

“Hello?”

“Is Cameron there?”

“Who is this?” The voice on the other end of the phone was harsh, and for a split second I thought about hanging up.

“My name is Kate. I’m…um…a friend from school.” I wondered if he’d remember me as the girl who always played with Grace.

“This is Mr. Thompson, Kate, Cameron’s father.” His voice cracked on that last word. “Do you know where he is? We’ve been looking everywhere…he never came home last night.”

“I…um, I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything. I was actually hoping to find him too.”

“He left his cell phone here, but it’s completely empty. He deleted all the contacts, all the emails, all the texts. We know nothing.” Cameron’s father sounded desperate, pleading. “Please call us if you hear anything from him. We’ve just filed a missing person’s report, but the police think he ran away. There’s just not much we can do…” His voice cracked again, and I was almost positive he’d begun to cry.

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything, okay?” My words barely came out a whisper.

“You do that.”

“I’m so sorry…” But I knew by the way my words echoed into dead air that he’d already hung up.

I rolled Grace’s pearls between my fingers and wished that she was here to help me through this. Through all the years of our friendship, Grace had been the fearless one. She would have known what to do and would have given me the courage to do it. I squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe if I tried hard enough, I’d be able to feel her or she’d sense that I needed her and send me another email.

But when I opened my eyes and checked my phone? Nothing.

If I hadn’t broken into his locker, Cameron would probably be under the bleachers right now, geeked out of his mind. But I had found the sketch. I had accused him of killing Grace.

Cameron was gone, and it was my all fault.