The Perfectionists (21 page)

Ava looked away. She should have known Alex wouldn't forget about this. She shrugged. “He wouldn't let me rewrite after all.”

“Ava.” Alex's voice was stern. “I
know
you. You're acting really weird right now. Something's going on, right? Please tell me. Whatever it is, I'll understand.”

Ava felt her cheeks redden. This really wasn't fair to Alex. Maybe she needed to come clean. Well,
sort of
clean, anyway. “He kind of . . . hit on me, okay?” she blurted.

Alex's face flashed with anger.
“When?”

She shook her head, humiliated. “I went to see him another time. At his house.” She lowered her eyes. “It was for the paper—or so I thought. Really, it was all a setup.”

Alex pulled her into a hug, tracing small circles on her back. “I'm so sorry, Ava. But you need to go to the police. You know that, right? He'll get fired.”

“I tried, actually.”

Alex pulled away and looked at her in shock. “You did?”

Ava felt so guilty. Usually, she and Alex told each other everything. “A few days ago. They didn't believe me.”

“Why not?”

Ava shrugged, searching for an answer that would make sense. “Because I'm just a pretty girl making stuff up. Or maybe they'd heard the rumors, too.” She laughed awkwardly.

“That's not funny.” Alex paced around. “God. That's so messed up. Remember how I said I had something to tell you about him? Well, I've seen girls go to his house. A
lot
of them. College age. Maybe even
our
age. And now, with him hitting on you . . . it's even worse. He needs to be punished.”

“Wait.” Ava stared at him. “You saw girls our age go into his house? Are you
sure
?”

Alex nodded. “Positive.”

She gripped his hand. “Maybe
you
could go to the police.”

Alex shrugged. “I'm not sure how that would look after you went and they didn't believe you. They'd probably think that I was just trying to stick up for you or something. It's not like I have solid proof.”

“Right,” Ava said despondently, lowering her shoulders.

“But I can watch him, if you want,” Alex said gently. “This guy needs to be stopped. What he's doing is so wrong.”

“Thank you.” Ava peeked at him. “So you're not mad?”

“At you?” Alex shook his head. “Ava, I
love
you.”

“I love you, too.”

He hugged Ava again, and she leaned forward into him, feeling a burst of gratitude. Maybe, if Alex kept watching Granger, he would find proof of what he was doing. And if the cops arrested him for being a sleazebag, they would look into everything else in his life, too.
Including
Nolan.

Her pulse began to race again as she realized she hadn't been one hundred percent honest with Alex. What she'd told him was
almost
the truth . . . but there was so much more she'd left out. All of it about Nolan.

Hopefully he'd never need to know.

THE NEXT DAY, MACKENZIE AND
Julie huddled below Julie's car window in the Beacon Heights parking lot. It was after school, and an unusually hot sun was beating down on them through the moonroof. Mac was impressed by Julie's spotless car—there wasn't a gum wrapper or empty soda can anywhere, just a spare hoodie on the backseat. And though they were surrounded by Mercedes, BMWs, and Audis bought by parents who had more money than they knew what to do with, Julie's car was an old, manual-transmission Subaru.

“What do your parents do, anyway?” Mac asked idly. She just realized she didn't know very much about Julie's home life. The other girls moaned about their situations—Ava complained about her father and stepmother, Caitlin muttered about her good-cop, bad-cop moms, and she certainly did her fair share of grousing about her überstrict parents and her whiny sister, Sierra.

Julie looked away. “Um, my dad isn't really around. And my mom . . .” Then she stiffened. “Get down. There he is.”

Mac ducked just as Mr. Granger walked out one of the doors under the breezeway and toward the gym, his duffel bag hanging from one hand. In moments, he disappeared through the gym's double doors.

Julie looked at her. “I guess he's working out?”

“Looks like it,” Mac said. Beacon Heights High's workout facilities were top-notch; a lot of teachers used them, too.

“Should we go in?” Julie murmured.

Mac shrugged. They'd been following Granger for an hour and a half. The others had taken shifts yesterday and today, all in the hopes that something he did would lead them to the truth about what had happened to Nolan. But so far, their stakeouts had been a bust. Yesterday, they'd followed him to the grocery store, the public library, and to a sports bar packed with Seahawks fans . . . and he hadn't done so much as hit on the bartender. Today, they'd tailed him from the school to Starbucks and now back to the gym.

Mac leaned her head back in the seat and sighed. “He's the most boring murderer in history.”

Julie shook her head. “Sooner or later he'll slip up. We just have to be there when it happens.”

Mackenzie twisted her lips to one side skeptically. She wanted to believe Julie, but she wasn't so sure. Granger seemed to be going about his business without a care in the world. He didn't do
anything
suspicious. “I just wish Ava's boyfriend had a record of the girls coming in and out of his place,” she muttered. Ava had filled them in on her boyfriend's revelation yesterday about Granger's extracurricular affairs.

“Even so, that might not tie him to Nolan,” Julie said. Then she looked at Mac. “You can go, you know. You probably have to practice, right? No point in screwing up both of our futures.”

Mac shut her eyes. Of course she had to practice, but practicing was far from the forefront of her mind. Her phone rang softly from the depths of her backpack. She rummaged for it, and when she saw the name on the screen, her heart sped up.
Blake.

They hadn't seen each other for a week. Actually, Mac hadn't really seen Claire for a couple of days, either—they hadn't talked over the weekend, and she wasn't in school yesterday or today. Mac had considered texting her to see if she was sick and needed her assignments—that was what they'd done in the past—but somehow she hadn't been able to bring herself to do it. All she could think about was how Claire had lied to her that day at Disneyland.

The phone kept ringing. Mac knew she shouldn't take Blake's call, but she felt her fingers reaching for the answer button on the screen anyway.

“Hey, Macks.” Blake's soft voice came through the receiver. “What're you doing?”

“Uh, nothing,” she lied, glancing guiltily at Julie. “What's up?”

“Come meet me at the ferry,” he said.

“What, in Seattle?” She snorted. “I can't do that.”

Julie raised an eyebrow at her, but she turned toward the window.

“Why not?” Blake sounded disappointed.

“Because . . . because I have stuff to do.”
And because you're not mine
, she wanted to add.

“But I haven't seen you in days,” he murmured. “Come on. There's this ice-cream place on Bainbridge Island that makes the best dulce de leche. I'll buy you a cone. I'll buy you ten cones.” He paused for a moment. “I really miss you.”

Mac's heart jumped. How long had she wanted him to say something just like that? She glanced at Julie, covering the phone with one hand.

“Actually,
can
you finish this without me?”

Julie nodded. “Sure.” Mac was glad Julie didn't ask her why.

Mackenzie moved her hand and talked into the phone again. “Okay. I'm on my way.”

The pier was bustling when she arrived forty-five minutes later. Lines of commuter cars waited to get on board while tourists posed in front of Puget Sound to take pictures. Gulls squealed shrilly, wheeling overhead and diving toward the current. The sun faded and then grew brighter as wispy clouds moved across it, the light changing every few minutes like someone was playing with a dimmer that controlled the weather.

Blake met her next to the ferry's ticketing booth, his shaggy hair curling from the bottom of a black knit cap. She awkwardly raised her hand in greeting.

He looked half surprised she'd actually shown up, like he'd just won a contest or something. Then he leaned down and grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

They walked up the long stairs and boarded. The observation deck wasn't very crowded—a large group of retirees in matching Windbreakers peered out through binoculars, and a thin girl wearing loose hemp pants sat on a bench hugging her knees, but otherwise they were alone. The ferry's horn blared across the water as it pushed off. Behind them, Seattle's skyline spread out in panorama.

“I love boats,” he said, leaning against the railing. “Even in the middle of winter sometimes I'll come out here. I'm usually the only one on the observation deck during a freezing rain. Everyone smart is in the galley drinking hot cocoa.”

“Have you ever been to the San Juan Islands?” Mackenzie asked. When he shook his head, she went on. “My parents have a cottage up there. We go every summer. Well, we used to. Now, between me and my sister, we have too many competitions and rehearsals to take a month off.” She smiled, remembering the little salt-stained house on the shore. “My dad used to take us sailing every morning. I loved that.”

They stood side by side in silence for a few minutes, watching the ferry cut through the water. Ocean spray lightly flecked her face. The wind had a cold bite to it, and she was glad she'd worn her vintage peacoat.

“Look,” he said, pointing out at the water. “Whales.” She turned to see a handful of graybacks slicing through the water. Her eyes widened as a huge gray fin breached suddenly out of the water before slapping back down and disappearing. The retirees at the railing gasped with pleasure. A second whale popped its head up out of the water and eyed the ferry beadily.

Mackenzie turned to Blake, but before she could say anything, he blurted, “I broke up with Claire.”

Mackenzie blinked. “You . . . what?”

“Last night. I told her we were through.”

Mackenzie clung to the railing, her limbs suddenly limp and heavy. Maybe that was why Claire hadn't been in symphony. She was probably at home, crying her eyes out. A teensy part of her felt bad for her friend, especially coupled with what she'd found out from Ava—that Nolan might have blackmailed Claire, too. But then she remembered once more how Claire had lied to Blake about her and then stolen Blake away.

“Did you have a fight?”

He shrugged. “Not really. But like I told you, this was a long time coming.” He stared at the water. “I didn't tell her about us, just so you know. The last thing I want is to mess up your friendship.”

Mackenzie took her glasses off and wiped water droplets off the lenses. “Honestly, our friendship is pretty messed up as it stands.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what kind of friends constantly hope for each other to fail?” She shrugged. “We compete over everything. Even you.”

Blake's cheeks reddened. “I'm sorry I got between you guys.”

“If it hadn't been you, it would have been something—or someone—else. Sometimes I wonder if I even really know her.”

“You know what she said when I broke up with her?” Blake said. “That I'd come crawling back to her soon enough.”

Mac shivered. “Really?” But then she looked down. Maybe it shouldn't surprise her. Claire bulldozed anyone who was in her path or caused her pain; she always got what she wanted. It was probably why she would get the Juilliard spot and Mac wouldn't. After all, Mac was the one here, when Claire was probably practicing. Her heart lurched. Was Blake worth her sacrificing that? Was her head in the right place?

But when she looked at him again, she thought that maybe it was. “How are
you
feeling?” she asked, her voice soft.

He glanced up, a look of surprise flitting across his face. Then he broke into a sheepish grin. “Honestly . . . kind of great. I mean, I never wanted to hurt her, but it feels like I've been carrying this huge weight around.”

Mackenzie picked a piece of flaking paint off the metal railing. It felt like there was a big pink elephant sitting between them on the boat that neither of them was talking about. Mac was scared to ask the question, but she'd made this mistake before. It was what had happened the last time she had a chance with Blake. She'd pined away, staring after him in the hallways, never saying how she really felt. This was her chance. She took a deep breath.

“What does that mean for us?” Her voice almost disappeared in the wind, but she forced herself to meet his eyes.

He gazed steadily down at her. “I think that's up to you. I think you already know I'm kind of crazy about you.”

For a split second, she thought about Claire. It was easy to picture her face, shocked and hurt and tear-streaked. But it was easy, too, to remember her smug expression when she'd shown up holding hands with Blake at the spring concert last year.

Before she could change her mind, Mackenzie leaned toward him, pressing her lips to his. The wind whipped around them, the sea spray cold on their cheeks. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her close.

Her heart trilled in her chest. In that moment, she couldn't have said which was better: finally getting the boy—or beating Claire to do it.

AT
7
AM ON WEDNESDAY
, Julie woke up to birdsongs outside her window. She blinked sleepily in the sunlight filtering in through her curtains, rolling over to see if Parker was awake yet.

Only Parker was gone. Her bed had been neatly made, the pillow fluffed, and her things were nowhere to be seen. She reached across to the nightstand for her iPhone and pulled up Parker's name.
Where are you?
she texted.
Call me.