Jake

Posing for my mug shot reminds me of school pictures. Do I smile, or is that creepy? Do they want a side view? Turns out they don’t care as long as I hold still.

I’m at the Juvenile Justice Center ten miles from Crystal Cove. Processing me takes forever because they’re short-staffed and have to wait for the day shift. Around seven in the morning, officers finally fingerprint me, search my body, photograph my bruised face and knuckles, make me shower, and issue me a cheap set of clothing and bedding.

“You need to call your parents but you can eat something first,” says the guard, who heard my stomach rumbling during the fingerprinting. He leads me to the boys’ dormitory, shows me my cell, and then walks me to the cafeteria.

The inmates grow excited when they see a new person entering their domain. There’s posturing and curious looks, but after a few lewd jokes and sizing me up, they seem to accept me. A couple of the older guys make room for me to sit with them for breakfast, blasting me with questions about what I did to end up here that I evade. I fully expected to have the shit kicked out of me as soon as I walked through the door, so this isn’t bad.

Soon after I finish eating, a guard collects me to call my mother. As I dial, my stomach tenses. She’s going to be upset.

As expected, Mom jumps all over me as soon as I say hello. “You didn’t come home last night. I was so scared, Jake! The police said you fought with Brendon. Is this about Tegan? Are you okay?”

“Mom, I’m fine. It was just a fight.”

Instantly she’s crying. I assure her I’m not hurt, not badly anyway. She collects herself. “I know you’re angry, Jake, and you must feel helpless, but every decision you make is hurting you. I don’t understand this rage.” A fresh sob ripples through the phone line. “What am I supposed to do? I want to help but I don’t know how.”

I clear my throat, unsure how to respond. “I’m just a fuckup. I’m sorry.”

“You are not!” She’s silent a moment. “Don’t speak to anyone without a lawyer, okay? You’ll only make things worse. I’ll find you a good one.”

“I’ll use the court-appointed lawyer. Don’t waste your money.”

There’s another long pause from Mom, and then she says, “I’m not sure we’ll qualify for the free one.”

“Why not? We’re broke, aren’t we?” Mom makes one dollar over minimum wage.

“Will you stop arguing and let me be the parent? They charged you with”—it sounds like she’s rattling a piece of paper—“lying in wait, assault and battery, and causing great bodily harm. An ambulance took Brendon to the hospital, Jake. A good lawyer could mean the difference between coming home or…not coming home for months.”

I hear our refrigerator door open and close, and wish I were there with her and Cole and Otis. Mom’s footsteps click across the floor as she talks. “Dad’s insurance money paid off the house, so I can borrow off that. Just don’t talk to the police. You need professional advice. Promise?”

My jaw clenches. No way am I going to let Mom borrow money off the house. Dad insisted she pay it off with his life insurance money so we’d have a cheap, safe place to live. The leftover cash went into the bank, but then Mom’s car died, and she had to buy a new one. Also, Cole’s sports and summer day care is expensive, so she dips into savings each month for that. She can’t afford to pay back a loan. The guard signals me. “Hey, Mom, my time is up.”

“Jake—”

“I love you.” I hang up on her. I know she’s going to hire a lawyer anyway, so to prevent that, I tell the guard I want to speak to Detective Underwood now. Right now.

Forty-five minutes later, I’m in an interrogation room at the juvenile center. “Handcuffs off,” Underwood orders, and the guard unlocks my hands.

Officer Lee is still on duty, and she joins us, not unfriendly but not smiling either.

Underwood wears her usual battle-hardened expression. “Good morning, Jake. I hear you’ve decided to talk?”

I nod slowly, wondering if she’s expecting a confession about Tegan, because I only plan to talk about Brendon.

Underwood repeats the process from the other day, explaining that the interview will be recorded. She confirms for the record that I have voluntarily declined my right to have an attorney or parent present and that at seventeen years old, it is within my power to do so. I give verbal consent, feeling queasy.

“Jake, you were arrested for assaulting Brendon Reed, and we’ll get to that—”

“There’s nothing to get to. I did it. Can we fast-track this?”

“Are you sure you don’t want a lawyer?” Officer Lee asks, her dark eyes blinking rapidly. “It’s your right to have one present.”

“We’ve established that, and he declined,” Underwood growls. She ticks something off in her notes. “We’ll take your written statement about Brendon in a few moments, but first let’s talk about the Sheffield case. Officer Lee informed you that we found Tegan?”

My heart skitters, but I’m curious. “Yes. Where was she?”

She leans back in her chair. “A team of search dogs arrived last night and found her body.” Underwood studies me. “What do you think about that?”

My stomach plummets. My fragile world collapses around me. Body? Tegan’s dead? “I think it’s terrible,” I murmur.

“That we found her?”

Her words make me flinch. “No. It’s terrible that she…that she died.”

“That’s the thing, Jake. Tegan’s not dead. She’s alive.”

I glance from Underwood to Lee, confused. “But you said you found a body?”

“Semantics,” Underwood says, smirking. “It surprises you, doesn’t it, that she’s alive?” There is a long awkward pause where none of us says a word.

They’re trying to trip me up, make me confess. After squirming a minute, I fill the silence. “I guess so; she’s been gone almost a week.”

“Your hiding spot was clever,” says Underwood. “We searched the Sheffields’ grounds and the swimming pool area the day Tegan went missing, and then focused on the woods surrounding her house and the beach. But Tegan was crammed inside her family’s poolside storage bench this entire time. She was so lifeless beneath those chaise lounge cushions, the officer who looked inside didn’t detect her presence. For a person to survive”—she glances at her notes—“six days without food or water, I imagine you’re very surprised to learn she didn’t die.”

I glance helplessly at Officer Lee. “I—I didn’t put her there.”

Lee sighs. “Tegan’s at the hospital in a coma, Jake. We’re waiting on an official report, but it appears she’s been unconscious since Sunday morning. Her body expended so little energy that she was able to endure without food or water.”

I nod along with her words, but I can’t fully process what I’m hearing. This should be good news, but it feels very, very bad. “Is she okay?”

“No, Jake, she’s not okay.” Underwood peers at me with undisguised distaste. “Tegan has visible abrasions and contusions that indicate a struggle. The doctors suspect severe head injury, and possibly a broken arm. We’re still waiting on DNA results for the blood on your clothing, but we suspect it will be hers.”

My head drops, and sweat breaks out across my shaved scalp.

Officer Lee takes pity on me. “Tegan’s not off the hook for having sex with a minor or for creating the explicit content with you, Jake. We will file charges, and while she’s in the hospital, we’ll be testing her for STDs and pregnancy. As her victim, you’ll be notified of those results.”

I gape at her, my pulse speeding. Did she just say pregnancy? Tears bite the backs of my eyes, and I blink to keep them from falling.

Underwood raps the table with her knuckles, bringing my attention back to her. “Last night, while you were assaulting Brendon Reed, we found this, thanks to an anonymous tip.” She retrieves a bagged cell phone from her satchel and places it in front of me—Tegan’s phone. I recoil from it, and my throat clamps shut.

“I see you recognize it, Jake. We found it at Blind Beach, in a cave allegedly inhabited by Daniel Marcus Lancaster, another person of interest in Tegan’s case.”

Underwood collects a sheet of paper from her file. “We lifted two sets of fingerprints off the phone and ran them this morning, and guess what? Neither belongs to Marcus or Tegan. One belongs to you, Jake, and the other is not in our database. Who do you think the second print belongs to?”

I swallow and shake my head, feel my panic rising.

She flares her shoulders. “We don’t know either, but we have a new theory regarding your girlfriend, Jessica Sanchez. We believe the second print will match to her. Are you two working together?”

Working together? Jesus. I close my eyes, feel my stomach crinkle into a ball. Yes, this is very bad. Why didn’t Jessica wipe the phone clean like I asked?

Underwood stands and hovers, her tall body shading mine. Her voice drills into my brain. “If you want to fast-track things, why not start by cutting the bullshit.”

She throws a glance at Lee, who takes over. Good cop, I think. Officer Lee touches my arm, real sympathy lurking deep within her eyes. “It’s time to tell us the truth, Jake. We can help you and Jessica if you cooperate. If you don’t, our hands are tied.”

I sit up and draw a deep breath. No fucking way am I going to throw Jessica under the bus. She’s the only good thing in my life right now, and she’s trying to help me even though I cheated on her. But I feel like I have to give the detective something. Maybe it’ll make her leave me alone. “The only thing I didn’t tell you before is that I had more than a few beers, okay? I drank tequila too, and that’s why I blacked out.”

Lee pats me. “This is a good start.”

But Underwood loses what patience she had left. “That’s it? Come on. Walk us through this, Jake. What compelled you to cram a five-foot-nine-inch varsity athlete into a five-foot-long box? Did Jessica make you do it?”

“No,” I roar. “Leave her out of it.”

“Look at these texts we pulled off your phone.” Underwood shoves a transcript of messages in front of me—random, unanswered texts that I’ve sent to Jessica since Sunday morning.

please call me

tell me what to do and i’ll do it.

im yours jess. i dont want to live without you

i told you the truth im not into Tegan. im glad shes gone.

jess please all I want is to make you happy. i’ll do anything. i’ll make sure they never hurt you again

My scalp tightens across my skull as I read the texts. I should ask for a lawyer; it’s not too late. But having one won’t change my story.

Underwood wiggles the paper and imitates my voice. “I’ll make sure they never hurt you again. This is the problem, Jake. You’re caught in a feud between two girls that, according to your classmates, dates back to the fifth grade. They’re using you to hurt each other, but you’re the one who’s going to end up in prison. Is this you?” She throws down another photo, a grainy nighttime image of a male riding a bike near Falcon’s Peak, taken from a traffic camera.

My lips tighten.

“We know from Shawna’s cell phone records that you had plans to meet her, the same night the coroner says she went over the bluff. You told Jessica you’d do anything for her. Does that include murder?”

Terror shreds what’s left of my nerves. “What about Shawna’s boyfriend? He’s the one living in a cave!”

Underwood pounces. “He’s running from a warrant in another state, and his fingerprints aren’t on Tegan’s phone. Tell us, Jake, is Jessica using you to get revenge?”

“No, fuck no!” I think about last night, remember the slick feel of her skin against mine, the heat between us, the taste of her lips. Loving Jess is the opposite of flying or floating or any of that bullshit people think is romantic. Being with her is like landing—it’s the only time I feel grounded and strong and safe. I would do anything for her, that’s the truth, but she hasn’t asked me to hurt anyone.

There’s a long silence as the officers watch me, waiting. My adrenaline subsides and I fold into myself. “If you think I killed Shawna or put Tegan in that bench then arrest me, but leave Jessica out of it.”

Underwood and Lee exchange a glance that seems to say He’s hopeless, and then Underwood gulps her coffee, which must be cold by now, and switches gears. “Let’s talk about Brendon Reed. Why did you hide outside his house and ambush him?”

“Ambush?” I scrape at the seam of my jeans. “I wasn’t hiding. I was just waiting.”

“But you planned the attack?” Lee probes.

Something shifts inside me, and my anger resurfaces. “Look, they started this—those three. Tegan, Shawna, and Brendon. They hurt Jessica on purpose and filmed me, and they’re the fucking criminals. Why aren’t they in jail?”

Lee writes furiously on her paper, and Underwood circles me, a triumphant gleam in her eye. “They aren’t in jail because one of them is dead and the other two are in the hospital, and the common denominator for each crime is you.”

“But you’re going to charge them, right?” I wipe at the fresh sweat dripping down my forehead, because no matter what I say or don’t say, I’m probably incriminating myself. It’s time to stop talking, probably past time.

“You’re very concerned about their punishment, aren’t you, Jake?” Underwood grimaces. “Let me ask you this. Do you see yourself as a knight in shining armor, vanquishing your girlfriend’s enemies? Because from what Officer Lee witnessed last night at the shed, it’s working. You got your girl back.”

I drop my head into my hands, feeling cold and scared, and ready to give up. “Please leave Jess alone. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Of course she didn’t. She has you for that.”

Underwood shoves a new photo in front of me, and when I look, the buzzing in my head abruptly ceases. It’s a crime scene photo of the Sheffields’ dirty pool house storage bench with the lid open. Tegan’s body is inside, her legs bent, her head tilted to fit. Her eyes are closed, and she’s so pale, she looks blue. Her hair curls around her shoulders, still glittering from her hair spray. One set of false eyelashes is stuck on her cheek, black and spidery. She looks like a crumpled corpse smashed inside a coffin, and bile flows up my throat. “I didn’t do that to her,” I whisper.

Underwood paces in front of me, turning on her heel with each point she makes. “This is how we see it, Jake. You had motive to get rid of Tegan; you wanted to punish her for the live video. You had opportunity; you were the last person with her. And you had means, the physical ability to subdue and carry your victim.”

She strides closer, her eyes flaming. “By your own admission, you don’t know if you kissed the queen of England that morning. The truth is that you have no alibi and no memory, but we don’t need your confession. The evidence tells the story, and Chief Waylon wants an arrest in Tegan’s case yesterday. If you have any hope of receiving a reduced sentence, you need to cooperate.”

I imagine my mother, visiting me in prison for the next twenty years, and shudder. Maybe I should admit I did it, get this over with. Maybe I’ll get ten years instead of twenty. I’ll be twenty-seven when I get out. And it’s possible I’d get paroled sooner than that. I could have a life….

Underwood rises to her full height and pounds the table, causing both Lee and me to flinch. “The truth is that on Sunday morning, you fought with Tegan in the bedroom, cracked her mirror, and broke her arm. You used her phone to disable the Sheffield security cameras at two forty-two a.m. And then you carried her—under cover of darkness—to the storage bench. There you stuffed her inside and left her to die!”

Something roars up within me, some truth that I know about myself. I like girls, but I don’t like hurting girls. The person who did this horrible thing is fucking not me! I kick back my chair and face her, my muscles quivering. “I didn’t do that! I would never do that.”

Lee jumps out of the way, knocking over her water bottle, and I glare at them both. “You have the wrong guy, and I think you fucking know it. That’s why you haven’t arrested me.” My breathing ratchets up higher, louder. “You don’t want the truth. You want what’s easy.”

“The truth?” Underwood sits back down and appraises me. “You’re the one in the dark, Jake. Remember the fifty-dollar bet?”

I sit also and resume picking at my pants seam, trying to look unconcerned.

Underwood crosses her arms. “If you care so much about the truth, you should ask your girlfriend about the bonfire party.”

My breath whooshes out of me, and a sick feeling invades my body. Something tells me I should walk out of this room and not look back, but I can’t, I fucking can’t. I lift my head. “Why would I do that?”

Underwood slides over a transcript of text messages between Jessica and Tegan from July, then drops the hammer. “Because your girlfriend is the one who made the bet.”