I Swear (7 page)

We all laughed. “No,” I said. “I’m just wearing heels.”

“What are you talking about?” Beth’s eyes were wide, and she was shaking her head back and forth. “I already hate you. You’re, like, twice as tall as me.”

“And you’re gorgeous and smart and poised and confident,” said Macie. “My God, Katherine, now I hate you too.” She held my gaze for a minute, then burst into laughter. Beth and Krista joined her. I stood there blinking, confused.

Macie saw my expression and smiled, wiping her eyes.
“Let me explain,” she said. “I’m running for student council president this fall. I’ve been on the fence about my running mate. I decided tonight that you’re it.”

“Macie.” I shook my head. “I’m going to be real busy with a couple of pageants to prepare for comin’ right up. I have a real shot at Miss Teen USA this year, and I’m countin’ on that scholarship money, so—”

“So you should do it,” Krista said, interrupting me.

When I looked over at her, she was boring holes through those cat’s-eye glasses, and that’s the first time I felt it—the way she looked at me like I was a commodity, like I was the prize to be won. That was the first time she made my skin crawl.

Macie just smiled at me and patted the booth next to her. “Sit,” she chirped. “Chat.”

I gingerly slid into the booth next to Macie. The waiter came and took our orders. Krista got coffee, Beth asked for a salad, Macie ordered a Diet Coke with a lime.

“What are you having, Katherine?” she asked me.

When I hesitated, Krista cut in. “Second thoughts!” she said, then brayed like my granddaddy’s donkey Moonshine did that night the skunk got into the barn when I was a little girl.

“I’m fine with water.” I smiled at the waiter.

When he left, Macie turned to me. “Elections are two weeks away. Nominations are due by the end of the day on Monday. I’ve been class president since ninth grade. Jillian always runs as my VP, but this year, we can run for student
council, and I don’t want to risk running with her against the seniors. I’ve decided to make a change.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because if I’m going to win, I need the minority vote,” she said.

My brow creased as I tried to put these pieces together. “And they’ll vote for juniors like you and me because . . .”

“Because you’ve got the right heritage,” Macie said.

Her words hit me like Mississippi humidity on a hot summer day. That was it. I was done here. I stood up. “Macie, I may be from the South, but I did not just bump off the turnip truck yesterday. Don’t know who you think you’re talkin’ to, but I am not about to be—”

“The most popular girl in school on the first day?” Macie wasn’t smiling. She arched an eyebrow, then took a deep breath and squeezed the lime into the Diet Coke the waiter set down on the table.

“Your call, Katherine,” she said. “I’m not a racist. I just know how this works. My dad is a state senator. I know all about campaigning and I know even more about winning.”

I stood there, unsure what my next move was.

“I know you’re deeply offended,” Macie said sharply, “which leaves only one question unanswered.”

“What’s that?” I asked, my smile frozen like the ice in Daddy’s bourbon.

“Why are you still standing here?”

Krista and Beth were watching Macie like she was the best TV show they’d ever seen. I had to admit she was pretty sly. But she was no match for Aunt Liza, and that’s who was on the playlist in my brain.
Don’t you let some white gal take yo’ power, Li’l K. You jump right in there and wrassle that gator to the ground. Ain’t nobody else gonna do it for you.

I brushed a wisp of hair out of my lipstick and sat down again. “I want a recommendation from your father to Columbia, Harvard, and Stanford whether we win or lose,” I said.

“Atta girl,” Macie said. “Done.”

“And I won’t be makin’ any big speeches or stayin’ after school till all hours to make posters for the prom or whatever fool thing your student council wants done next.”

“Understood,” Macie said. “I just need you there smiling and waving whenever there are newsworthy events.”

“One more thing,” I said. “Who do you know in the pageant system around here?”

“I think we can help you with that, too,” Macie said slowly, and shot a look at Krista.

“No . . .” Krista looked delighted. “You wouldn’t,” she said. Beth looked down at her salad and pushed a tomato around.

Macie turned back to me with a grin so full of mischief that Aunt Liza woulda burst into spontaneous prayer over her right there on the spot. “There’s a girl in our class whose mom just so happens to be a former beauty queen herself. She’s in with every judge on the whole circuit, apparently,” explained
Macie. She widened her eyes, and her tone became mockingly sincere. “And goodness, Katherine, her daughter could certainly use a friend.”

“What’s this girl’s name?” I asked.

“Leslie Gatlin.”

•  •  •

Leslie Gatlin’s memorial service must have been the longest thirty-five minutes of my entire life. It felt like ol’ Mister Time had just lain down in the road and started dragging himself backward with his lips.

The gym was packed with students and their families, and the choir sang “Amazing Grace” in four-part a cappella harmony. Leslie’s mama and daddy sat up in the front row, and the only time I saw them move was when Principal Jenkins introduced Macie Merrick as student body president. Macie walked up to the microphone slow as molasses, and under the giant screen that had Leslie’s senior picture projected onto it, Macie gave a version of the speech she had given to the student body. Only, this one was better.

The words were perfectly calculated for the reporters in the back of the room, who would be shooting eyewitness reports on location in the parking lot later. There were quotations and sound bites for days. There was a choked sob behind her voice. There was a single tear that dribbled down her perfectly powdered cheek on the last sentence, and when she stepped away from the mic, it was so silent that you could have heard the
clouds scootin’ across the sun.

It was the easily the best performance Macie Merrick ever gave, and from where I sat on the raised bleachers, I could tell that she was pleased as punch.

When the service was finally over, Macie made a beeline for the side entrance around the edge of the receiving line where Leslie’s parents stood at the front shaking hands and sharing hugs with people they’d never met who were all just happy it wasn’t their kid who’d asphyxiated in the garage. Macie was headed out to the vans, and I knew we’d see her again on the six o’clock news. As I was considering this and walking toward the parking lot with Daddy, he stopped and grabbed the hand of a tall, silver-haired man in a well-cut suit. He was younger than his hair color made him seem, maybe forty, and handsome. He wore glasses that had no rims, and the lenses sort of disappeared over his eyes, which were so blue that they almost hollered at you to look at them.

“Kellan Dirkson,” Daddy bellowed in his big litigator baritone. “Didn’t know you had a high school student at home.”

“I don’t, Daysun.” Kellan smiled. “I’m here working. You remember my associate counsel Lauren Wolinsky? And this is a new addition to the firm, Doug Skovgaard.”

“Pleasure to see you, Lauren, and to meet you, Doug.” Daddy shook their hands, chuckling. “Working a memorial? What do those ambulance chasers at Latham have you up to now?” Daddy’s laughter always sounds like a song.

Mr. Dirkson smiled sadly. “It’s a terrible thing, really. We’ve been retained by the Gatlins to pursue a civil suit for wrongful death.”

Daddy’s smile fell. “Do they have a case?” he asked quietly.

Kellan Dirkson bit his lower lip and raised his eyebrows as he nodded, then he dropped his gaze and his voice. “Daysun, if half the things this poor girl’s mother says are true, it may wind up being a criminal investigation. Bullying is big news lately. You’ve got half the state legislatures in the country pushing for tougher laws, and our DA is itching to get involved.”

Aunt Liza used to tell me there are moments when you know that, because of what just happened, your life will never be the same again. “It’s like things take a hard left at Albuquerque,” she’d say. “And you realize all a sudden that you’re headed to Mexico whether you like it or not.”

I don’t remember what else Kellan Dirkson and Daddy talked about. Sometimes I lay awake and wonder if there was anything else on earth I could have done at that moment besides pull out my phone and text Beth.

Where are you?

11. BETH

The memorial was a nightmare. Mrs. Gatlin was drunk, which I know only because she tottered past me when I was talking to Coach Stevens, and she smelled like champagne. Can’t blame her. I was a little jealous. From the time we left the student assembly on Monday morning to the time we showed up at the memorial service on Saturday, I’d spent over fifty hours at school. If I wasn’t in class, or cramming for Chem II in the library with Jillian, I was at practice working my floor routine.

And then there were the meetings. When Macie smells opportunity, she can be a spaz—or, as Krista calls it, “A real pain in my ass.” This week she was in rare form. If she wasn’t texting us about another last-minute meeting to get kids involved in the volunteer effort for the TeenReach Hotline, we were helping her design and print posters for the counseling
outreach she’d convinced Principal Jenkins to hire two extra contract guidance counselors for.

It was ridiculous.

And it was working.

People were lining up for counseling sessions, and every time Macie walked by the guidance office, she’d check the sign-up sheet, text her dad’s press contacts, and email Principal Jenkins with updates. Jenkins was totally in her hip pocket. He was no dummy. Having the state senator’s daughter in student government had been good for the budget.

The truly amazing part was that Macie showed no sign of slowing down. She was a machine. I was so glad when she sat down at the memorial because I thought for sure she’d take the rest of the night off, but just as the choir finished singing, I felt my phone buzz and saw a text that was more of a command than a request:

Meet you at Marv’s after the memorial. Get the booth in the back.

Krista got the text at the same time. She looked at me and smiled, then squeezed my shoulder. “Let’s get back to normal, shall we? This is getting a little maudlin, and I need a cigarette.”

She was right. I was so tired of the second-guessing, and jumping every time Macie barked an order. And there was a place right behind my sternum that felt like it was holding a boiling pot of water that might bubble over at any moment.
Last night after practice, I’d scrolled through the messages on Leslie’s Facebook wall from the whole week.

The one that she’d posted to me was buried underneath the almost four hundred wall posts that had started the next morning and continued nearly unabated.

No one had commented on it—yet. I was hoping to keep it that way. Surely at some point Facebook would delete the page. Right? Wasn’t someone putting up a memorial page? Should I?

I saw Katherine across the gym. She had a pageant tonight, a regional for the Miss Seattle Teen competition. Usually we all went as a group. We were supposed to be there to cheer her on, but usually we just laughed our asses off at the other girls. The lower-level competitions were Macie’s favorite. She liked to play the game Find the Biggest Bangs. Tonight I couldn’t deal, and I didn’t want to have to explain if it came up, so I steered Krista out the side entrance.

As I got into the car, Katherine texted me.

“Who is that?” asked Krista, turning up the radio and checking her lip liner in the mirror above the passenger seat.

“Katherine,” I said as I texted her back.

“Where has she been all week?” Krista asked. “She hasn’t been at a single one of the student council meetings. You’d think Macie would whip her into line.”

I pressed the send button. “I think she’s just been busy with pageant stuff,” I said. Katherine had been noticeably
absent from anything after class hours this week. She’d skipped out on our weekly Brit lit study group during sixth-period study hall on Wednesday, and it had been her turn to outline the chapter. That left us to our own devices for learning the high points about Oscar Wilde. Luckily Josh had been there to give us a crash course.

I couldn’t imagine that after everything that had happened already this week, she’d show up to hang out at Marv’s when she had a pageant to prepare for.

As we pulled out of our parking space after the memorial, I saw Jillian walking across the parking lot with Jake. His eyes were hidden by sunglasses. I knew from Jills that he was taking this pretty hard.

“Ugh. When is he going to stop moping around?” asked Krista. “He’s so much cuter when he smiles.”

I didn’t say anything. I just turned up the music. Krista has no filter. She says everything she thinks, and she thinks some awful things.

“Think he’s coming with Jillian?”

“No,” I said. Jake wasn’t interested in hanging out with us right now. Of that much I was certain.

12. JAKE

Everything in my head told me not to get into the car with Jillian. I didn’t want to hang out after the memorial. I didn’t want to pretend that everything was normal. I didn’t want to order burgers and shakes and lattes and act like everything was okay.

But I did.

“C’mon, Jake. I know you’re having a hard time,” Jillian said as we stood in the parking lot at school. “Just come for a little while. Brad’s bringing Macie soon.”

I couldn’t stop from rolling my eyes.

“Jesus!” Jillian sighed. “Would you just lighten up? Get in the car. You’ll feel better when you eat something.”

She slid into the driver’s seat and started flipping through tunes on her iPod. I stood there watching Macie finish up in front of the camera bank. Her dad was standing back by the vans, refusing journalists, waving them over to Macie,
and grinning from ear to ear. I felt sick to my stomach. Brad rounded the corner in his truck from the back lot and slowed to a stop when he saw me.