Devin Rhodes is Dead Page 9

  Chad runs his free hand through his short, spiky hair. “I gotta get into college next year,” he says. “This has to go away. It all has to go away.”

  “Let go of my arm.”

  “Mom!” Lucas calls, standing up.

  Chad lets go and moves backward. “Sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to—”

  “What’s your problem?” I whisper to Chad. “It’s okay, Lucas,” I say. “He’s just joking around.”

  “It’s not funny,” says Lucas. “You shouldn’t use your hands.”

  “Yeah, I—I don’t know what I’m doing.” Chad shakes his head.

  I rub my arm. I’ll have a bruise there tomorrow for sure. “I talked to the detective, too. I told him I don’t know anything.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he says. “Whatever. Just, just forget about it. I gotta get back to work.”

  “I don’t like him,” says Lucas.

  I watch as Chad heads down the aisle. “Me, neither,” I say. “Come on, let’s finish your word search.”

  I settle in next to Lucas. We turn back to his puzzle and then it happens. Again. Gusts of sound pound at my ears. The air around me chills and tightens. I can barely breathe. Devin, oh no, Devin, not now. Please don’t.

  “Stop,” I say softly. “Please stop it.”

  “What? What’d I say?” Lucas stares at me, wide-eyed.

  “No, it’s not you, it’s—” I cover my ears and sink down against the shelves. “Oh!”

  Chad stops and turns around. “What the hell’s going on? You freaking out on me?”

  I shake my head again and again. The sound comes in loud, penetrating bursts.

  “No,” I say, pressing on my ears. She’s everywhere. “Please!” I’ve covered my ears, but my eyes are wide open. I look for her, but I can’t see her.

  My body shakes; I can’t get warm. “I’m sorry. Just please stop!”

  And then I know it’s not her speaking, because she doesn’t speak to me, but in my head, in my mind, I remember her voice. Devin’s voice. It’s like she wants me to remember. “Best friends, Cass. Best friends.” Where are you, Devin? I can feel her. Why can’t I see her?

  “Who the hell are you talking to?” says Chad, looking around. His eyes are wide.

  Lucas stands up and cries. “Mom,” he says. “Mommy!”

  His mother rushes down the aisle toward us. I’m kneeling on the floor, Chad standing over me. She grabs her son. “What’s wrong with her?” she says, pulling the little boy over to her.

  “I don’t know!” Chad says, shaking his head. He puts his hands up in front of him and backs away.

  “Honey, you need help,” says Lucas’s mother.

  “No, no, I’m fine. I—”

  “I’m getting the manager,” she says.

  “No, please,” I say, still holding my head. It pulses, pounding at my temples. I lean over and press my head against my knees. And then I say with more force than I mean to, “Don’t!”

  Lucas’s mom stares at me. Then she grabs her son by the elbow and whisks him off down the aisle. Lucas watches me the whole way, his mouth hanging open. I am ashamed. So, so ashamed. And confused.

  Then it’s quiet again. I sit, still holding my head. My whole body, shakes. I breathe in and out, in and out, and try to stop the tremors.

  Chad squats down. “Did you have a seizure?”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s not drugs, right? You don’t seem like the type.”

  “The type?” My head is still swirling, I hold it to steady the world.

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “What?” I say. Was I talking out loud?

  “You were talking to someone.” He says it slowly, as if I’m old or mentally impaired.

  “What did I say?” I ask.

  He shakes his head slowly. “It was kind of messed up. But you were talking to someone.” He tilts his head to the side. “Weren’t you?”

  “Nobody’s here, right?”

  “Shit, not that I can see.”

  I’m the only one who can hear Devin. That’s what she wants. That’s it. Well, that’s good, I guess. No one else has to know.

  Chad sighs, then shrugs. “You’re just another crazy chick.” He stands up and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I gotta get back to work.”

  Chad blows some air out of his lips. He turns around and walks away from me until he’s left the aisle and is out of sight and back into his überjock world.

  I slump down against the magazine rack. Sweat drips down from my forehead onto my nose. I don’t have the energy to wipe it off. My whole body is numb.

  What happened to Devin is my fault. Why else would she be haunting me? I know this is true in the deepest, darkest parts of me. After everything we did that night, after everything that was said. I exhale, then let my head drop into my hands.

  “Cass? Are you all right?”

  Mrs. Rhodes stands above me, a red plastic shopping basket in her hands.

  Before

  DEVIN WALKED IN FRONT OF ME, head up and searching as though she owned the freaking mall. I wondered what it was like to feel that way. To feel like just by being somewhere you’d made the place important. A place where other people wanted to be. Or at least to think that about yourself. The only time I felt that way was when I played guitar. When I played, the world was mine; it was anything I wanted it to be. But then again I was almost always alone when I played, so it didn’t really count.

  I noticed guys checking her out as we walked. Everywhere we went they looked at her. She was pretty, but most of them were looking down, checking out below the neck. I noticed them checking me out, too. More like a why-is-she-hanging-out-with-that-hot-chick? look. I was used to it, so I bloused my shirt a little over my pants, looked straight ahead, and pretended I didn’t feel the burning on the back of my neck.

  “I told Chad we’d meet them in front of the movie theater,” she said. “We’re a little early.”

  “Want to walk around?”

  She shrugged. “Sure.”

  We wandered toward the food court since it was on the way. It smelled of an enticing combination of Italian and soy sauces.

  “I’m starving,” I said, even though I wasn’t. I was stalling, and Devin knew it, but to my surprise she stopped anyway.

  “Do you want to split a hot pretzel?”

  “Okay.” That had always been our thing. Ever since we’d started coming to the mall together, we were all about the hot pretzels.

  She sighed as we walked over to the pretzel vendor. “One, please,” I said. “With mustard.”

  “No mustard,” she said.

  “We always get mustard.”

  She turned to me. “I’m trying to save you from mustard breath.”

  “No one’s smelling my breath.”

  Devin sighed again. “Not with that attitude.” She slapped some money onto the counter. “Keep an open mind, and maybe one day someone will want to smell your breath.” She flashed me her Devin smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Mustard, please,” I said to the vendor. I looked at Devin and raised an eyebrow.

  She shook her head.

  The vendor handed me the pretzel wrapped in thin paper. “Careful, it’s hot,” he said.

  “Thanks.” I poured on some mustard and took a bite. It was warm and salty, and I was immediately more relaxed. I broke it and offered Devin half.

  “No, thanks,” she said, looking at her phone.

  “You said you’d split it with me.”

  “I’d say a lot of things if it would get you to chill the hell out.”

  I rolled my eyes and took another bite. “You sure?” I said. “It’s really good.”

  She sighed. “I don’t want to have to worry about food in my teeth.”

  “Okay,” I said, realizing that now I’d have to worry about food in my teeth. I didn’t think the same way as she did anymore. I also knew that if it were a year ago, or, if I were here with Gina
and Lizzy instead, it wouldn’t matter if I had food in my teeth. It might’ve even been funny.

  Devin looked at her phone again. “Speed it up, Cass.”

  I took another bite. “Haven’t you heard of being fashionably late?”

  “That’s just rude. Especially the first time you’re meeting someone.” She put her hand on her hip. “Let’s not forget our manners, my dear.”

  “Oh, oh, crap.” A thin yellow trail ran down my shirt.

  “Cass!” Devin’s eyes flashed with anger. “Look at you!” She threw up her hands. “I told you not to get the mustard.”

  “It’s no big deal,” I said, my cheeks warming. “I’ll get it out.” I licked my napkin and carefully dabbed at my shirt. “See? Almost gone.”

  “That’s really gross,” she said. “Whatever. Your shirt, not mine.”

  The mustard came out but left behind a small blotch of my saliva. I choked down most of the pretzel. “Last piece.” I offered it to her.

  “So not appetizing.” She shook her head. “Are you done?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Feel better?”

  I nodded, but I was embarrassed all over again. She knew why I’d gotten the pretzel, and I hoped she wouldn’t start talking about it with the boys when we saw them. Not that I cared what they thought. I mean I didn’t even know them. But still. I didn’t want her to say anything.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get there first; that way we can see them coming.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “If we decide they don’t look that good, we can make a run for it.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I said. “You met Chad. You know what he looks like.”

  She shrugged. “I know. But he was wearing his WayMart uniform. What if he doesn’t look good in street clothes? What if they both have no fashion sense? I don’t want to be humiliated.” She looked at me, and I knew she was thinking that I didn’t have any fashion sense, and now I had a mustard stain on my shirt. The back of my neck grew warm again.

  “Let’s just go,” I said. “Let’s get it over with.”

  Devin shook her head. “At least pretend that you might have fun.”

  She had no idea, did she? She had no idea that practically everything now was pretend. I should’ve been in line for an Oscar. Were we even still friends? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I really didn’t want to be here with her.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, stopping. She thrust her hand forward into my chest. “I cannot believe it.”

  “What?” I said.

  Devin threw her hands up in the air again. “I cannot believe they’re here.”

  Gina and Lizzy were standing side by side, their backs to us, at the counter of the 1950s diner in the food court.

  AFTER

  “CASS?” MRS. RHODES SAYS AGAIN. “Are you okay?” She looks at me but doesn’t kneel down. She’s not wearing makeup, and her blond hair is up in a ponytail. For the first time I can remember, she’s dressed in sweats and sneakers.

  “I was just a little dizzy,” I say, sucking in some air. “I didn’t eat breakfast.” I can’t believe Mrs. Rhodes has found me like this. Could she possibly know that Devin was here? Just here?

  She doesn’t seem to. “Most important meal of the day.” She puts down her basket and reaches out her hand. “Come, I’ll help you up.”

  I want more than anything right now to reach for Mrs. Rhodes’s hand—in every possible way. To tell her what’s just happened. To tell her what’s been happening. To say, You were right about the garden when you buried her. Devin is close. You have no idea how close.

  “No, thanks,” I say instead. “I just need to rest for a few minutes.” The coarse industrial carpeting is any-thing but comfortable, but I stay there even though my butt is sore.

  She nods and looks down the aisle. Then she turns back toward me. “Are you here alone?”

  “No,” I say. “My mom needed detergent.” Where is my mother? I want to go home.

  She nods again. “No doubt she’s made it to the cosmetics aisle,” she says, forcing a smile.

  “Probably,” I say, forcing one back. Mrs. Rhodes would never buy her makeup at a pharmacy, but she’s too nice to say that.

  “Good,” she says, sitting down on the floor next to me. “Then we have a chance to talk.”

  This is exactly what I don’t want. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rhodes. I’m still not feeling that well.”

  Mrs. Rhodes takes out an energy bar from her basket. “Here,” she says. “Eat this.”

  The last thing I want is to eat. I imagine any food I ingest falling right through the giant hole in my stomach. But I have to take the energy bar. Mrs. Rhodes thinks I’m just lightheaded. I need to play the part.

  “Thanks,” I say. I pull off the wrapper and take a bite. The bar is dry and brittle—and a poor attempt at chocolate. I force a smile.

  “A little better?” she says as I swallow.

  I nod.

  “Good. Have some more.”

  I nibble on the bar.

  Mrs. Rhodes takes out a small package of seeds from her shopping basket. “Lilacs,” she says, smiling. “I’m going to plant them in the garden. Next to the agapanthus.”

  I nod. “That’ll be nice.”

  “Devin’s favorite—of course you know that,” she says. She puts the package of seeds back in the shopping basket. “I think, wherever she is, she’ll appreciate them.” Her lower lips curl up and she wipes at her eyes.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure.” We sit in silence for what seems like forever. Mrs. Rhodes finally breaks it.

  “You’ve avoided my calls, Cass.”

  I nod. “I know,” I say. “I’m really sorry.”

  “Why? Why don’t you want to talk to me?” She doesn’t look angry, just hurt, like a sad kitten.

  I shrug. “I don’t know,” I say, lying.

  “We always talked,” she says, patting my knee. “Didn’t we?” She smiles again, but not with her eyes.

  I shrug again. “I guess so,” I say. She’s right. We talked a lot. And I liked it. I really liked it.

  She reaches toward me and clasps my hand. Her hand is cool, soft and smooth. She loops her fingers through mine. “I’ve always felt close to you, Cass,” she says. “Like you were my own daughter.” She squeezes my hand. “Still like you’re my own.”

  This makes my insides curdle. My mind is jumbled, and I search for something else to say. Something that isn’t what she wants me to say or what I want to say. I want so badly to tell her what I know, to end this all now, but I can’t. I just can’t. It’s too late. I’ve gone too far the wrong way.

  “You can talk to me, Cass,” she says. “Even though”—her voice begins to tremble—“even though Devin’s gone, you and me, we can always talk.”

  “I know,” I say. I wish it were that way. I wish, I wish. But the longer I don’t tell what happened between Devin and me, the harder it is to tell. Everything will change. Everything.

  She moves over so that’s she’s sitting closer to me. “I’m sorry about the detective,” she says. “He told me what happened.”

  My cheeks grow warm. “Oh.”

  “They have to speak with everyone, you know. Explore every lead, turn over all stones, as they say. They have to find out.” She takes in a deep breath. “I need them to find out what happened to my daughter.” Her eyes blur with tears. “You can understand that, can’t you?” She shakes her head.

  “Yes,” I say, nodding. “Of course.”

  “Look,” she says. “I asked him to leave you alone for now. I think it’s clear you’re not able to talk about things. I can certainly understand that.”

  Mrs. Rhodes is saying those words, and I’m hearing them. But her voice isn’t familiar; there’s no warmth. The words are only words, so I don’t actually believe she means what she’s saying.

  “No,” I say. “It’s okay. I got upset. I mean”—I take a deep breath—“I can alway
s speak to the detective again. I just don’t think it will help.” Ugh, my stomach turns and turns and turns. I wish I could choke those words back down. Every lie I tell, every untrue word, takes me further and further away from the person I was before this all happened.

  She nods and stares straight ahead. “Well, then, I suppose that’s it,” she says. “We keep looking.” She leans back against the shelves, and again we sit for what seems like way too long. Words and thoughts swarm around us but fall unsaid on the gray carpet.

  Mrs. Rhodes once again breaks the silence. “Summer reading?” she says, reaching for a magazine on the floor.

  It’s one of those stupid fashion magazines but not the one I was reading. It must’ve fallen to the floor when I slumped down against the magazine rack.

  Mrs. Rhodes picks it up. “We get this one at the house. Devin loves to…” Her eyes grow wide. She holds up the magazine. “Is this what you were reading?”

  “No,” I say. I hold up the magazine next to me on the floor. “This one’s mine.”

  Mrs. Rhodes isn’t listening. She thrusts the magazine in front of me.

  “You weren’t reading this, Cass?” she says again. “This, right here, where you’re sitting?”

  “No, really, I—” My heart smacks into my chest. The magazine is open to one of those light, fluffy chick quizzes, the kind I never take. The kind Devin loved. The title? “Is Your Best Friend Keeping a Secret? Ten Clues for Finding Out the Truth.”

  Before

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY’RE HERE,” Devin said for the third time.

  Gina and Lizzy were sipping sodas. We hadn’t spoken to them in almost six months. Not since the fight to end all fights. The separation. The ceremonial tossing out of the best-friend charms.

  “Of course they’re here,” I said. “What else is there to do on a Saturday night when you can’t drive?”

  Devin glared in their direction, her eyes ice blue. “They’d better not come over to us,” she said. “They’d better not ruin our date.”

  Our date?

  “They’re definitely not coming over here,” I said. “After everything that happened, Lizzy and Gina will probably never speak to us again. Not after you were through with them.” A part of me wished they would come over. I think a big part of me wished we were still friends. I missed Gina and Lizzy, but I could never tell that to Devin. Some things, even thoughts, are unforgivable between best friends.