One of Us Is Next: The Sequel to One of Us Is Lying
One of Us Is Next: Part 1 – Chapter 13

Maeve

Wednesday, March 4

The first person to greet me at school Wednesday morning is Sean Murdock, and he does it by grabbing the front of his pants. “Climb on any time you want a real man,” he leers, thrusting his hips while Brandon Weber cackles behind him. “Satisfaction guaranteed.”

My face burns with the kind of combined horror and shame I haven’t felt since Simon Kelleher wrote a scathing blog post about me freshman year. This time, though, I can’t slink into the shadows to get away from it all. For one thing, my sister’s not around to fight for me. And for another, I’m not the only one affected.

“First off, gross,” I say loudly. “Second, that stupid game is lying. Nothing like that ever happened.” I spin my combination and yank the door to my locker so hard that I lose my grip and slam it into my neighbor’s. “You’re an idiot if you believe everything you read. Well, you’re an idiot regardless. But either way, it’s not true.”

That’s my story, and come hell or high water, I will stick with it.

“Sure, Maeve,” Sean smirks. This is a sucky time to replace out he knows my name after all. His eyes travel up and down my body, making my skin crawl. “Offer still stands.”

Brandon laughs again. “Literally,” he says. He puts his hand up for a high five, but Sean just looks confused.

Laughter echoes in the hall, and Sean brightens as he turns in its direction. There’s a group of people clustered around the bay where Knox’s locker is. “Looks like your boyfriend’s here,” Sean says. “Well, ex-boyfriend. Can’t blame you for that. Hope he likes his present.” My heart sinks as he and Brandon saunter down the hall toward the growing crowd. I grab a random assortment of books that probably aren’t even what I need for class, stuff them into my backpack, and slam my locker door closed.

I’m halfway to Knox’s locker when someone grabs hold of my arm. “I wouldn’t,” Phoebe says, pulling me to a stop. Her curly hair is in a high ponytail that swings when she turns her head to look behind us. “You being anywhere near him right now is only going to make things worse.” She doesn’t sound mean, just matter-of-fact, but the words still sting.

“What’s going on?”

“Limp noodles glued to his locker. In a—shape. You can probably guess.” She shrugs in what she clearly wants to be a breezy manner, but the tense lines of her mouth don’t match. “Could’ve been worse. At least noodles are easy to get off.” Her jaw twitches. “I mean, clean.”

I slump against the locker beside me. “Oh God. They’re such assholes. And it’s not even true.” I raise my voice. “I never said that.” I dart a glance at Phoebe, testing out the lie on somebody with significantly more brain cells than Sean.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, in that same breezy-yet-bitter voice. “People will believe what they want anyway.”

I grimace in frustration. “The worst thing is, I was actually making progress in figuring out who’s doing this. Not fast enough, though.”

Phoebe blinks. “Say what?”

I catch her up on the latest revenge forum posts from Darkestmind. “I’ll bet that last one was about me,” I say, holding out my phone so Phoebe can see the screenshot I took. More to come soon. Tick-tock.

She sucks her lower lip in between her teeth. “Hmm. Maybe? Still doesn’t give you any idea who’s talking, though.”

“Not yet,” I say. “But you’d be surprised. People who think they’re being stealthy and anonymous give themselves away all the time.” Simon certainly did.

“Can I give you some advice?” Phoebe asks. I nod as she leans against the locker beside me, her face serious. “I was thinking about this stupid game all last night, and how it has everybody dancing like puppets on a string. Whoever’s behind Truth or Dare is on a massive power trip. And the thing is, we’re giving them that power. By caring. Reacting. Spending all our time worrying about who’s next and what’s true. We’re feeding the beast and I, for one, am done. I blocked Unknown last night, and I think you should too. Back away from the revenge forum. Stop handing those anonymous weirdos the attention they want so much. If everyone ignored them, they’d stop.”

“But everyone won’t ignore them,” I protest. “This is Bayview High we’re talking about. The gossip capital of North America.”

Phoebe gives a little toss of her head. “Well, we have to start somewhere, don’t we? I’m officially opting out of this mess.”

“Sounds great in theory,” I say. “I don’t disagree. But that’s not going to help Knox at this particular point in time.”

“People are making way too big a deal of this,” Phoebe says. She edges a little closer and lowers her voice. “It’s not uncommon, you know. Especially during a first time. Was there alcohol involved, by any chance?”

I resist the urge to bash my head against the locker, but just barely. “Please don’t.” Then, because I’m desperate to understand what happened and Knox isn’t speaking to me, I add in a whisper, “I don’t know how anyone could have found out. I only told Bronwyn and she would never say anything.”

“Are you sure?” Phoebe arches a skeptical brow, and I guess I can’t blame her for asking. She doesn’t exactly have an ironclad bond of sisterly trust with Emma.

“Positive. Maybe Knox told somebody. He has a lot more friends than I do.”

Phoebe shakes her head emphatically. “No way. A guy would never.”

My throat aches. “He hates me now.”

The bell rings, and Phoebe pats my arm. “Look, this sucks and of course he’s upset. But you didn’t actually do anything so terrible. The fact is, girls talk about this kind of stuff. People talk about this kind of stuff. He knows that. Just give him some time.”

“Yeah,” I mumble, and then my heart jumps into my throat as I spy Knox’s familiar gray sweatshirt headed our way. His backpack is slung over one shoulder, his head down. When he gets close enough for me to see his face, he looks so miserable that I can’t keep quiet. “Hi, Knox,” I call, my voice wavering on his name.

His mouth twitches downward, so I know he heard me. But he walks past us without saying a word.

Phoebe pats my arm again, harder. “More time than that.”

—

The rest of the day doesn’t get any better. Flaccid penis pictures start showing up everywhere: on lockers, classroom doors, bathroom walls, even at the kitchen lunch line. Former prison worker Robert tears one down while I grab a soggy turkey sandwich that I have no intention of eating. “What fresh hell are these monsters up to now?” he mutters, with an expression that’s equal parts mystified and apprehensive.

It’s pushed every other worrying thought from my head. The nosebleeds and bruises can wait. Unknown’s identity—I don’t care anymore. Phoebe was right: whoever it is isn’t worth all the time and attention I’ve been giving them. I need to focus my energy on fixing this mess with Knox. I mean, I have a measly five people in my Key Contacts, and he’s the only one who’s not related to me or getting paid to keep me from dying. I can’t let this ruin our friendship.

After the last bell, I head for an Into the Woods rehearsal, hoping for one last chance to talk with him. I make my way slowly down the aisle of the auditorium, simultaneously scanning the small crowd and counting how many lights are blazing above the stage. If it’s an even number, Knox will forgive me today. Ten, eleven, twelve…thirteen.

Damn it. Doubly unlucky.

Knox is nowhere in sight, and it doesn’t look as though rehearsal has started yet. There are only two people onstage, and when I get closer I see that one of them is Mrs. Kaplan, the drama teacher, and the other is a sullen-looking Eddie Blalock.

“But I don’t know the part,” Eddie says. He’s a sophomore, small and thin with dark hair that he gels into stiff points.

“You’re the understudy.” Mrs. Kaplan plants her hands on her hips. “You were supposed to have been learning the role of Jack for the past two months.”

“Yeah, but.” Eddie scratches the back of his head. “I didn’t.”

Mrs. Kaplan heaves a bone-weary sigh. “You had one job, Eddie.”

Lucy Chen is perched on the edge of a chair in the front row, leaning forward with both her arms and legs crossed. She looks like an angry human pretzel.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

She presses her lips together so tightly that they almost disappear. “Knox quit,” she says, her eyes fixed on Eddie like a bird of prey. “In related news, Eddie sucks.” I inhale a shocked breath, and Lucy seems to register who she’s speaking to for the first time. “So, thanks a lot for ruining the play and everything.”

My temper flares. I’ll blame myself all day long, but I draw the line at Lucy doing the same. “This isn’t my fault. It’s that horrible game—”

“Do you mean the horrible game that I said we should report two weeks ago?” Lucy lifts her chin. “If anyone had listened to me, it probably would’ve been shut down by now and none of this would have happened.”

God, I hate when Lucy’s right. “Maybe we should tell someone now,” I say, my eyes straying to Mrs. Kaplan.

“Oh no you don’t,” Lucy snaps. “She has enough to worry about. Besides, everyone knows how to win this game by now. Just take the Dare. You’d have to be out of your mind to do anything else.”

Phoebe’s words in the hallway come back to me then. Whoever’s behind Truth or Dare must be on a massive power trip. And the thing is, we’re giving them that power. “Or we could all jointly block this creep’s number and stop playing altogether,” I say. Then I pull out my phone so, finally, I can do exactly that.

—

“Mija, you’ve been here through dinnertime and haven’t eaten a thing. Are you all right?”

I look up from my laptop at Mr. Santos’s voice, startled when I see a baseball cap jammed over his unruly curls. He only wears that when he’s leaving Café Contigo for the night, and he’s usually the last one here. Then I realize how empty the restaurant is.

“I’m fine. Just not hungry.” I was too anxious to sit at a dinner table with my parents tonight, so I told them I was meeting Knox here. That was a big fat lie, unfortunately. I can’t even get him to text me back. And I’m way too stressed to eat. I’ve just been staring blankly at the history paper I’m supposed to be writing for…hours, apparently.

Mr. Santos makes a tsk noise. “I don’t believe that. I think we just haven’t found the right food to tempt you. Maybe you need a good old-fashioned Colombian recipe. What’s your favorite?” He shudders a little. “Please don’t say salchipapas.”

I manage a laugh. Bronwyn refused to eat hot dogs when we were kids, so we’ve never had the traditional Colombian dish of them cut up and mixed with French fries. “Definitely not. We’re more of an ajiaco family.”

“Excellent choice. I’ll make it for you.”

“Mr. Santos, no!” I lunge for his sleeve as he turns for the kitchen. “I mean, that’s so nice of you, but ajiaco takes hours. And you’re closing.”

“I’ll make a fast-food version, Argentinean-style. It’ll take fifteen minutes.”

Oh God. I can’t believe I’m such a sad puppy that this impossibly kind man thinks he has to work overtime to make me dinner. At least I’m in long sleeves so he can’t see that I’m covered in bruises, too. “I’m honestly fine, Mr. Santos. It’s really not—”

“I’ll make it,” calls a voice behind us. Luis is leaning against the half-open kitchen door, a grease-spattered gray T-shirt stretched tight across his shoulders. It’s ridiculous how good it looks on him. “Go home, Pa. I’ll close up.” He crosses halfway to the dining room and holds up his right hand. I’m not sure what he’s doing until Mr. Santos reaches into his pocket and tosses Luis a set of keys.

“Works for me,” Mr. Santos says, and turns back to me with a gentle smile. “Don’t look so guilty, mija. He needs the practice.”

He waves amiably and shuffles out the door. I let him disappear around the corner of the building before I stand and stuff my laptop into my bag with an apologetic look at Luis. “Listen, just go home. If he asks, I’ll tell him you fed me. I’m not even hungry.” My empty stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble loudly. Luis raises his eyebrows as I fold my arms tightly over my rib cage. My stomach growls again anyway. “At all.”

“Come on.” A half smile teases the corners of his mouth. “It’s not like you’re not going to help.” He turns and disappears into the back of the restaurant, leaving me no choice but to follow.

I’ve only ever glimpsed the kitchen from the dining room before, bright and chaotic and bursting with noise. Now it’s so still and silent that Luis’s voice echoes when he gestures to the row of appliances behind a long, well-worn metal table. “Here’s where the magic happens.”

I put my hands on my hips and look around the kitchen with what I hope is professional interest. “Very impressive.”

“Hang on a sec. I need to get out of this shirt, it’s a disaster.” Luis goes behind a tall, freestanding rack of metal shelves and grabs something white out of a duffel bag. Before I can fully register what he’s doing, he’s pulled his T-shirt over his head and put on a clean one. I get a flash of shoulder muscles and then he’s done, stuffing the old shirt into his bag and replacing it on the shelf.

I wish I’d known that was about to happen so I could’ve paid better attention.

Luis crosses to an industrial-sized refrigerator and pulls open the door. “Let’s see…oh yeah, we’re all set. We have chicken and potatoes already prepped for tomorrow. Not the right kind of potato, but it’ll do. No corn, but I can make that quick.” He starts pulling ingredients out and laying them across the counter, then selects a knife from a rack on the wall and hands it to me. “Can you chop some scallions?”

“Sure.” I take the knife gingerly. It’s the smallest one in the rack, but I’ve never handled anything quite so deadly-looking.

“There’s a cutting board below the counter.”

There are several. I shuffle through them, wondering if plastic or wood is better, but since Luis didn’t specify I end up just grabbing the one on top. I lay the scallions across it and turn them a few different ways, trying to figure out the best angle for cutting. By the time I’m halfway through the bunch, Luis looks like he’s been in the kitchen for hours. Pots are steaming, garlic is sautéing, and the chicken and potatoes are chopped into small, neat pieces. Luis puts down his knife, wipes the back of his hand across his forehead, then glances my way and grins.

“Take your time with that.”

I laugh for the first time all day. “I’m the worst prep assistant ever.”

“You haven’t seen Manny in here.” Luis adjusts a knob on a burner, and I speed up the rest of my chopping so I can finish and watch him work. He moves around the kitchen like he does on a baseball diamond: fluid and confident, as though he’s thinking ten steps ahead and knows exactly where he needs to be at all times. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

He reaches for a pair of tongs and glances my way, catching me staring. Busted. My cheeks flame as his crease in a smile. “What’s going on with you today?” he asks. “You were hunched over your computer for hours out there.”

“I…” I hesitate. There’s no way I can tell him the whole story. “I had a bad day. Knox and I had a fight. And, um, I think it’s my fault. Scratch that. I know it’s my fault.”

I watch his reaction carefully, because Luis still has friends at Bayview High. It’s possible he knows exactly what I’m talking about. Though, if he does, he hides it well. “Did you tell him that?” he asks.

“I tried. He’s not talking to me right now.”

Luis takes my cutting board full of scallions and dumps them into a bubbling pot. It smells amazing. I’m not sure how it’s going to be stew in ten minutes, but I won’t question his methods. “That sucks. You have to give people a chance to apologize.”

“It’s not his fault,” I say. “He’s just hurt. Stuff got out that shouldn’t have, and now everyone is gossiping and it’s a giant mess.”

Luis grimaces. “Man, I do not miss that school. It’s fucking toxic there.”

“I feel like I’m the one who’s toxic.” The words slip out of me before I think, and as soon as I say them my eyes start stinging. Damn it. I take the cutting board to the sink and rinse it so I can keep my head down.

Luis leans against the counter. “You’re not toxic. I don’t know what happened, but I do know that. Look, everybody does stuff they shouldn’t. I was an ass at Bayview a lot of the time. Then that whole situation with Jake and Addy and Cooper started getting bad, and things changed.” He’s cleaning the station in front of him now, as quickly as he did the prep work. “I used to talk to Pa about what was happening at school and he’d say, ‘Who do you want to be? The guy who goes along or the guy who stands up? This is the time to decide.’ ”

I put the cutting board away. “It was great, the way you stood up for Cooper.”

“Nate stood up for Cooper,” Luis corrects. A muscle in his jaw twitches. “All I did was not pile on. And I should’ve stood up for Addy way before that. I wasn’t a badass like you, helping those guys from the start. But you can’t change the past, you know? All you can do is try harder next time. So don’t give up on yourself just yet.”

At this moment, I’ve never wanted to do anything as much as I want to grab his face and kiss every inch of it. Which should make me feel guilty after what happened today with Knox but instead makes me edge closer to Luis. I’m suddenly beyond tired of never doing what I want or saying what I feel.

I mean, I could be dead in six months. What’s the point in holding back?

Luis moves toward the stove and turns the burner down. He picks up a timer from the counter and twists it slightly. “This needs five minutes to simmer.” He goes back to his station, wiping his hands on a towel, and I make up my mind. I move toward him until the space between us is nearly closed and put my hand on his arm. If nothing else, I’ve been wanting to do that for ages. My pulse starts thrumming as I ask, “What should we do for the next five minutes, then?”

Luis goes still, and for one horrifying second I think he’s going to burst out laughing. If he does, I won’t have to worry about cancer because I’ll die on the spot. Then his mouth curves in a slow smile. He glances down beneath lashes that are so long and thick, they almost look tangled. His hands circle my waist. “I don’t know. You have any ideas?”

“A few.” I bring one hand to the back of his neck and lean into him, sliding my fingers into his hair. It’s softer than I expected, and his skin is warm from the stove and the bright lights above us. I pause to catch my breath because it’s almost too much, the way every nerve in my body is buzzing with sensation when nothing’s even happened yet.

Then Luis kisses me, his lips a gentle press of heat against my mouth. Soft and almost sweet, until I wind my arms around his neck and pull him closer. He kisses me harder, picking me up in one smooth motion and putting me on the counter behind us. There’s no place for my legs to go except…around his waist. The softest groan escapes him as he slides his lips along my jawline and down to my neck. My hands replace their way under the hem of his T-shirt, and every scattered thought that was still bouncing around in my brain dissolves when I feel his muscles contract beneath my fingertips. We keep kissing until I lose all sense of time and place, and the only thing I want is more.

A sudden noise brings me back to myself. Someone’s whistling off-key, and heavy footsteps are coming our way. I pull away from Luis, face burning when I realize how far up his shirt my hands have gotten, and the intentional way I’ve twisted the fabric. I was seconds away from yanking it over his head.

Luis’s eyes look drugged until he registers the noise. Then he frowns and disentangles from me, moving toward the door. “What the hell?” he mutters. I hop off the counter, weak-kneed, and try to smooth my hair. A second later Manny bursts into the kitchen, still whistling.

“What up, L?” He holds out his hand for a fist bump that turns into a shoulder punch when Luis doesn’t respond. “Why are you still cooking?”

“I’m making something for Maeve,” Luis says. His voice isn’t nearly as friendly as it usually is when he talks to his brother. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh hey, Maeve.” Manny catches sight of me and waves. “I forgot my gym bag, and it’s got my wallet in it. Damn, that smells good. Did you make extra?”

Luis stares, arms folded, as Manny crosses over to the bubbling pot on the stove and peers inside. “Dude,” Luis says. “Read the room.”

“What?” Manny asks, giving the ajiaco a stir. The timer goes off just then, making me jump. “Is it done?”

“I should go,” I say abruptly. My cheeks are still burning, my head spinning. I can’t believe I just threw myself at Luis after everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. I mean, I can, but still. I’m both a walking cliché and a terrible friend. “Thanks for everything, Luis, but I’m still not hungry and I should probably just…go.”

Manny glances between Luis and me and seems to finally catch on. “Oh hey, no. Stick around. I’m just gonna grab my wallet and head out,” he says, but I’m already through the kitchen door. I pull my laptop bag off the chair where I left it without breaking stride, and head for the exit. I’m probably both a jerk and a wimp for leaving, but it’s too much to process all at once; embarrassment and guilt on top of the sort of intense physical attraction I wasn’t sure I was even capable of until just now. At least I finally know what all the fuss is about.

What all the fuss is about. Oh my God.

The memory hits right as I push through the front door. I’d said that to Bronwyn, when I was telling her about my disastrous night with Knox. “I wasn’t disappointed,” I told her. “Just relieved. The whole time we were kissing, I didn’t feel anything. All I could think was I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.”

I’d said it here. At my usual table, in public. Where anyone could have heard.

I’m an idiot.