One of Us Is Next: The Sequel to One of Us Is Lying
One of Us Is Next: Part 2 – Chapter 17

Knox

Tuesday, March 17

Prom is two months away, Knox!

Who are you going with?

You can’t leave this till the last minute.

Christ, my sisters. I’m tempted to close ChatApp without answering and finish my homework in peace, but they’ll just track me down via text. I’ll probably take a friend, I finally reply.

Kiersten jumps in, lightning-quick. Who? Maeve?

Yeah, right. Kiersten has no clue. I’m closer to her than any of my other sisters, but I didn’t tell her about me and Maeve when it happened, and I sure as hell didn’t let her know that I’d been Bayview High’s favorite erectile dysfunction joke for a while. My thoughts have been in a tug-of-war since yesterday; part of me wants to let Sean’s story stand so that mine doesn’t flare up again, and the other part wants to know what the hell he’s up to.

Probably not Maeve, I respond to Kiersten. I wonder, fleetingly, if Phoebe might go with me. As friends, obviously, because she’s so far out of my league that I’d have to be delusional to expect anything else. But I think we’d have fun.

Maeve and I still aren’t great, or even good. Everything that happened with Brandon was the perfect excuse not to talk about this crap, so we haven’t. And the longer we don’t, the harder it is to start. Maybe that’s okay, though. Maybe staying friends with the ex I failed at losing my virginity with has been a problem all along.

I stretch to look at the digital alarm clock on my bedside table from my seat at my desk. Almost eight. I’m usually in for the night at this point, but I’m restless. I could use a short trip somewhere, and maybe a snack. I think about the alfajores at Café Contigo, and my mouth starts watering. Phoebe is working tonight, and Maeve’s been avoiding that place like the plague for some reason. It’s as good a destination as any, so I head for the stairs.

I’m halfway down when I hear my father’s voice. “It looks like there may have been structural support issues, but it’s hard to be sure given how long the site was untouched.” My parents are in our kitchen; I can hear the faint clatter of ceramic against wood as they empty the dishwasher. “The fact remains, though, that the kids were trespassing. Including ours. So if Lance Weber does decide to sue, he might wind up with a counter lawsuit on his hands.”

I freeze where I am, one hand on the banister. Shit. Am I getting sued?

“Lance has some nerve.” Mom’s voice is tight. “I hope this is just the grief talking. I feel for him, of course, because—my God. To lose your son. It’s a nightmare. But for Lance to bring up the possibility of a lawsuit after the strings he pulled to keep Brandon out of trouble—it’s beyond hypocritical.”

I inch closer, straining my ears. What is she talking about?

“That was a mistake from the start,” Dad says grimly. “The case never should have been settled that way. Not for something like that. All it did was show Brandon that actions don’t have to have consequences, which is a terrible lesson. Especially for a kid like him.”

Mom breathes out a heavy sigh. “I know. I still regret not pushing harder. I think about it all the time. But it was my first year at Jenson and Howard, and I was trying not to make waves. If that came across my desk now, I’d treat it differently.”

I wait for my father’s response, but all I hear is a throaty growl and the sound of dog nails clicking across linoleum. Fritz enters the living room, snuffling loudly until he spots me. His tail starts wagging, and his snuffles turn into an excited whine. “Shh,” I hiss. “Sit.” Instead, he keeps whining and pokes his nose through the staircase railing.

A chair scrapes across the kitchen floor. “Knox?” my mother calls. “Is that you?”

I thud the rest of the way downstairs, Fritz tailing me into the kitchen. My mother is leaning beside the sink, and my father is sitting at the table. “Hey,” I say. “What were you guys talking about?”

Dad gets that closed-off, irritated look he’s had ever since I was released from the hospital. “Nothing that concerns you.”

Mom gives me her best good-cop smile. “Do you need something, sweetie?”

“I’m going out for a while.” Does she look relieved? I think she does. “But I heard you guys talking about Brandon. Was he in some kind of trouble?”

“Oh, sweetie, that’s not important. Just your dad and me talking business.”

“Okay, but…” I’m not sure why I’m not letting this go. Usually one steely glare from my father is enough to shut me up, and he’s already given me two. “Your firm did a case with him? You never told me that. What was it?”

Mom stops smiling. “Knox, my work is confidential and you know that. I wasn’t aware you were listening or I wouldn’t have spoken. I’ll ask you not to repeat anything you heard here, please. So.” She clears her throat, and I can practically see her stuff the entire subject into a Do Not Revisit box. “Where are you going?”

I’m not getting anything out of her, obviously. And my dad’s a lost cause. “Café Contigo. Can I take your car?”

“Sure,” she says, too quickly. “Have fun but be home before eleven, please.”

“I will.” I pull her keys off the rack on our kitchen wall with the uncomfortable certainty that I’m missing something important. But I don’t know what.

—

“What’s up, my man?”

Crap. I came here to see Phoebe, not my new best friend, Sean. But she’s not here and he is, holding up one meaty paw for a high five.

I give in reluctantly. “Hey, Sean.”

“What are you up to?” Sean asks. He’s leaning against the counter, waiting for his order, totally chill. Shooting the shit like he didn’t watch his best friend die less than two weeks ago. Christ, I hate him.

Ever since that maybe-memory popped into my head, I can’t stop thinking about it: Sean standing at the edge of the construction site with his phone trained on something. And then everything goes blank, like a TV shutting off, and I hear his voice: What the fuck are you doing here, Myers?

Did that actually happen? Or am I imagining things?

I wish I could be sure.

Sean is still talking. “I’m picking up dinner for my girl. Food here sucks, but she likes it. What can you do, right?”

“Yeah, right.” I pull out a chair in a corner table near the register and set my backpack down but don’t sit. Sean’s phone is dangling from his hand while he waits. He’s not the type of guy who deletes incriminating pictures or videos, I don’t think. He doesn’t have that much common sense. I clear my throat and lean against the table as Luis comes out of the kitchen with a brown paper bag. “So, hey, Sean,” I say. “Can I ask a favor, man?”

Oh hell. That sounded ridiculous. I don’t know how to talk to guys like Sean. He cocks his head, looking amused, and I keep plowing ahead. “Do you think I could borrow your phone? I have to look something up and I left mine at home.”

Sean pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. “Knox, my man,” he says, extracting a twenty. “You did not. Your phone’s in the side pocket of your backpack.”

I drop into my chair, defeated. I’m beyond pathetic. “Oh yeah. So it is. Thanks.”

“How’s it going?” Sean says to Luis, and they do a complicated fist bump. Sean plays baseball too, well enough that he was on varsity when Cooper and Luis were seniors. “We miss you on the team, man. You going to Fullerton Thursday for Coop’s game?”

“Of course,” Luis says, handing Sean his change.

“Me too, brother.”

“See you there.”

“Sweet.” Sean turns from the register. “Catch you tomorrow, my man,” he says as he passes my table, holding out his hand for yet another high five. I slap his palm, mostly so he’ll get the hell out of here. He’s useless to me now that my sad attempt at espionage fizzled.

I could’ve used Maeve’s skills tonight.

When the door closes behind Sean, Luis grabs a glass and a pitcher of water from the bar and brings them over to my table. He sets both down and fills the glass. “Why’d you want his phone?” he asks.

“I, what?” I fumble. “I didn’t.”

“Come on.” Luis drops into the chair across from me with a shrewd look. “You looked like somebody kicked your puppy when he pointed yours out.”

“Um.” We regard each other for a few seconds in silence. I don’t really know Luis, other than the fact that he stuck by Cooper when almost nobody else did. Plus Phoebe thinks he’s great, and his dad is basically the nicest guy on the planet. I could have worse allies, I guess. “He took a video I want to see. But I don’t think he’d give it to me if I asked directly. Actually, I know he wouldn’t.”

“What kind of video?”

I hesitate. I don’t even know if it’s really there. The whole thing could be a product of my scrambled brain. But maybe it’s not. “Of the construction site the day Brandon died.”

“Huh.” Luis is quiet for a moment, scanning the room to see if anybody else needs his attention. They don’t, and he turns it back to me. “Why do you want it?”

Good question. “I can’t remember much about that day, because of the concussion,” I say. “Some of the things that people tell me happened don’t make sense. I guess I’d like to see it with my own eyes.”

“Luis!” Manny pops his head out of the kitchen. He’s like a fun-house mirror image of Luis: bigger, broader, and a lot more confused-looking. “Do we make guac with garlic or without?”

Luis looks pained. “Jesus, Manny. You ask that every day.”

“So…with?”

“I gotta go,” Luis sighs, getting to his feet. “You want anything?”

“Alfajores,” I say. “But no rush.”

He leaves, and I gaze around me. Now what? I’d been relying on Phoebe to keep me company, and I don’t really know what to do with myself alone in a restaurant. What did Maeve used to do for all those hours? I pull out my phone but immediately put it back when I see I have thirty-seven ChatApp notifications. Maybe later.

The door opens, and a guy my age walks in. I squint until I place him—it’s Intense Guy from a few weeks ago. The one who came looking for Phoebe until Manny and Luis scared him off. I glance at the counter, but nobody’s there. This time, the guy doesn’t stride forward but drops into a corner table and slouches low in the seat. Ahmed, one of the servers, heads over to bring him water. They speak briefly, but nothing about the conversation seems to raise red flags for Ahmed, who leaves the table with his usual pleasant but preoccupied expression.

Intense Guy puts his head down when Manny makes a brief appearance at the counter, but otherwise he scans the room like he’s watching a movie. Ahmed brings him a cup of coffee, and the guy just keeps sitting and staring without drinking it. I’m glad now that Phoebe’s not working, because I have the feeling he’s looking for her again.

Why? Who the hell is this guy? Emma’s ex Derek, maybe? I’ve already forgotten his last name. I grab my phone and pull up Instagram, but it’s pointless—there are millions of Dereks.

After about fifteen minutes of me watching Intense-Guy-slash-Maybe-Derek watch the room—which is just as riveting as it sounds—the guy tosses a bill on the table and takes off without ever having touched his coffee. I’m left with the same vague, uneasy feeling I had in my parents’ kitchen earlier.

I’m missing something.