“Something happened that night,” I say. “Something came at the car from the left side.” They’re both focused on me, and I feel like a fortune-teller who suddenly starts speaking in tongues, communicating with the other world in order to solve a mystery. Except what I’m describing comes from my own memory. And I’m right here in this world. “It had to be another car. Why else would we go off the road and hit that tree?” I stare right into Haley’s eyes. “You’ve thought all along it was possible there was another car, one that ran us off the road. Well, now you have the video showing the car following us and now you have what I remember.”

  Haley reaches into his pants pocket, brings out his little notebook and a pen that he clicks open with his thumb. He scribbles some things in the book but takes his time speaking.

  I push him. “What do you think? Isn’t this something?”

  He presses his lips together and leans back in his chair. His eyes look wary, cautious. But also curious. He must see the possibilities here.

  He has to.

  “Okay,” he says. “But you said you saw deer when you went driving out there today. Three of them. It’s fall. Mating season. There are deer all over that road. Not a night goes by that we don’t get a call about a vehicle hitting one. And people sometimes get hurt pretty bad. You may recall a few years ago a woman was killed when she hit a deer. Maybe you saw a deer out of your peripheral. Maybe that caused the accident, and there wasn’t another car. Maybe Chloe was hurt in the accident. Maybe she was hurt bad. And you saw that, and you knew you were going to get blamed, so you panicked. And you moved her. Just tell us where she is, Hunter. We can work out something.”

  It sounds so calm and logical coming from Haley. Like nothing could be thrown at the guy that he couldn’t bat away. Like he’s a world-class Ping-Pong player when it comes to smacking down someone else’s ideas.

  “He’s baiting you, Hunter,” Dad says. “Don’t say anything. Detective, next you’re going to tell us Hunter conspired with a deer to cause the accident.”

  “We’re talking about wild animals,” Haley says. “They’re unpredictable. Haven’t you seen on the news when a deer goes crashing through a store window and then runs around inside, busting up everything? Or how about when someone’s out in the woods and a deer goes nuts and attacks them? They’re not all peaceful animals.”

  “This isn’t making any sense,” Dad says.

  Haley leans farther forward. “Okay, so that’s unfounded speculation. Let’s stick to facts, Hunter. You and Chloe were arguing, witnesses have verified that.”

  “Okay, you say arguing. To me it looks like I’m trying to convince Chloe of something. To go back inside. You don’t know it’s an argument. I can’t say for sure that we’re angry.”

  “Hey, Daniel’s movie shows it. Maybe Chloe was too upset to drive, and that’s why you got behind the wheel. And maybe you continued to argue—or convince—as you drove out into the country. So you’re arguing. You’re saying heated things to each other.” Haley shrugs, tries to look more casual. “Hey, I understand. We’ve all been there with a partner or a wife. Things get heated. It’s emotional. Maybe she loses control of herself and makes a grab for you. Distracts you. And, boom, you go off the road.”

  “Don’t say anything to that, Hunter,” Dad says.

  “I can’t say anything to that because it isn’t true. Chloe didn’t do that.”

  “But you don’t remember,” Haley says, his words gaining a harsh rhythm as he speaks. “You don’t remember anything from the ride except that last moment before impact. So you say. But you have the accident. Chloe’s hurt. She’s bleeding. Or she’s crying. Or…maybe she’s unconscious and you panic. This is on your record. An accident. How will that look to the college admissions office at your top choice school? Do they want someone with a record?”

  “Okay, don’t say anything else, Hunter,” Dad says.

  Haley leans back. He considers me from across the table like a poker player about to place a large bet. “You don’t have to say anything, Hunter,” he says. “Your dad’s right. But let’s imagine for a moment you’re correct about what you’ve said. Let’s say that car in the video, the one following you and Chloe out of the parking lot, followed you all the way out to the scene of the crash. Let’s say that’s true. Okay?”

  Dad gives me a look that says, Not a word.

  “But let’s also say there’s something going on with Chloe. Something you don’t know about. That seems obvious, doesn’t it? After all, she was calling a pregnancy hotline. She was upset. Distant. Crying. She thought you’d be really mad about whatever was going on. You’ve mentioned her ex-boyfriend, the football player. Mike Basher. So maybe, just maybe, that car that followed you, the one that might have—I say might have—come alongside you out there… Maybe the person in that car knew Chloe’s secret. Maybe the person in that car was part of Chloe’s secret. They were in on it, and you weren’t. Maybe Chloe arranged to meet them out there and that’s why she went off with them after the accident.”

  Haley doesn’t frame it as a question. He clicks his pen shut, letting his words hang in the air like a toxic balloon.

  Then he stuffs the notebook back into his pocket and gets to his feet. He nods at Dad and me.

  “Hunter,” Haley says, “this has been a useful talk. I think you see more clearly now some of the possibilities concerning that night. And I hope you know it will always be better for you if you and I talk about these things. If we keep the line of communication open. You can call me any time if you want to talk more about these possibilities.”

  He turns and goes, leaving me more confused than ever.

  Forty-Five

  Once Haley’s gone, Dad says, “He’s just trying to shake you up. That’s a cop’s job.”

  “Then Haley’s a very good cop,” I say. “Because he shook me.”

  “Hunter, why don’t you—”

  “Dad, can I just—I think I want to go to my room.”

  “Sure, okay. If you need me, I’ll be down here. Grading.”

  My room feels off, a little strange. My thoughts rev like a NASCAR engine. Haley has taken up residence in my brain.

  Did Chloe plan to meet someone out there? Was she just using me to drive her away from the school?

  I text Hector and Cameron and Chad, seeking human contact. Just asking how they’re doing. What’s up at school.

  Hector claims he misses me in physics because now he’s the dumbest guy in the room. Cameron complains about having to buy his own french fries since I wasn’t there to steal from. Our conversations linger for a few minutes then die out.

  Chad doesn’t answer. Soccer consumes them all.

  Haley’s bombshell—about Chloe possibly being pregnant—thumps in my head, making it ache again. It’s such a private thing—if one person found out, then everyone would know. And when Chloe comes back, she’s going to have to face all the people who know her most intimate business…

  But what if telling the right person makes the difference?

  But who is the right person?

  The next text I send sounds super casual. Hey. How are you?

  Natasha writes back immediately, as if she was waiting for me. She asks how I’m doing. She says lunch is boring without me, because Chad is off with Hannah and Cameron and Hector act juvenile.

  The exchange seems to have run its course. We almost never talk one-on-one.

  I know you talked to the police already, but can you think of anything going on with Chloe? Then I add: You know, anything weird?

  Those three little dots appear. And they sit on my screen forever.

  They taunt me. Torment me.

  She must have a lot to say.

  No. Not really.

  That’s it?

  Nothing about our sex life?

  I mean she told me you were going to try to do it again.

  Even though I’m alone, my face flushes. But Natasha keeps going.

  She was worried about going on the pill. I told her to go for it. I’ve been on it for a year and don’t have any problems. But Chloe was worried.

  Chloe shared more with Natasha than I would have guessed.

  The conversation seems finished. A long time passes without Natasha texting back. My calculus book waits for me. Berning would say something like: Do you think being a suspect in your girlfriend’s murder means you don’t have to do your homework?

  The phone dings again. Natasha.

  Clo said she could tell you wanted to try again at HoCo. But she didn’t think she wanted to. She felt weird about it.

  Natasha has my attention.

  Weird about what?

  Trying again.

  Why?

  I don’t know. She just said sex felt weird to her. She wasn’t sure she wanted to do it again. I don’t think you did anything. She legit loves you.

  She loves me.

  But she might have been keeping the biggest secret of her life.

  Forty-Six

  My room feels like a cell.

  Stale. Confined. The same books. The same walls. The same view out the window of the neighbor’s tree, even though it’s turning a thousand shades of orange and red. It all feels stale.

  I keep thinking about what Natasha said. Sex felt weird to Chloe.

  Weird.

  Why?

  We talked about it. We wanted to do it.

  But maybe our wires got crossed and fucked up.

  Had she written it all down?

  Scott told me the cops had been all through their house. They’d been through her locker, the car, her room.

  But what if someone else had the journal?

  Ron might have it. He encouraged Chloe to keep it, so maybe she turned it in to him. My email to Ron asks him to call, says there’s something I forgot to ask that morning when we spoke.

  Ten minutes pass. Then fifteen. And twenty. The floorboards squeak as I pace back and forth. Back and forth.

  “What the fuck?” I say.

  The phone rings, and I jump like someone has shocked me with a defibrillator. The phone almost falls to the floor when I pick it up.

  “Hunter,” Ron says, “I have a message here to call you. I almost missed it. We have some kind of inane faculty meeting coming up soon.”

  “I just need to ask you something.”

  “You sound breathless,” Ron says. “Were you running?”

  “No. Just…anxious.”

  “An affliction we all suffer from. Ask away.”

  “I’m wondering if you have Chloe’s journal,” I say. “You encouraged her to keep one in Ex Libris, I know that.”

  “I encouraged you all to keep a journal,” he says. “I believe Chloe’s the only one who actually did it.”

  Again, it feels like he’s jabbed me with a needle. Even though he’s right. My attempt at keeping a journal lasted three days. Chloe is the only one who did it. That was Chloe—she didn’t do anything halfway.

  “Did she turn it in to you?” I ask. “Or show it to you? If we could find that, we might know what’s going on.”

  “Ah, yes,” Ron says. “You know, Hunter, those journals are private. A way to work through feelings and ideas.”

  “That’s not the question,” I say. “Did she give it to you?”

  “That’s a really good investigatory notion. And one the police have already explored. They questioned me and specifically asked about the journal, but I’ve never seen it. Nor do I know where it is.”

  “That’s not what I wanted to hear,” I say. Of course the cops have talked to Ron. Of course they asked about the journal. Do I think I’m smarter than they are?

  “I know this is difficult, Hunter. I know this is tearing you up inside.”

  “It is,” I say.

  “There are a lot of people hurting in Bentley,” he says. He sounds sad, as empty as I feel. “It’s affecting us all. I have to say, it’s gotten under my skin. Why, just last night, I thought I heard someone outside my house. It woke me up. I tromped all around with a tennis racket in hand, checking doors and windows. When I went out to the car this morning, I kept looking over my shoulder like a burglar. It’s a sorry thing.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “You’re sure Chloe didn’t share these concerns with you? Has your memory made any improvement?”

  “A little.”

  “Really? And did you remember what Chloe was so upset about at the dance?”

  “No, just some details of the accident. But maybe it’s a start.”

  There’s a long pause on his end of the line. His breathing is deep and steady.

  “Ron?”

  “Hunter, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. I thought I’d tell you in person, but I’m about to share this with the faculty, so I better tell you here and now.”

  “Is something wrong?” I ask.

  “No. But it’s a change. I’m turning in my resignation,” he says. “I’ve been contemplating this move for a while, and it just seems now the time is right. I have an opportunity to go back to my alma mater in Ohio, and, well, it’s just hard to say no to a thing like that.”

  “Oh.” It’s unexpected. Totally. I flail a little but find a silver lining. “Okay. But that means you’ll be here the rest of the year. I mean, until graduation and everything.”

  “Well, that’s just it. This position starts at the semester break. I’ll finish the term here, and then I’ll be moving on. I know it’s a surprise to you, but these transitions are normal in life. And, like I said, it’s my chance to go home. My mother still lives there, and she’s getting close to ninety. I’d like to be near her for whatever time she has left.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  “Hunter, I’m sorry, I must go. I have my meeting to attend. We can talk about this more another time. Please, keep in touch. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Excellent. Chloe is smart and capable. Quite remarkable, really. Just have faith that this will be resolved.”

  Forty-Seven

  Around dinnertime, someone knocks on my door. Thunderously. Like she wants to break the door down. For someone so small, her fist pounds with the force of a sledgehammer.

  And she barges in before I can even answer.

  Olivia closes the door behind her. She’s wearing Mom’s oversized black hoodie that says “New York City.” We were supposed to take a family trip to New York the year Mom got diagnosed, but that news ended any chance of a vacation. Dad ordered the sweatshirt online, and we all signed our names on the card. Since Mom died, Livvy’s been wearing it around the house, even though it’s big enough for another small person to fit inside it with her.

  “Time to eat?” I ask.

  “No. Dad said he might order sandwiches from Ray’s later, but right now he’s busy grading. As usual.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m thinking I might go vegan. Do you know the way they treat chickens?”

  “I’m familiar with it.”

  “I’m sure Ray doesn’t serve anything organic.”

  “He probably isn’t humane enough to pay his employees minimum wage.”

  “No doubt.”

  She sits on the edge of my bed and twirls the hoodie’s drawstring. She has something to say, but it’s not like Olivia to be coy. Or cautious.

  “Was today your last day of detention?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Whitley told me if I hit anybody else, I’ll get suspended. I told him I’d hit anybody who defamed my family. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “If you hadn’t, then you wouldn’t be you.”

  “True that.” She continues playing with the string. “How’s the homework going?”

  “Is that what you came in here to ask? I can tell you want something. Why are you acting so…I don’t know…reluctant to spill it?”

  She sighs. It’s beyond theatrical. “Okay, fine. I talked to Dad, and he told me what the police said. About Chloe maybe being pregnant. I guess he’s worried about you.”

  “So he sent you to check up on me?”

  “Pretty much. You know he can’t talk about sex stuff.”

  Dad’s trip down memory lane at the kitchen table comes back to me. Details of his adolescent sex life coming out with Detective Haley looking on. Maybe Dad is much more complex than any of us know.

  “Chloe never mentioned anything like that to you, did she?” I ask.

  Olivia scrunches her face. “Ewww. I never wanted to hear about you and her…you know.” Her hands flutter in the air.

  “I thought you were so liberated.”

  “Not about my brother’s sex life,” she says. “I mean, I figured you guys were doing it. After all, you were together over six months and totally in love. I also figured you two would be completely cautious about birth control and stuff, like you’d be all wrapped in condoms from head to toe. Ewww. Now I just pictured that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Soooo…it’s not possible?”

  “I don’t know, Livvy.”

  Briefly—and tactfully—I relate my struggles with the condom. Part of my brain feels relieved, and another is fully aware my little sister is hearing intimate details about my sex life. We’ve talked about a lot, and I mean a lot. We’re close—especially since Mom died—but we’ve never talked about anything like this. But it actually feels kind of right to open up to her in this way. If I add it all up, who do I trust more than Olivia and Dad? Before today, Chloe would have been in that group, even above the two of them, but after everything that’s happened, I’m just not sure.

  “So you’re wondering if Chloe was pregnant?” Olivia says. “Like, maybe it was possible?”