rice mixture, and her mom finished the dishes, she brought up St. Vincent’s being short of help.
Her mom stripped off her rubber gloves and turned. “They serve at seven. We should be there by six thirty to help set up.”
“Perfect,” Willow said before taking a long swig of lemonade to hide her smile. Wow, that was easy.
A ping sounded from her pocket, and she took out her cell to find a SnapMail notification. She hadn’t used that app since last year, when one of the girls doing a group history project had to communicate with her iPod because she didn’t have a cell phone. Curious, Willow clicked open the message to find a picture. It looked like a GH football jersey tacked to a wall. She used her fingers to enlarge the image and noticed the shirt was stained and in tatters. She zoomed in on the letters at the top. C. Martin.
Weird. Why would someone do that to Colin’s football jersey? And send her a picture of it? She checked the return address to find a series of random letters and numbers.
The picture disappeared, reminding her that this app allowed the sender to set a period of time that their message could be viewed. Her phone pinged again, a text popping up from the same unidentified sender:
Rein in your boyfriend before somebody gets hurt.
Willow read the words four times before it clicked in her brain. A chill spread down her spine one vertebrate at a time. If the destroyed jersey belonged to Colin Martin and her “boyfriend” was Ashton . . . Had Ashton done this in retaliation after their fight at school? Whoever sent this message certainly thought so.
“I’m going up to bed, hon. Need to start on the front landscaping tomorrow before the weather turns.” Mom leaned over and kissed the side of Willow’s head. “Hey, you all right?”
Willow clicked off her screen, but the message had already vanished. “Yeah, I’ll be up in a few. Need to make some chamomile.”
“Okay, good night.”
But Willow didn’t make tea. She sat staring at the blank screen in her hand, the mutilated jersey burned into her eyes. Colin had been at the falls and had testified that Ashton pushed Daniel to his death. The dark house seemed to shrink around her. Ashton’s parents were long gone. He’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her, except when he needed her help. Why would he come back to Gilt Hollow at all? Unless . . . he’d returned seeking revenge.
Willow shot out of the chair and shoved it against the table. Not five minutes ago, she’d considered going up to the third floor to knock on his door, hoping they could sit and chat like old times. What an idiot!
Shutting off lights as she went, Willow raced up to her room and locked the door behind her.
How could she have forgotten, even for a moment, that she had no idea who Ashton was anymore?
■ ■ ■
Willow was on edge all morning. She’d half expected Ashton to show up on her walk to school. He hadn’t. In the hallways, Colin’s jersey was all anyone could talk about. She’d passed his locker, and a group of girls hovered and cooed over him like he was a wounded baby bird. Willow suppressed the urge to gag. God forbid anyone touch Colin Martin’s sacred football jersey. Not that shredding and peeing on someone’s clothes was okay. It wasn’t. (And gross.) But the way people were reacting, you’d think his house had burned to the ground.
By second period she’d heard everything from “The police have cleared Ashton” to “Ashton ripped the jersey off Colin and shredded it in front of him.” People were ridiculous, and it made her question her own assumptions. Which brought her thoughts back to who and why someone thought it their duty to send her the picture and warning the night before—as if she’d had anything to do with it.
Worst of all, Lisa had a dentist appointment and wouldn’t be in until lunch, so Willow couldn’t even discuss what happened with her friend. Not that she could share all of it. She’d
Her mom stripped off her rubber gloves and turned. “They serve at seven. We should be there by six thirty to help set up.”
“Perfect,” Willow said before taking a long swig of lemonade to hide her smile. Wow, that was easy.
A ping sounded from her pocket, and she took out her cell to find a SnapMail notification. She hadn’t used that app since last year, when one of the girls doing a group history project had to communicate with her iPod because she didn’t have a cell phone. Curious, Willow clicked open the message to find a picture. It looked like a GH football jersey tacked to a wall. She used her fingers to enlarge the image and noticed the shirt was stained and in tatters. She zoomed in on the letters at the top. C. Martin.
Weird. Why would someone do that to Colin’s football jersey? And send her a picture of it? She checked the return address to find a series of random letters and numbers.
The picture disappeared, reminding her that this app allowed the sender to set a period of time that their message could be viewed. Her phone pinged again, a text popping up from the same unidentified sender:
Rein in your boyfriend before somebody gets hurt.
Willow read the words four times before it clicked in her brain. A chill spread down her spine one vertebrate at a time. If the destroyed jersey belonged to Colin Martin and her “boyfriend” was Ashton . . . Had Ashton done this in retaliation after their fight at school? Whoever sent this message certainly thought so.
“I’m going up to bed, hon. Need to start on the front landscaping tomorrow before the weather turns.” Mom leaned over and kissed the side of Willow’s head. “Hey, you all right?”
Willow clicked off her screen, but the message had already vanished. “Yeah, I’ll be up in a few. Need to make some chamomile.”
“Okay, good night.”
But Willow didn’t make tea. She sat staring at the blank screen in her hand, the mutilated jersey burned into her eyes. Colin had been at the falls and had testified that Ashton pushed Daniel to his death. The dark house seemed to shrink around her. Ashton’s parents were long gone. He’d made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her, except when he needed her help. Why would he come back to Gilt Hollow at all? Unless . . . he’d returned seeking revenge.
Willow shot out of the chair and shoved it against the table. Not five minutes ago, she’d considered going up to the third floor to knock on his door, hoping they could sit and chat like old times. What an idiot!
Shutting off lights as she went, Willow raced up to her room and locked the door behind her.
How could she have forgotten, even for a moment, that she had no idea who Ashton was anymore?
■ ■ ■
Willow was on edge all morning. She’d half expected Ashton to show up on her walk to school. He hadn’t. In the hallways, Colin’s jersey was all anyone could talk about. She’d passed his locker, and a group of girls hovered and cooed over him like he was a wounded baby bird. Willow suppressed the urge to gag. God forbid anyone touch Colin Martin’s sacred football jersey. Not that shredding and peeing on someone’s clothes was okay. It wasn’t. (And gross.) But the way people were reacting, you’d think his house had burned to the ground.
By second period she’d heard everything from “The police have cleared Ashton” to “Ashton ripped the jersey off Colin and shredded it in front of him.” People were ridiculous, and it made her question her own assumptions. Which brought her thoughts back to who and why someone thought it their duty to send her the picture and warning the night before—as if she’d had anything to do with it.
Worst of all, Lisa had a dentist appointment and wouldn’t be in until lunch, so Willow couldn’t even discuss what happened with her friend. Not that she could share all of it. She’d
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