trial.â
âYes, a trial, all right?â
âYouâre on trial for murder.â
Andy is really good at stating questions as facts. Itâs becoming an irritant.
âBasically,â I say. Itâs not the kind of statement or question that gets easier to hear or speak over time.
âSo this guy committed suicide?â Andy asks.
âYeah.â
âWell, I guess that explains our initial awkwardness,â Andy says quietly. Then, in a normal voice, he says, âHowâd he do it?â
âHung himself,â I say, as the coffee begins congealing in my throat. âWith a belt or scarf or something.â
âHanged.â
âYeah.â
âNo, I mean, the word is âhanged.â When it refers to a person, itâs always âhanged,â not âhung.â Itâs grammatically correct, although I truly do not know why.â
My eyelids freeze in place, wide open. âAre you seriously giving me a grammar lesson right now?â
âJust saying,â Andy goes. And for whatever reason, probably because Iâm so damn tired, I hear-feel that weird cell-phone-on-a-wooden-table reeee in my head again.
âSo what was his name?â Andy asks.
I take a drink of my coffee. Mr. Halpern specifically said not to do this. Talk, I mean, not drink coffee.
âKevin Cooper,â I say.
âThatâs been on the news,â Andy says slowly.
âYeah.â
âYouâre one of the Canyon City Seven.â
Can I just take a time-out at this point to say how stupid that term is? I donât want to say so to Andy, becauseâwell, just because âbut I mean, come on. We donât deserve a big media label like that, like we were burning crosses or going around as a gang and curb-stomping kittens or something. That isnât what happened, not at all.
âTechnically, I am, yes, but listen, you canât believe all that stuff theyâre saying,â I tell Andy. Talking about this again brings me to my feet. I start pacing. Bed, closet, bed, closet. Iâm magically not tired anymore. Or maybe itâs the coffee. Noah watches me but keeps his mouth shut.
âWhy should I not believe it?â Andy asks. âWhat say you, Noah? Who should I believe?â
âI think this one is between you two,â Noah says.
I jump in. âWhy should you not believe it? Because itâs bullshit, thatâs why not! Jesus!â
âOkay, okay,â Andy says. âJust asking. What really happened then? What did you do?â
âI didnât do anything, thatâs what Iâm saying. Look, Iâm not even supposed to talk about this. I canât. Itâs a legal thing.â
Andy sighs. He doesnât speak for a few seconds.
âMy life is in your hands, Tori,â he says finally. âMaybe you should talk about anything I want you to talk about.â
My jaw falls open so hard I hear something in my right ear pop. Noah, too, looks down at the phone, his eyebrows mashing together.
âWait a sec, are you, like, blackmailing me with your own life?â
âI guess. Yeah.â
âDude,â Noah says.
âYou realize how messed up that is, right?â I say.
âI was messed up long before I called you, so, whatever.â
âHold on. Itâs one thing to say youâre going to kill yourself because your girlfriend died. Itâs entirely another thing to say youâll do it if I donât make some big confession to you.â
Andy snorts. âHey, Iâm the loco one here. And itâs not just because the person I loved most in the world died. Itâs how people feel about it thatâs got me up here. Itâs not pain, Tori. Itâs hopelessness.â
I look to Noah. He shakes his head and shrugs like heâs not sure whether to believe Andy or not.
I mouth the words, I canât risk it.
Noah frowns again, then nods. Then he wiggles his
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