The Darkest Lie by Pintip Dunn

“You’re talking to me. I’m a key player.”
    His eyes widen. “This isn’t for the paper. Everything you say to me is off the record, I swear.”
    The swing creaks back and forth. I want to believe him. I want him to be everything he seems to be. But out of all people, I should know appearances are deceiving. He doesn’t seem like the type who would lie to me. But my mother didn’t seem like the type who would sleep with a high school boy, either.
    â€œThat’s another reason I’m here.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “We have the same goal. I need an angle for my article. You want to find out what happened to your mom. If we share information, we’d be better off. What do you think about working together?”
    I blink. That’s the last thing I expected him to say. “I . . . I’m not sure.”
    â€œWe’d be good together. I’m good at research. I have access to resources at the Lakewood Sun . And you have inside knowledge nobody has.”
    It makes sense. If I wanted an ally, he’s not a bad choice. He’s smart and inquisitive. And I’d rather not do this alone. But if we keep digging into my mom’s past, who knows what we’ll find? The reasons for her actions might be as sordid as everyone thinks. How can I share that information with anyone, much less the boy who wants to expose her secrets to the world?
    â€œI’ve spent the whole morning trying to figure out who posted your mom’s photo on that site,” he says. “The name listed is an entity called ‘PX1990.’ But that name led to shell company after shell company, and it was virtually impossible to follow the trail.”
    â€œIt had to be someone who knew her back then,” I say, drawn in despite my reservations. “How else would they have gotten her photo when she was seventeen?”
    â€œPossibly. But this same corporation put up photos of a dozen girls.” He pauses. “They had one thing in common: They were all teenagers.”
    I frown. “You think my mother was part of an underage pornography ring?”
    â€œIt looks like she was a victim, at least.”
    I dig my fingernails into my palms. So many secrets, so many questions. My tongue tingles with the need to tell Sam about the misdialed calls and the text messages. It would be nice to have a confidant for the first time since my mom died. Someone who is just as committed to finding the truth. But can I trust him?
    While I’m pondering, my dad pulls into the driveway. He gets out of the car, lugging a half-empty gallon jug of water and a rubber window squeegee.
    â€œThat’s my dad, coming from the cemetery again,” I whisper to Sam. “He’s obsessed with washing my mom’s gravestone.”
    Sam jumps up as my father comes up the steps. “Mr. Brooks?” He sticks out his hand. “Good to meet you. I’m one of CeCe’s friends, Sam Davidson.”
    My dad shakes Sam’s hand and then stows the gallon jug on the corner of the porch. “Um. Nice meeting you.” His voice lilts up, as if he’s not used to being introduced to my friends. And he’s not. That was more Mom’s territory.
    He glances at me. “Good morning, CeCe. Have you eat—”
    â€œBagel and cream cheese,” I interrupt. “Glass of orange juice.”
    â€œGood, good.” He bobs his head. “I’ll leave you kids, then.”
    â€œHow was Mom today?” I ask softly.
    He closes his eyes, as if the very question pains him. “A bird had pooped on the headstone, right next to her picture. It was a good thing I was there to clean it.”
    He goes inside the house, and the air stutters out of my lungs. I shouldn’t have asked about my mom. I never have before. But it’s silly to pretend she doesn’t exist when we can’t so much as inhale without breathing her in.
    I don’t want