The Darkest Lie by Pintip Dunn Page B

me the premises, or I would release the names of the counselors.” The color fans across his cheeks like a bad sunburn. “I wouldn’t have, of course. I just wanted to see the hotline.”
    I shake my head. If he’s willing to bribe a teacher, what else is he capable of? Would he resort to harassment to get a good story? “You’d do anything to get this scholarship, wouldn’t you?”
    â€œNothing illegal. Nothing that compromises who I am or what I stand for. But other than that?” He stands from the swing and faces me. “I want this scholarship, CeCe. And I’m not going to let a few niceties get in my way.”
    I take a deep breath. I’m not sure what I think of his methods, but maybe that’s my entire problem. Maybe I’ve been way too timid.
    Mind your own business, the text said. Clearly, this is sound advice. If I had never volunteered at the hotline, my number wouldn’t have appeared on the flyers. If I hadn’t confronted Tommy, Justin might not have been so eager to tell everyone about my mom’s photo. If I scrambled back into my shell, then surely I would be safe again.
    And my dad would still be obsessed with washing my mom’s grave. The town would still consider my mom a slut. I can’t allow that, not when I’m beginning to suspect that there was more to her death. Much more.
    This is my chance to prove it.
    â€œOkay, partner,” I say. “Let’s go talk to Mr. Willoughby.”
    * * *
    It takes twelve minutes to drive to the lake. Number of traffic lights? One. Words exchanged? Zero.
    I’ve never been any good at small talk, and I really don’t know what to say now.
    So, Sam, I know you have the power to make my life even worse by blabbing to the school that I’m a call counselor. But no biggie. How do you like your classes? Have you started reading Lolita for Senior English yet? Boy, that Humbert Humbert is something else, isn’t he? Oh no, I wouldn’t know about that kind of thing. Not at all.
    I sneak a glance at him, only to find he’s looking at me. Is he wondering if I’m about to follow in my mother’s footsteps? Or is he thinking about kissing me?
    My cheeks burn, and I look back to the road before I get us into an accident. Of course he’s not thinking about kissing me. He may have said something about it last night, but that was under the cover of a deep black sky, in the midst of a rowdy party, on the high of his confrontation with Justin. That was before we became partners. Before our relationship became . . . if not exactly business, then at least goal-oriented. We’re spending time together in order to figure out what happened to my mother. I can’t forget that.
    I pull into a long, gravel driveway and park behind an orange vintage sports car with two racing stripes down the center.
    Sam whistles. “Now that’s what I call a nice ride.”
    I wrench my door open as Liam steps out of the sports car. I stumble on the tiny rocks. Great. I haven’t seen him since I took off in search of Tommy Farrow last night. Not since my mom’s topless photo got passed around like a bowl of queso fundido. I’m not naive enough to hope that he somehow missed seeing the photo.
    Sure enough, Liam hurries to me, his stride long and fluid. “CeCe, are you okay? I didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow, during your shift. I’ve been so worried since I heard what happened.”
    â€œYou’re not supposed to be here tomorrow,” I mumble, staring at his chest. It’s a very nice chest—any girl would be happy to look at it—and I wish that were why I’m checking him out. But really, it’s because I’m afraid of what I’ll see in his eyes. “It’s my first shift alone, remember? I don’t need a babysitter.”
    â€œI just wanted to check on you. I heard about that jerk harassing you.” He pauses.