One of Us Is Next: The Sequel to One of Us Is Lying

Phoebe

Thursday, March 26

The graffiti scrawled across the dividing wall next to the paper towel dispenser in the girls’ first-floor bathroom is brand-new, written in wavering blue ink. Phoebe Lawton is a total…Except I can’t read the last word, because somebody crossed it out with a black Sharpie. Thank you, unknown benefactor who is probably Maeve. Then again, no. She’d have covered the whole thing so I wouldn’t see my name.

My hands don’t even shake as I’m washing them. At this point, personalized graffiti in the bathroom is nothing. In the past few days I’ve gotten two more Instagram messages from Derek, cleaned up after my sister twice, and flunked a science test because I can’t concentrate in this hellhole. Plus Maeve keeps texting me screenshots of that forum she’s gotten obsessed with all over again, where somebody named Darkestmind constantly yells WHERE ARE YOU BAYVIEW2020? Like it’s some kind of Missed Connections board for freaky loners.

Me? I’m just relieved that school is over for the day, and I can forget about Bayview High for a few hours.

I’m pulling a paper towel from the dispenser when the door opens, and a second later Jules appears. “Oh, hi,” I say, flustered. I haven’t talked to Jules since I watched the video Luis took from Sean’s phone. I barely see her at school anymore, unless you count all the times I’ve skulked past her hallway makeout sessions with Sean.

“Heyyy,” Jules says, her eyes flicking toward the graffiti. She doesn’t look surprised. I’d love to think she’s the one who halfheartedly crossed it out, because at least that would mean she still cares a little bit about me. But it’s just as likely that she wrote it in the first place, considering how far up Sean’s ass she is now. She’ll even lie for him—something I’d never have believed possible if I hadn’t seen the video with my own eyes.

I toss my wet paper towel in the wastebasket. “How’s Sean?”

Her mouth purses as she pulls out a tube of lip gloss and unscrews the top. “Don’t pretend you care.”

Watching her outline a perfect pout makes me acutely aware of my own dry lips. I pull a tube of Burt’s Bees lip balm from my bag, grimacing when I realize it’s coconut flavored. My least favorite. I swipe it across my mouth anyway. “He must miss Brandon, though.”

Jules’s eyes go flat as they meet mine in the mirror. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I shrug. “Nothing. I just feel bad for him.” Even to my own ears, the words sound fake. Sean hasn’t been acting like someone who lost his best friend. If anything, he’s swaggering around Bayview High more than ever.

Do you think there’s any possibility that somebody wanted Brandon to get hurt?

Knox asked that, and I brushed it off as too ridiculous to even consider. Still, Sean was standing right next to Brandon when he died, egging him on. Sean sounded shocked and terrified in that video, but let’s face it—he’s proved since then that he can play a part when he has to.

I gaze at my reflection in the mirror, and tug on my ponytail to tighten it. “Pretty scary to know it could have been any one of you, huh?” I ask.

“What?” Jules blinks at me, confused.

“Any one of you could have fallen through that landing. Since you were all going to take the same shortcut.”

Jules’s face is blank for a few seconds too long. She’s not a particularly good liar once you know to look for it. “Oh yeah,” she says finally.

“Just random chance that Brandon went first,” I add. I don’t know why I’m still talking, or what I’m hoping to get out of the conversation. Jules won’t confide in me. She picked her side a while ago. But there’s still part of me hoping to spot a crack in her armor, some sign that we could talk like we used to.

Hey, Jules, did you know that lying to the police could get you in trouble?

Don’t you think Brandon’s parents deserve to know what really happened?

Did you ever think your new boyfriend might be a sociopath?

“I don’t really like to talk about it.” Jules smacks her lips and drops the tube of gloss in her bag, then flips her hair over one shoulder and turns for the door. “I have to go. Sean and I have plans after school.”

“Me too,” I say. Her eyebrows shoot up. “I mean, I have plans too.”

Sort of. I’m working. But I’m bringing friends, so it counts.

Jules looks at me appraisingly. She knows my social options are pretty limited right now. “You and Knox?” she guesses. The disdain in her voice is clear enough that I know exactly what she’s implying.

I resist the urge to say It’s not a date. “And Maeve.”

Jules smirks and heads for the door, yanking it open. “Well, that sounds like a fun ménage à trois.”

I stomp after her, trying to marshal some kind of comeback, but as soon as she hits the hallway she’s engulfed in the octopus-like embrace of Sean Murdock. “Baby,” he growls, suctioning himself to her face. I skirt around them, my jaw clenched, suddenly wishing I’d tried to make the Nate thing happen while I had the chance.

—

Café Contigo is quiet for a Thursday, and by four o’clock most of the people in the restaurant are staff. Mrs. Santos, who’s making a rare appearance at the cash register, gestures me over when my only customer gets up to leave. Ahmed, the other waiter on duty, is leaning against the counter beside her, his eye on the table full of hip young Bayview moms sitting in his station with expensive strollers. They’re all wearing cute yoga clothes, their hair in carefully messy ponytails. The babies have been quiet since they arrived, but one of them has started to fuss.

“Hush, hush,” the baby’s mother says in a singsong voice, moving the stroller back and forth. “You’re okay, go back to sleep.” Ahmed looks wary, and I don’t blame him. I have five cousins under the age of three, and I know for a fact that as soon as one baby starts to cry the rest will join in solidarity.

“Why don’t you go ahead and clock out, Phoebe,” Mrs. Santos says. She’s tall and slender, with expressive dark eyes and elegant cheekbones. Luis gets his good looks from her. “Addy will be in at five, and Ahmed can handle the room until then.”

“Okay,” I say, starting to untie my apron.

Ahmed, still hovering beside Mrs. Santos with his eyes on the yoga mom table, asks, “Did you give Phoebe that thing, Mrs. S?” We both blink at him, and he clarifies, “The note?”

Mrs. Santos makes a tsk sound and shakes her head. “I completely forgot! My apologies, Phoebe. Ahmed said someone dropped this off for you earlier.” She roots under the counter and hands me a sealed envelope with my name scrawled across the front. “A young man. What did he say again, Ahmed?”

“That you were expecting it,” Ahmed says. The blondest yoga mom waves her hand to catch his attention, and he starts across the room toward her.

“Expecting what?” I ask, but he doesn’t hear me. I pull my apron off and stash it behind the counter, heading for the table where Knox, Maeve, and Luis are sitting. Luis is working, supposedly, but he’s been sitting and talking for the past hour. I could swear that every time I look over, his chair is a little closer to Maeve’s. She’s been looking especially pretty since she got her test results back, and today she’s wearing a fitted T-shirt with shimmery gold threading that brings out the honey color of her eyes. That unexpected clean bill of health has her practically glowing. Or maybe something else does.

I rip the envelope open as I walk, curious, and pull out a single sheet of paper. “Are you done for the day?” Maeve asks, but I only half hear her. My heart jumps into my throat as I read the words in front of me:

What’s with the disappearing act?

We need to talk.

Meet me at the gazebo in Callahan Park at 5:30 today.

DO NOT ignore this like you’ve been ignoring everything else.

What the hell? “Ahmed!” I call. He’s striding toward the kitchen at a rapid clip but pauses at my urgent tone.

“What?”

I wave the note. “Who left this?”

“I told you. Some guy.”

“But who?”

“He didn’t give his name. Just—a guy. He’s been here before.”

“What’s going on?” Maeve asks. I hand her the note. Her eyes scan the page and she inhales sharply. “Whoa. Who is this from?”

“I don’t know,” I say helplessly. The only person I’ve been ignoring lately is Derek, and I never imagined that actual stalking was his style. But then again, other than the most ill-advised ten minutes of my life in Jules’s laundry room during her Christmas party, it’s not like I’ve spent quality time with the guy.

I wave frantically at Ahmed, who’s trying to escape into the kitchen again. “Ahmed, wait! Could you please come here for a second?”

Maeve reads the note out loud to Luis and Knox as Ahmed approaches. Suddenly we’re all talking at once, tripping over one another. Finally Maeve raises her voice above everyone else’s. “Hang on. The guy who left this, you said he’s been here before?” She tilts her head questioningly at Ahmed, who nods. “What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. Standard white dude.” Ahmed shrugs. “Little older than you guys, maybe. Brown hair. Pale. Kinda tall.”

That’s Derek, Derek, and Derek. Which puts my mind slightly at ease. At least Derek is a known quantity, sort of.

Knox’s eyes get wide. “That sounds like…was the guy intense-looking?” he asks.

Ahmed frowns. “I don’t know what that means.”

“You know—focused. Serious,” Knox says. “Like he’s got a one-track mind.”

One of the babies at the mom table starts flat-out wailing, and Ahmed tugs at his shirt collar. “Look, I have to put in their order, okay? Be back in a minute.”

He hurries away and I turn to Knox, confused. “Why are you asking that?”

“Because that description Ahmed just gave reminds me of someone I’ve seen here before.” Knox turns to Maeve and taps her arm. “You remember that guy who came in a while back? The one who was a dick to Mr. Santos and kept asking about Phoebe? The one Luis and Manny chased off?”

“I’m sorry, what?” I burst out. “When did this happen?”

“I remember,” Luis says. “It was a few weeks ago, wasn’t it?” He leans back in his chair, arms folded, and Maeve sneaks a glance at him with color rising in her cheeks. She looks like she just completely lost track of the conversation. I’m tempted to snap my fingers in her face and remind her that she’s supposed to be worrying about me right now, not staring at Luis’s admittedly nice biceps. Priorities.

“Yeah. I didn’t think much of it at the time,” Knox says, looking apologetic. “I thought it was just some jerk, but he came back a couple nights ago. Here, I mean. Ordered a coffee, sat around, then left without drinking it. I started wondering if it was maybe Derek, trying to find you because you’re ignoring his messages.”

I glare at him, hands on my hips. “Why are you just telling me this now?”

“I haven’t been thinking straight,” Knox says defensively. “I have a concussion.”

“You had a concussion. Two weeks ago.”

“The effects can linger for years,” Knox informs me. He drums his fingers on the table. “Besides, I wasn’t sure it meant anything. But do you think it might be him? Is Derek a tall, pale, brown-haired guy?”

“Yeah, he is.” I say. “I personally wouldn’t describe him as intense-looking, but to each their own, I guess.” Maeve hands the note back to me, and I stuff it into my pocket, my mind spinning. Would Derek really do this—show up at my job and leave a threatening note just because I’ve been ignoring his Instagram messages? He never acted aggressive or possessive around Emma. As far as I know, anyway.

“Who’s Derek?” Luis asks.

All I can think is thank God he’s out of the gossip loop. It gives me hope that there’s life after Bayview High that doesn’t include ongoing, detailed analysis of everybody’s worst mistakes. “Long story,” I say, “but he’s someone I’ve been blowing off lately.”

“Do you have a picture of him?” Luis asks. “We all saw the guy. We could tell you whether it’s him or not.”

“Great idea. Why didn’t I think of that?” Maeve asks. Luis smiles, and she gives him another lingering look that, in my opinion, answers the question.

“No,” I say. “I mean, I can look him up right now but he never posts pictures of himself…” I take out my phone, open Instagram, and pull up Derek’s profile to see if he’s updated it recently. His entire feed is still nothing but animals, food, and artsy pictures of tree branches. I show it to Knox, who makes a face.

“No selfies? What kind of weirdo is he?” Then he glances at the clock on the wall, which Mr. Santos finally fixed. “Callahan Park is in Eastland, right? We could make it there before five thirty if we leave now.”

“I’m not meeting him!” I protest, but Knox holds up a placating hand.

“I don’t mean that. But maybe we can, like, spy on him. See if it’s Derek. Then you can report him for harassment or something.” He pulls out his wallet and removes a few bills, putting them on top of the twenty that’s already on the table. “We could go to my house first and grab my binoculars so we don’t have to get close.”

“Binoculars?” I’m almost distracted for a second. “What do you have those for?”

Knox looks mildly baffled. “Doesn’t everybody have binoculars?”

“No,” Maeve and I say at the same time.

Luis’s brow furrows. “You think that’s a good idea? This guy is practically stalking you, Phoebe. Maybe you should tell the police, let them handle it.”

“But I don’t know for sure if Derek wrote the note,” I say. “His Instagram messages were a lot more polite.” I turn to Maeve. “Can you drive us?”

She twists her dark hair over one shoulder and nods. “Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll come with you,” Luis says instantly. “It’s quiet here, I can leave.”

“Okay,” I say, trying not to sound as relieved as I feel. I love Knox and Maeve, but they’re not exactly my first picks as backup if anything goes wrong. Whoever this guy is, Luis scared him off once, and I’m pretty sure he can do it again. “It’s a plan, then. Let’s do a little stalking of our own.”