One of Us Is Back (One of Us Is Lying, #3)

by Karen M. McManus

“Good afternoon, Eastland High, and welcome to the start of our summer seminar series.” The man behind the podium doesn’t introduce himself, probably because he doesn’t have to—he’s likely a teacher or an administrator.

Currently feeling like I missed something. Why is this a big deal for addy?

“Fine by me,” Maeve says with a shrug. “Kris says to stay strong, Addy. He also wants to know if you’re still up for waffles tomorrow morning. I happen to like waffles, too, in case that’s relevant information for the two of you. Luis says Fuck that guy. He’s not talking about Kris, obviously; he means—”

“Nobody knows that better than today’s guest. He’s here through an educational partnership with the California Department of Corrections, to speak frankly with you about how his actions derailed what was once a bright and promising future. Please welcome our speaker, who’s a current inmate at the East Crenshaw Juvenile Detention Facility and a former student from neighboring Bayview High—Jake Riordan.”

Bro that’s actually fucked. He helped Simon get away with faking and blaming his death on four people and he assaulted Addy simply because she had cheated on him. And now he gets to act as a public speaker like what he did was just a happy mistake and not choices he actively made.

Oh, right. Jake wasn’t actually trying to kill me, according to his very expensive lawyer. Lack of specific intent, she said, along with a lot of other legal buzzwords piled onto his defense that, ultimately, kept him from being tried as an adult.

Fuck that

But memories are short. Jake’s been a model prisoner ever since he went in, and last December, a true crime show ran a profile on him that was, as the Bayview Blade said, “surprisingly sympathetic.” Jake was humble. He was remorseful. He was committed to helping other young people avoid the same mistakes he’d made.

That’s disgusting. He committed crimes and was old enough to know better let’s stop acting like he couldn’t have chosen differently. These weren’t mistakes he did everything he did with clear intent.

He’s clever. He talks a lot about pressure, undue influence, and duress, as though he were Simon’s reluctant, clueless patsy instead of his eager conspirator. According to Jake, he doesn’t even remember attacking me and Janae Vargas in the woods behind her house; all he wanted, he claimed during the trial, was for us to stop threatening him. Us, threatening him.

The camera jerkily pans her way, and I catch the flash of another girl’s coppery curls behind her. It almost looks like—but, no. I must be seeing things. Still, when I glance at Maeve, she’s squinting at the television with a puzzled frown.

“If you could go back in time, what would you do differently?” the boy asks. “Everything,” Jake says instantly.

That’s such a lazy answer. Of course you’d say that nobody wants to be in prison of course you’d say something to make it out like you’d do everything to not be there. That doesn’t really hold you accountable though.

There it is. That’s what I’ve been waiting for—the reason I keep torturing myself by watching these. I don’t want to see it, but I need to acknowledge that it exists. That glint in Jake’s eye. The one he can’t hide for a full Q&A session, no matter how hard he tries. The one that reflects all the anger he’s pretending he no longer feels. The one that says, I’m not sorry. The one that says, What would I do differently? I wouldn’t get caught.

I know Addy watches these things. What am I supposed to say if she sees me? How do I explain…this?

Ohhhh so addy saw phoebe while she was watching that’s why she thought it was weird.

Are you truly sorry? Would you ever hurt someone again? What made you like this? Those are the questions I need answers to. I can’t bring myself to ask them, but I keep hoping that maybe someone else will.

“I try not to think about that,” he says. “It’s out of my hands. I’m just living the best life I can, one day at a time.” I search what I can see of his face and think, Please let that be true.

Time for a New Game, Bayview. Those are the only words, red against a stark white background. They fade off the screen and I wait, mildly intrigued despite myself, to see what’s next. Then the ad copy cycles back to Time for a New Game, Bayview once again. So much for building suspense. Or letting people know what the hell you’re promoting. A-plus job, advertisers.

As far as I can tell Stan isn’t moving any more than he usually does on these field trips, but he does seem to like having a new rock to sit on.

My girl’s back in town for the next two months, so I guess I am, in fact, living the dream.

My eyes land on one I haven’t seen before that’s a lot more glossy than what’s usually there. Bright white, with just a few words in a large red font: Time for a New Game, Bayview.

Ms. Riordan, who’s too overcome with emotion to process the fact that her good news sucks for everyone else, roots around in her bag for a tissue before answering Vanessa’s question. “It’s more than that,” she says shakily, pressing it to her eyes. “He’s coming home.”

“Anything good?” My brother finally glances up, and my heart skips at the trace of animation on his face. He’s changed so much, so quickly, that it’s like an unexpected gift to catch a glimpse of his old self—the sweet, earnest boy who could talk for hours about rewiring a toaster. Then he says, “This guy posted a video about how his girlfriend died in this freak fishing accident. He said she got dragged underwater by a giant carp and drowned, but it turns out she’s not actually dead. He made the whole thing up. She didn’t even know till she saw the video.”

“That’s not funny,” I say testily. Owen shrugs and swipes at his phone. “I think it is.”

That’s concerning.

He’s thirteen. Which is true, but it’s also true that Owen kept a deadly game going that ultimately killed my ex-boyfriend. Snickering about somebody faking a death doesn’t seem nearly as harmless against that backdrop.

I don’t understand how you can look at someone who’s obviously hurting and think, You know what this person needs? More time in their own head.

I’m frozen in place, still unable to speak. The woman glances nervously at me and touches Jake’s arm. “Sweetheart, she probably has someone coming—” “I don’t.” I blurt the words without thinking, and before I can take them back, Jake flashes an easy grin.

Phoebe what the fuck. You’re so scared about your brother becoming a sociopath well guess what you’re looking at one right now. He’s the one that helped start all this shit with Simon and is the reason you went through that’s stupid truth or dare game a few months ago (because that person only go that idea from jake) so why are you talking to him? I’m all for people growing and learning from their past actions but like addy said jake wouldn’t have done anything differently besides getting caught.

“You’re Phoebe Lawton, right?” he says, grunting a little as he positions the spare tire. “I remember you from Bayview High.” No, you don’t, I think. You remember me from whatever news program you watched in prison.

“I…I should really learn how to change a tire,” I manage. Jake stands there with his hands on his hips, eyes glinting as he holds my gaze for a few beats too long. I can’t help it; I back up another step. Then he smiles again—more wolfish than charming this time—and says, “It’s easy, Phoebe. All you need is practice.”

Did he make her get a flat so he could change it and have an excuse to interact with her? Weirdo

If we toss Reggie, everyone’s rent goes up by a hundred and fifty bucks. Sana’s even more strapped for cash than I am, and Jiahao, Deacon, and Crystal aren’t much better off. Nobody in this house gets any help from their family.

Maybe they should stop getting stoned then. That shit ain’t cheap.

“You guys suck,” I grumble. Deacon shrugs. “Reggie’s a dick, but what can you do?” I exhale a frustrated breath. “I don’t know, Deacon. Kick him out?”

“Reggie will have to be on his best behavior from now on,” she says. “Including the Fourth of July party tomorrow. Bedroom door open at all times.” I snort. “Way to lay down the law, Sana. That’ll do it.” “It will. Trust me,” Sana says before heading upstairs.

Yeah sure trust the idiot that doesn’t know what she’s talking about who doesn’t know that this has been his pattern of behavior since high school.

“Listen, Nate—are you sure you didn’t pick up my keys by mistake? Not the house ones,” he adds before I can protest. “I did find those, right where you said they’d be. The work ones. Can’t find them anywhere.” “I’m sure,” I say, unease creeping over me.

I’m guessing whoever made that billboard probably stole them.

“Yeah, of course,” I say. My mother is positive that it’s some kind of guerilla marketing tactic for Cooper’s summer baseball league. She refuses to be swayed by my counterargument that baseball is not a new game, and has more than one rule.

Maybe it was just a prank, but…” Ashton reaches out a hand to stroke the soft sleeve of the elephant pajamas. “Eli is worried that it might have been someone from the revenge forum. You know, picking up where Jared left off.”

“I’ve set aside the whole day tomorrow. If Vengeance Is Mine has moved, I’ll find it. I promise.” There’s something unnaturally stiff about her posture, though, and I don’t think it has anything to do with spending hours on a bicycle.

I can’t speak. There’s no way I can tell her the truth: Oh, you know, just wondering if a boy who tries to commit murder can actually change, so I don’t have to keep obsessing about my brother. So that means lying—again—but

You really should just tell them about him. They wouldn’t judge you for covering for him.

I like it better upstairs; it’s darker, quieter, and I don’t know anyone. A bedroom door is open—literally tied open, with some kind of sheet contraption fastened around a radiator, which I’d probably be curious about if I were sober—and a bunch of people are hanging around inside, talking. Nobody seems to mind when I drop into a beanbag chair and pull out my phone,

Nooo please phoebe not Reggie’s room!

Go away, I try to say, but the words won’t come. I’m so impossibly tired. “Oh, Phoebe,” someone says, sounding as though they’re talking to me from the end of a long, echoing tunnel. “You’ve made a big mistake.”

Someone def drugged her

“Perfect,” Bronwyn says. “But not just us, right? I want to invite Kate and Yumiko, and Evan, maybe….” She trails off and shoots me a sideways glance. “Or not.” “Whatever.” I shrug. I can be magnanimous about her ex when he has no shot.

We tried to restart the Reggie discussion with Sana last night, but even Bronwyn had to admit that we weren’t getting anywhere. Ultimately, it wasn’t the time or the place. But it pissed me off when Sana admitted she hadn’t even looked at the link to Katrina’s video that Bronwyn sent her, because that would’ve been bare minimum for taking the problem seriously.

Man fuck sana

“She texted her mom late to say she was spending the night at my house. Why would she do that?” “Because she was staying someplace else and didn’t want her mother to know?”

Because the game has started again and whoever drugged her didn’t want anyone to know right away

Reggie was…I don’t have a clue where Reggie was, but his door was shut because at some point last night, he’d managed to undo Sana’s sheet contraption. “Oh no,” Bronwyn says, like she’s reading my mind. “She couldn’t be…she’s not with Reggie, is she?”

“Can we focus on that, please, and worry about the party later?” “From what you’ve told me, Phoebe lied to you about where she was spending the night,” Officer Budapest says. “Isn’t it more likely that she’s simply gone somewhere that she didn’t want you to know about? It’s been, what?” He makes a show of glancing at his watch. “Less than twelve hours since people saw her last?”

Yeah except she lied that she was with her friends which she’s not and why would she hide from them when they were drinking too? Also why would she go anywhere without her phone? She can lie to her mom without leaving her phone behind.

“The biggest unsolved mystery in Bayview is why that guy still has a job,”

“Nate!” he hollers, pointing the newspaper at the red car. “Do me a favor and remind your friends that you have a driveway.” “They’re not—” Nate breaks off, a frown creasing his forehead, then stalks purposefully toward the car. Before he can reach it, though, the engine roars and the car peels away. Within seconds it’s gone, leaving a trail of exhaust in its wake. “That wasn’t a friend of mine,” Nate calls to his neighbor. “Not one of yours either?”

“Addy,” Jake calls after me. Of course he can’t leave well enough alone. He made a solid attempt at acting conciliatory for the benefit of whoever the guy next to him is, but Jake has never been able to let me have the last word.

Buddy stfu you are technically violating a restraining order right now so be happy she’s just walking away

“Her arm,” Nate says as my eyes drop and I let out a shocked gasp. The word is written on Phoebe’s left arm in what looks like black Sharpie, each capital letter so big and bold that it should’ve been impossible to miss: Practice

“And he’s still whining about that. In between trying to convince Tami Lee to attend a monster-truck rally with him.” Luis clutches his chest. “I can’t believe you’re two-timing me with a guy named Jellyfish,” he says.

Addy tugs on her earring. “I’ve seen green-vine wallpaper before. Not wheat,” she adds, with a pointed glance at Cooper. “At a vacation house in Ramona, you know, near the Cuyamaca Mountains? Just about an hour from here.” She takes a deep breath before adding, “It belongs to Jake’s family.”

Okay but why would he take her way out there? Also, it feels very much like this is confirmation bias at work you want it to be Jake so you’re trying to connect it to him.

“Poor example?” Ms. Riordan echoed. “For taking my job seriously?” “For caring about it more than you care about this family.” “But I…but that’s…” Even on the second floor, Simon could hear Ms. Riordan take a deep, steadying breath. “How can you say that, Scott, with all the traveling you do? At least my work is local! I’ve never missed a Pop Warner game, or a parent-teacher conference, or—” “So it’s my fault you’re obsessed with work?” Mr. Riordan asked.

Wow the gaslighting is real

“Just go, Katherine,” Mr. Riordan broke in. His tone was curt, dismissive. “I’ll take care of our meal for the evening. Like I always do.” The front door slammed, and then there was nothing but silence for so long that Simon assumed Ms. Riordan had slipped away too. “Like it’s so hard to order takeout,” she finally muttered, and Simon nearly laughed out loud.

“It must drive you crazy, huh?” he asks in the kind of buddy-buddy tone the golf guys use when they try to make me talk sports. “That even though I spent a lot more time than you did behind bars—wrongly, I might add—you still have to serve me. And you always will.” His eyes glint as he folds his arms on the counter.

Yeah that def sounds like a guy who’s regretful of his actions.

The third woman takes a long swig of her drink before saying, “Go ahead and hit him, Nate. I’ll tell everyone it was self-defense.”

“Do you have any idea how much I love you?” he asks roughly. “I do,” she says, her voice softening. “I love you too.”