She Lied She Died by Carissa Lynch (books to read for teens TXT) 📗

backpack. Slowly, she came back down the stairs, barely glancing back at me as she turned to go.

At the doorway, she froze momentarily, shoulders slumped in defeat. This was a much different version than the Chrissy who preached on my porch that first morning like a messiah. She looked defeated.

I considered stopping her. Telling her to just stay … to just give me a minute to process, to think … But then I heard the soft thud of the front door closing.

The taxi money was still on the table.

Chapter Twenty-One

Although my head was spinning, my stomach twisted in knots, I collapsed into my parents’ old bed, tucking the blankets up to my chin. Within seconds, I was sleeping, dreams wild and fitful. Memories unhinged.

As I cracked my eyes open hours later, it all came rushing back. Jack might have been involved in Jenny’s death. There’s something I’m missing here … something we’ve missed all along. As much as I don’t want to believe her, I do. I do believe Chrissy…

Throwing the covers off, I was shocked when I saw the clock. It was after two in the afternoon.

For a brief moment, I couldn’t even remember what day it was. But then the rest of it came flooding back—Chrissy and the letter from Jack…

If what she said was true, then Jack was the last person to see Jenny alive. Did Chrissy do it or did he? Or was there someone else out there that day … John Bishop, perhaps?

In the kitchen, I flipped on the coffee pot and leaned against the counter, staring at the room as though I’d never seen it before.

The shoe box was still on the table. Beside it was Jack’s hand-written letter Chrissy had scrounged up from the cellar.

It was the same bright red Formica table we’d had since I was a child, one of the few remaining pieces from a life long gone. Gone but not completely forgotten.

If I closed my eyes, I could almost see us there—Jack at the end of the table, gangly arms reaching, always reaching, for more food. Mom smiling at the other end, although usually she was on her feet, passing food or refilling cups of milk … reheating my father’s broccoli and meat.

And Dad. He was always quiet and stern at the table, food sectioned off into perfect little portions, never touching. He ate slowly, methodically, and he laughed when we teased him about it.

Me. Old-me. Hair always in braids or a high ponytail, I sat on the opposite side, facing Dad. Close enough to kick my brother under the table, or fling potatoes at him when Mom wasn’t looking.

For so many years, I’d replayed that morning … peeking through my brother’s window, that awful dead girl in the field…

I knew that Jack was gone, visiting with Aunt Lane. But how had I known that?

I’d focused for so long on that one moment, that one day … but what about the night before? Closing my eyes, I tried to rewind the tape … tried to replay the events from before.

I had been with Adrianna until late that night. But why was I with her?

And then it dawned on me: Girl Scouts.

Often times, Adrianna’s mom picked us up from our Girl Scout meetings and dropped me off at home afterwards. Mom was working part-time at the grocery back then, because the farm was losing steam. They tried to hide their money problems from us, but Jack and I always knew. And we heard them fighting, angry words shout-whispered in the dark.

In truth, the only part about her leaving that truly hurt was the fact that she left me when she did. I was fourteen at the time—at an age where I didn’t think I needed anyone, but in truth, I needed my mom more than ever. We grew apart after that, Jack and I, and things with Dad too … I just wanted to get far far away, leave this shithole like Mom did.

But on that particular night, the night before we found Jenny … I squeezed my eyes, straining, willing my brain to cooperate. To remember.

Mom picked me up from Adrianna’s house. It was late. I know it was late because I was falling asleep on the way home.

Was Jack home when I got back?

That I couldn’t remember. As far as I knew, I’d gone straight to bed when I got in.

It was the next morning that I heard the sirens … that I woke up to the terrible sight. The terrible news about a girl I barely knew, Jenny … and Jack wasn’t there. I didn’t see him until days later when he got back from visiting our aunt.

If Dad was gone that night, which he might have been, and Mom was working late … and I was at my Girl Scout meeting and then at my best friend’s house, then it was possible that Jack was alone in the house. That he could have brought Jenny inside. That he could have done it…

No. My brother wouldn’t kill a person.

He had no reason to kill her.

He barely knew Jenny Juliott … but then, I thought about Chrissy, referring to the times she saw Jack at those parties. How did I not know he was hanging around with that crowd? What else did I miss?

My mind flashed back to my brother, lifeless and bleeding on the bedroom floor … there were many things I’d missed, apparently. I didn’t want to believe there was a specific reason he ended his life, but maybe … maybe he felt guilty all along.

I filled my coffee cup to the brim and carried it carefully to the front porch, blowing steam from the top. The autumn air was cool and crisp, chunky gray clouds forming in the east, hovering low beyond the trees.

I took one long, burning sip of my coffee and left it behind on the top porch step.

Hands tucked in my pockets, I crossed the field.

The ground was cold and hard,