A shiver runs up my spine.

He just admitted to killing Noah. He didn’t come right out and say the words, but we both know what he meant. I watch Deacon climb into the Firebird.

For months all I wanted to do was remember.

Now I wish I could forget.

CHAPTER 39

OFFENSIVE MANEUVERS

“Come on … pick up.” It’s the third time I’ve tried to call Marco since I realized the truth about Deacon. But my calls keep going to voice mail.

Where is he?

Cruz doesn’t know, either, which only makes me worry more. I need to tell Marco the truth about his best friend—a guy who saved his sister’s life and Marco thinks of as a brother—is a murderer. How do I tell Marco one of the people he trusts most has been setting him up? It will crush him.

But I don’t have a choice.

If Deacon lies to the police, Marco could end up in prison.

I can’t shake the image of Deacon punching Noah over and over in the parking lot. Even after Noah stopped moving, he kept swinging. I have to tell Marco about all of it—every hit and every threat.

Deacon Kelley is a monster.

What if Marco already knows?

My worst fear keeps rearing its ugly head. I close my eyes. Marco would never keep that kind of secret.

You know him. You held him when he cried, and he held you.

My head hasn’t left the parking lot at the Sugar Factory. All the things I couldn’t remember flooded back at once. But the initial fear I felt when the memory returned has transformed into something more powerful.

Rage.

Tonight I’m supposed to steal a car for the monster who killed Noah—a monster who is controlling me. I’m sick of being manipulated, feeling like someone is always pulling my invisible strings.

The only way to make it stop is to cut the strings myself.

I burst through the apartment door, and it bangs against the wall. I open the fridge, prepared to drink a Diet Pepsi even though I hate the stuff, and see a six-pack of Diet Coke.

I consider telling Dad everything … for about ten seconds. He would lock Deacon up, but the likelihood of Marco ending up in jail along with him is too high.

My father made it clear that he doesn’t trust me, so I can’t count on him. With Marco’s future on the line and the possibility of Noah’s death going unpunished, I have to rely on myself.

In my room, I stand in front of the dresser with the stupid flowers painted all over it—and six silver frames sitting on top. My hand hovers over the one that’s facedown, third from the left. I flip it over, my hand shaking.

Noah grins back at me. It’s the same grin he gave me when we rode down the big hill on his Mongoose when he was twelve years old. The same one he gave me when he beat up Bobby McIntyre.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, Noah. But I’m going to make him pay.” I run my fingers over the glass.

Tonight Deacon Kelley is going to jail. Dad won’t believe his lies about Marco or anything else when Deacon shows up at the dockyard in a stolen car he forced me to drive. And Dad will finally catch the guy Deacon and Marco have been working for—the one who is blackmailing Marco. Telling Dad that Deacon killed Noah is the part I’m looking forward to most—that, and seeing that asshole in handcuffs.

Everybody wins.

Like any great plan, this one sounds crazy. It’s the kind of plan Noah would’ve come up with if he were still alive. I slide the back off of the frame, fold his picture into a small square, and tuck it in my bra.

Now I just need a dress. I rifle through my closet, hoping I packed at least one. A flash of satin catches my eye, and I smile. The dress my mother hates more than any other article of clothing I own hangs on the center of the rod. I bought it on a whim and never wore it.

Red satin.

Too short to wear at a formal party and too red to wear in front of my mom. It’s trashy and obvious—a sad cry for attention. Girls in the Heights don’t wear this type of dress.

But I’m not a girl in the Heights anymore.

* * *

“I still don’t understand why I have to come.” Cruz lounges across the backseat of the Fiat with her arms crossed.

“I’m not ready to face all those Woodley girls alone.”

“You’ve got Lex,” Cruz says.

“At least someone notices,” Lex says from behind the wheel. “Unfortunately, I can’t play bodyguard all night. My mom is hosting the gala, which means she’ll remember I exist. She’s already angry because I refused to ride in the limo.”

“Yeah. That would’ve been rough.” Cruz stares out the window at the mansions with sprawling gardens and circular driveways.

“Money doesn’t solve all your problems. Trust me,” Lex says.

“It would solve a ton of mine,” Cruz mumbles.

Lex glances at Cruz in the rearview mirror. “It didn’t solve Abel’s.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Cruz asks.

“Yeah. We called his dad’s manager, and Abel told him everything. He flew out yesterday and checked Abel’s mom into rehab.”

“She went?” I’m surprised.

“I’m not sure he gave her a choice.” Lex speeds past my mom’s house. “He’s going to help Abel, and that’s all I care about.”

Cruz sees the country club gate and sits straighter.

Lex stops at the guard station. “Hi. Lex Rivera, Francesca Devereux, and guest.”

The guard checks our names off a list and waves us through. White lights hang in the oaks that line the road to the main clubhouse. Cruz leans forward and pokes her head between the front seats, transfixed by a scene Lex and I have seen dozens of times.

“Look at that shit,” Cruz says quietly.

Lex glances out the window. “They really are pretty.”

Cruz snorts and falls back against her seat, hugging her waist with her free arm. “It’s a waste of electricity. I would probably pay six months’ worth of electric bills for what it costs to keep those stupid things on tonight.”

Everything in the Heights must look that way to her—wasteful, excessive, proof of how much we take for granted. I’m not that kind of person anymore, but I’m still ashamed. When Lex doesn’t make a sarcastic comment, I wonder if she’s feeling the same way.

She pulls up to the valet, and a guy a little older than us rushes to open Lex’s door. Her floor-length black gown fits her perfectly, and her choppy blond bob looks more elegant than usual with the sides slicked neatly behind her ears.