Page 23 of We Are All Guilty Here

“You did.” Emmy walked across the room and leaned against the windowsill. “Talk to me about Madison and Cheyenne.”

“I hate them. I hope they’re dead.”

Emmy listened to his tone of voice. He seemed almost matter-of-fact about it. She asked, “Do a lot of people hate them?”

He shrugged, but said, “You mean everybody in the entire school? Sure.”

“Why?”

“They’re bitches. Both of them. If you look at ’em wrong, then your life is over.”

“How?”

“They tell people your dick is tiny. Or that you’re a bad lay. Or that you tried to touch them when you didn’t.”

“Did you have sex with either of them?”

“They’re not my type,” he said, his voice so filled with anger and longing that Emmy could practically feel it on her skin. “I have a girlfriend.”

“What’s her name?”

He looked down at the carpet again. His leg had started to shake. “Madison told everybody I’m gay. I’m not gay.”

“Okay,” Emmy said. “But it wouldn’t matter to me if you were.”

“Well, I’m not,” he insisted. “She lied to the whole school, and they believed her.”

“I’m sorry she did that to you, Jack. Sometimes people can be really mean for no reason except they need to be mean.” Emmy didn’t have time to dissect the Byzantine cruelties of high school girls. “Tell me what you think happened to Madison and Cheyenne tonight.”

Jack shook his head, but she gathered he was really consideringthe question. “I mean—it’s bad that they’re missing, right? I hate them, but whatever happened is bad.”

“It is,” she confirmed. “Did you watch the fireworks at the river tonight, or—”

He snorted an incredulous laugh. “I watched them with my dad on the back porch. In case you didn’t pick up on this from the last five minutes of our conversation, I’m not very popular.”

Emmy had guessed as much the second she’d seen him at the computer wearing his tighty whities and faded Weezer T-shirt. She mentally took a step back to really look at him. His hair was greasy. Acne spotted his cheeks. He would grow into his looks one day, but for now, his body was caught between boy and man—scrawny arms and legs, concave chest, a smattering of hair on his upper lip that he probably had to shave every third day. He was not only reading his summer assignments but taking notes. He was using a pseudonym to lightly stalk his peers. He was probably subjected to the worst kind of ridicule every time he stepped foot inside the school.

She said, “Jack, let’s start over. I’m not here to embarrass you. I know high school can be difficult.”

He snorted again. “I know you’re a Clifton.”

“Not the right kind of Clifton.” Emmy tried another approach. “My grandfather didn’t want to work at the factory. He sold his shares and joined a traveling circus.”

Jack stared at her. “For real?”

“Yep,” she said. “The Great Depression hit. The factory almost closed down. Grandpa decided he’d be better off taking the money and running. Except he didn’t get far. Broke his back on the trapeze. Came home in a wheelchair. That’s why my father dropped out of high school and joined the sheriff’s department. He had to help support the family.”

“Damn,” Jack said. “What about the money from selling his shares?”

“Went to prostitutes and gambling debts.”

“Damn.”

“Damn is right,” Emmy said. There was a reason Taybee grated so much. She had the arrogance of a Rich Clifton, which was hard for a Poor Clifton to swallow. “Jack, I’m going to be honest withyou. Whatever you’ve got in your room is your business. I don’t care about your girlfriend or your toys or your browser history. I just want to know how I can find Madison and Cheyenne.”

His right shoulder went up in a shrug. “They’re already dead.”

“Don’t believe everything you read online.” Emmy tried to sound like she wasn’t losing hope. “Do I have to explain to you what could be happening right now to two teenage girls who’ve been kidnapped by a stranger?”

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