Page 24 of Gilt

I can’t say the same when it comes to Monroe, but I bite my tongue. A police station probably isn’t the best place to crack that joke. It might go over worse than saying the word bomb at an airport, and I don’t think I can handle a cavity search on top of everything else this day has brought.

“I’m kidding,” I reassure him. “I’m not even sure what they think we did.”

“Us?” He tilts his head, and a few dark strands flop over his forehead. “Nothing. They have a suspect already.”

“Who?” I’d been right when I guessed he would know something. Now I just have to get him to fess up. Maybe I could borrow the interrogation room.

“Don’t you know—” He struggles to find the words. It makes me want to draw him a map. If he’s sitting on the answers to what’s gone on in the last twenty-four hours, I want to know. But before I can get anything out of him, Monroe rounds the corner, and Jonas does his best impression of a clam.

“What are you doing here? Haven’t you done enough?” She marches straight up to me and sticks her face inches from my own.

I want to tell her to brush her teeth, but I take the high road. It’s not a favor she’ll ever return for me. She probably got woken up by a homicide squad this morning. Instead, I cross my arms, pointing my elbows out in case she decides to move any closer. “I haven’t done anything except crash your stupid party. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

I can take the high road, but being nice to her is another story. Even though this close, I can see her eyes are bloodshot from crying.

“Don’t play dumb. It makes all of us look bad when girls act stupid,” Monroe snarls. Jonas grabs her hand, but she shakes him off.

“Not acting, sugar. I really don’t know,” I inform her. Maybe I need to write clueless on a Post-It note and stick it to my forehead.

“You’re not even worth yelling at,” she mutters, sounding more tired than annoyed. She pulls away, turns her attention to Jonas, and grabs my coffee out of his hands. Taking one sip, she scrunches her nose as if she expected it to be Starbucks. “That’s terrible. They reached mom, so they said I could go home…”

She trails off as her voice cracks. I’m torn between wanting to melt into the wall and sneaking away. Watching your enemy break down isn’t as thrilling as I might have suspected. It’s just awkward. Right now, I wish I was actually invisible to her, so that I could sneak out without prompting another round. She shakes her head once as if willing away tears. “Mom won’t be back until tomorrow.”

From now on, I’m taking a vow of social celibacy. My only friends will be on my recommended watch list. Yes, I will miss out on nights like last night—and boys who can kiss like Jameson.

Jameson, who might be a murderer. I need to remind myself of that before I take a mental vacay down memory lane. Jameson, who might be dead. It hurts to even consider it. But the truth is I don’t know anything about Jameson, particularly why he was there last night, but Detective Mackey seems very interested in him. If my boy barometer is that off it might be best if I stay at home from now until the only thing that excites me is the local Bingo night.

“You can stay at my place. My parents are in Maui,” he says, rubbing her shoulder in a soothing gesture.

Yesterday afternoon it would have made me physically ill to be near this, but today I’m almost glad he’s here to take care of her. It’s as if I stepped through a funhouse mirror. Suddenly I’m over Jonas and worrying about Monroe. I need to get out of here before I join the pep squad and start wearing cardigans.

“I can’t believe he actually did it,” she whispers, obviously forgetting I’m still within earshot. “They didn’t get along, but this? I have no idea when they’re going to release Jameson. If they’re going to…”

I take a step closer at the sound of his name, and Monroe’s silver eyes narrow. “What are you looking at?”

But I’m not looking at her, I’m listening to her. “Jameson.”

I don’t know what reaction I expect to get out of her when I say his name. I simply can’t help myself.

“Yes, you’ve helped him get away with murder.”

Jameson. Murderer. The words crash into me, but I don’t feel them. They’re as empty as the hollow pit left from where my stomach dropped out. I kissed him. I liked him. Until this moment, I’d mostly been able to dismiss all the strange questions I was asked this afternoon. Now the pieces are starting to fit, and as the whole picture comes into focus, I realize I’m in it. I’m not merely some girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“You don’t know that he did it.” That’s Jonas—always the mediator. Would he still believe that if he knew that I’d woken up alone this morning?

Stomach acid bubbles into my throat, and I swallow it—and the urge to vomit—down.

“Who else, then? You? Her?” She shoves her thumb in my direction.

“They think Jameson did it?” I’m asking a question, but I don’t want the answers.

“Are you having some type of fit?” Monroe hisses, hurling a disgusted look in my direction. “Yes, Jamie killed our father.”

My family calls me Jamie. Everything clicks into place, and I reach out to steady myself against the wall. The photo of Jameson with Monroe. Everything Jameson said the night before. Jameson is Monroe’s brother. Nathaniel’s son.

Nathaniel is dead. Jameson is a West. And somehow, I’ve found myself in the middle of a murder.

“You’re here to be his alibi,” Monroe continues. “I don’t know what’s more disgusting, knowing that a slut like you touched my brother or that he’d admit to everyone that he stooped so low.”