23. Vivian

23

VIVIAN

JANUARY 2, 3:50 P.M.

I head straight for the parking lot, not even sure what my plan is besides getting the hell out. All I can think is that Lily left the ball with a stranger, and no one stopped it. I didn't stop it. I should have been there, should have done something.

But it's not just my fault. Wyatt was there, too. Wyatt was supposed to drive her home. And instead, he let her disappear.

I dig out my phone, jabbing at my screen until I find his contact, but just before I press CALL , I see him: Wyatt, throwing his backpack into the silver Honda that Lily should have been in that night.

I march over to him. "Hey!"

He freezes with his hand on the car door.

"Why didn't you drive Lily home after the ball?" I demand.

"Whoa, can you keep it down?" Wyatt's eyes dart around the parking lot, where a few other people are turning their heads. But I'm well past caring.

"Answer the question."

"I need to get home." He starts around to the driver's side, but I block his path. He groans. "Vivian, seriously. I'm leaving."

"And I'm seriously going to lie in front of this car if I have to."

For a moment, he holds me in his annoyingly blue stare. But even before he does, I know he'll fold.

"Fine," Wyatt says. "Get in."

I slide into the passenger seat and shut the door. "Start explaining."

He stares at the dash, teeth grinding, but this time, he doesn't try to get out of it.

"We got in a fight. She didn't want to get in the car, and we were arguing, and she—" His voice breaks. "She told me it was over."

I sink back into my seat. Maybe I shouldn't be so stunned, after everything, but I am. "Really?"

He shrugs. "Not like it's a surprise."

But it is. I mean, isn't it? Sure, Lily and Wyatt have been through some rough patches in the past few months, but they're Lily and Wyatt . They're the golden couple, the perfect picture of a Queen and her King. He adores her. She talks about their future like it's inevitable.

But then I guess there's a whole lot Lily and I have been keeping from each other.

Wyatt sniffs, turning away from me, and I realize he's holding back tears. And as much as I want to, I can't be mad at him. Because suddenly, I understand where all this has been coming from, the way he's been lashing out: he's as worried about Lily as I am. And he's blaming himself just as much, too.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't know."

The car goes quiet, and even though I'm a little less pissed, I still have to ask.

"Coach says he saw Lily getting into a black Mercedes. Do you know whose it was?"

Wyatt frowns. "Coach Davis?"

"He was outside getting his girlfriend's shawl or something. And you're not answering the question."

The look on Wyatt's face turns into something like dread. "Lily told me she was going to Uber."

I bite the inside of my cheek. Maybe it was just an Uber. Maybe I'm jumping to conclusions. But still, I don't relax.

"What if she didn't?" I ask. "What if it was someone else? Someone—"

"She ran away."

He says it so calmly that for a second, I don't think I heard him right.

"What?" I manage finally. "You don't actually think she just—"

"Vivian, I'm telling you." He turns to me with a look I hate, like he's sure. "That night, she told me she was leaving."

It's like the floor falls out from under me.

"What? Where?"

"She didn't say. Just said she was going."

"And you didn't tell anyone?"

"Obviously, I did," he snaps. "I mean, eventually. That night, I was so mad and honestly fucking embarrassed that I couldn't even talk about it. But I told her parents the next morning. They knew. But she was already gone."

Lily ran away. It's what Marty said, what Piper said. But it can't be true. Not with everything else that's happened.

"She wouldn't," I argue. "It doesn't make sense. We found her necklace at the Den. She sent us this email."

"What does it matter? She clearly didn't give a shit about any of us."

"Bullshit."

"Yeah? Then why didn't she give you a heads-up?" His stare burns into me so hard it almost stings.

I turn away.

"You could have told me," I say.

He laughs darkly. "So could Piper."

I force myself to look at him again. "What?"

"I don't know how she found out, but I overheard her ratting to our parents that I ‘lied' about driving Lily home, or whatever. I wouldn't be surprised if she knows the rest." He scoffs. "Honestly, I'm shocked she didn't tell you everything. Take every chance she had to act all superior."

Maybe I shouldn't, but I feel betrayed. It's not like I know Piper that well, but I thought we were on the same team. I thought, maybe, we were something like friends. But this whole time, she had a lead we could have used, and she hid it. And maybe it's not the worst lie, but it's one too many.

I shove the car door open. "Thanks for the chat. This was awesome."

"Wait. I'm sorry. I just—" He stops, and as much as I want to leave, I freeze, my heart suddenly pounding. "Look, I know she's your best friend, and you don't want to hear it, but maybe we all need to wake up to the fact that we don't know Lily as well as we think we do. She was never going to let us."

I want to argue that he's wrong. I've known Lily for thirteen years. You can't know a person for that long and not know them.

Can you?

I shut the door, and he doesn't try to stop me. Or maybe he knows I won't let him. Either way, I storm back to my car alone, throat burning. All I want is to get the hell out of this parking lot and drive somewhere no one will see me cry.

And then I notice the envelope on my windshield.

"No." I say it out loud, almost involuntarily. But already, like the lead in a horror movie, I'm reaching out to take it, even as the rational person inside me is screaming to throw it away and peel out of here.

But this envelope is heavy. There's something bulky inside it, more than just another threatening message.

I shut myself in my car and rip it open, realizing it's not a message at all. It's a phone. A flip phone, small and outdated. A burner, I think, because it's exactly how I'd picture one, the kind people use in crime shows.

It takes me a second to figure out the buttons, but when I do, I open up the messages. There's only one conversation thread, and it's all from late December. Right before the ball, I realize, my heart skipping a beat. This must be the number Lily was texting that night. But then I notice the full date.

These messages are from over a year ago. December 28, the night of Margot's ball. The night she died.

It starts with a series of texts from an unsaved New Orleans number, sent around two o'clock that afternoon:

Fine keep ignoring me

I literally don't even care anymore

But I'm telling everyone about us

Try and fucking stop me

Whoever was using this phone responded minutes later:

I'm so sorry. Can we talk about this first?

And then, half an hour later:

Margot?? Please talk to me

She didn't text back until a little after midnight.

Meet me at our spot on the levee.

The levee. That's where they found Margot in her car, OD'd. Or so everyone thought. Because now it's clear that that's not what happened at all. Margot met someone that night, hours after she threatened to "tell everyone" about them. That has to mean an affair, right? And whoever had this burner, whoever Margot was meeting, said they just wanted to talk.

But what if their real goal was to shut her up, by any means possible?

My head rushes as it fully dawns on me.

Margot was murdered, and I'm holding the burner phone of the man who did it.

The next question is almost an afterthought: How the hell did it end up sitting on my windshield?