40. April

40

APRIL

JANUARY 3, 12:25 A.M.

Coach Davis takes a step, and then another, close enough that I can see the sharp point of the needle, can almost feel it puncturing my skin. Piper screams, I think, but I can't be sure. It's like I'm here, but I'm not—in my body, and also above it all, watching it unfold with Margot by my side. Coach grips my arm, pinching the skin, and through the fear, the racing animal heartbeat of it, I think, I did it, Margot. I didn't run away this time.

And then, noise. A door opening. Someone running.

Coach's head whips toward the sound.

"Dad?" he asks, like Marty must be all-knowing.

But he's just as surprised. Marty runs to the side of the float, looking for the source of the sound.

"No," he says, eyes widening. " No. Reed—"

Marty doesn't get to finish the command, because a shout cuts him off.

"Don't fucking touch them!"

Vivian.

Icy pinpricks of relief wash over me, and now that I'm not seconds from death, I'm full of a burning need to live. I buck my legs, kicking Coach square in the balls, and he doubles over, the syringe falling from his grip.

Footsteps thunder up the float stairs. Marty grabs for the syringe, raising the needle just as Vivian appears on the deck like an avenging goddess in a ball gown.

Another pulse of relief. She's safe. She's okay.

And then I see the other girl behind her.

"I tried," Lily tells Marty. "She wouldn't listen."

Some part of me knew, and still, my brain won't make sense of it. Lily LeBlanc, here. Breathing. Looking at Marty and Coach like she's defeated, desperate. Like she's on their side.

"I called for help," Vivian says, glancing between Marty and Coach. "They'll be here any minute."

"Admirable effort," Marty says, calm as ever. "But unfortunately, that's quite impossible. I have all your phones."

Vivian clocks the syringe, and the realization drains the color from her face. "No. No, this is…"

With a disappointed sigh, Marty flicks a hand at Coach. "Tie them up, Reed."

Coach moves toward them, and for a moment, Vivian stays put, almost like she can't believe he'd really do this. Then he lunges. Vivian jerks away, rushing for the steps, but Coach catches her by the wrist, yanking so hard that she cries out. He pushes her up against the base of the throne, pinning her arms behind her as she fights beneath him.

"Stop," Lily shouts. "You're hurting her!"

"Then she should stop fighting," Marty says plainly. When Vivian doesn't, he adds, "Would you like to choose which of your friends dies first?"

It's then that Vivian goes limp. Not just her body, but her expression, too, like all the fight has gone out of her. She watches with a look of numb betrayal as Coach zip-ties her to another support pole. He doesn't meet her eyes, just pulls the cords tighter than he needs to, like he's trying to prove that he can—whether to himself, Marty, or the rest of us, I can't be sure. He tugs the ties to make sure they're secured, and then he turns to Lily, who holds out her wrists willingly with a vacant, broken stare.

"You're working with them," I say through dry lips.

Lily doesn't look at me. Marty smirks in her direction.

"Lily has been very well behaved," he says. "She knows what's good for her."

Coach pulls the ties taut around Lily's wrists, but she stays silent. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised, but still, my chest burns at her betrayal.

"Now," Marty says, "here's how this is going to work. No one talks unless I've given you permission. You're all going to behave like perfect ladies. Understood?" He waits. " Understood? "

The word is like a bullet. We all nod.

"Good." He turns to Lily. "Care to explain why you've failed at your only job?"

Lily's lip quivers, and even now, I can't tell how much of it is an act.

"Y'all are taking this too far," she whimpers. "You said you'd let me go if I—"

"I asked you a question."

She lets out a frustrated huff. "Reed didn't even lock the door. It was open. I couldn't fight her."

Marty pinches the space between his eyebrows, like this is all just a nuisance.

"Reed?" he asks, without even looking at Coach. "Is that true?"

Coach blanches. He looks at the ground. "We said we didn't want her to feel trapped."

Marty scoffs.

"My parents will find out about this," Lily speaks up again. "They'll realize what you're doing, and they'll—"

"Shut your mouth, you stupid girl. You think they're coming to save you?" Marty laughs again. "Then where are they?"

Lily sobs, and some tiny, fractured part of me thinks that maybe this is the reality check she deserves, before I remember where we are. What's at stake.

Coach takes a careful step toward Marty. "We said we'd—"

His voice is sharp and loud, turning like a sudden gust of wind. "Have you stopped for one moment to think and realize, somewhere in that thick head of yours, that maybe things have changed?"

The silence hangs heavy, and I realize how cold it is, the high tin ceilings of the warehouse trapping the cool night air.

Beside me, Piper raises her bound hands like she's waiting to be called on in class. I feel another stab of betrayal low in my gut. How quickly she was willing to give up, to be the good little Maid they want her to be.

"Detective Rutherford?" she tries, when he still hasn't noticed her. "I'm still ready to reach an agreement. I think we can all—"

"Shut up!" he roars, making her cower. "Let me think. I can't think with all of your noise."

All of us, even Coach, go quiet, giving him exactly what he wants. And I don't understand. There are four of us. We're smaller, maybe, and he has the syringe, but we're double in number. They only tied our hands. We can't just sit here, staying quiet so this man can have the time he needs to think. Waiting until he inevitably decides to sacrifice us to save his own skin.

So don't wait, Margot's voice rings in my head.

And this time, I listen.

"Hey, Coach." I look him dead in the eyes. "I said I didn't want your agreement."

"Quiet," Marty orders, but I ignore him, laser-focused on Coach.

"You too much of a coward to kill me?"

"She's baiting you," Marty says, but I watch his grip tighten on the syringe. "Ignore her."

"I want him to say it to my face," I push. "I want him to tell me he's too scared to kill me. Even though Margot was no problem, right? What's different this time? Are you afraid Daddy won't clean up your mess again?"

"Give it to me," Coach says, holding his hand out for the syringe.

"Reed—"

"Give it."

Marty watches his son, tracking Coach's face like he's trying to make sure this isn't a bluff. Then, with a resigned, almost amused look, he hands it over. My heart shudders, every atom of me vibrating with awareness of the needle's sharp point as Coach takes a step toward me.

"April," Vivian croaks.

I can feel Piper's and Lily's stares, too, their silent screams for me to stop, but I ignore them, doing instead what I learned from them both: I lift my chin. Roll my shoulders back, like a queen balancing her crown.

"Just one question first."

Coach pauses, and I feel it surge through me—the power of stopping a man with just my voice.

"Does she haunt you?" I ask. "Because she haunts me. Ev ery night. All the little things I remember. Her laugh. The way her voice got kind of raspy from singing too loud or talking too much." My throat is burning now, but I keep going. "Or the way her boots sounded on the ground, like she was never afraid to make noise. The way she could walk right up to someone and say exactly what she thought like it was the easiest thing in the world."

Another twitch, another crack in his mask.

"I'm asking," I say, "because I want to know how you get through it. How you sleep at night. How you live with yourself, carrying all this guilt around, knowing you killed a girl to protect a father who doesn't even give a shit about you."

"That's not true," Coach says weakly.

I laugh. "Bullshit."

"Stop it."

"Reed," Marty warns.

"You think he cares?" I ask Coach. "You killed for him. If he loves you so much, then why wouldn't he take the fall instead of blaming it on someone else?"

Coach turns to look at Marty, uncertainty flooding his face. "Dad…"

"She's getting in your head," Marty hisses. "I saved your life, didn't I? I got you out of this mess. I cleared your name."

"But it was his mess," I tell Coach. "Marty started it. You're only mixed up in all this because he couldn't keep his hands off an underage girl. And did he ever once thank you for risking everything to protect him? Or did he just try to make you think it was all your fault?"

The look on Coach's face melts from doubt to woundedness, and I know it's working. I'm getting to him. But Marty just laughs.

"Reed, come on. You don't actually think—" He steps toward him, but Coach flinches. And just like that, Marty's easy, confident mask falls away to reveal a burning rage. "Are you seriously stupid enough to fall for this?"

Coach looks back at me, a wild desperate look in his eyes, and I know this could be the end, but I have to try. If I'm going, it won't be as a good little debutante.

"Are you?" I ask.

And then he lunges. Coach lifts the syringe above his head, aiming the needle directly at his father's neck.