I point up the road. “Going home.”
“Want to get lunch in town instead?”
“Town?” I bite my lower lip, my stomach starting to ache. He obviously doesn’t know what everyone at school is saying—what the cops are saying about him and his brothers. “Maybe we should stick to your place.”
His expression darkens as he glances down at the center console. “You were at the school. It’s not true, what everyone’s saying.”
“I know that, Henry.” I step closer to the truck, kicking up dirt. “I just think it might be best to lie low for a while until—”
“I’m not doing that again,” he snaps, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath, but his knuckles turn white over the steering wheel. “Look, Adam may be fine with hiding away, but I want to finish out the school year like everyone else. No more homeschooling. No more acting like everyone is right about us.”
“Okay,” I say softly, walking around to the passenger door and reaching for the handle. I heft myself inside the cab and strap on my seat belt. “Where were you just now?” I ask as he hits the gas.
Pulling into a dirt driveway, Henry turns the truck around. “I was with my dad and my brothers in Central Springs. Seeing the family lawyer, Mr. Swanson.”
“Oh.” I guess the detectives weren’t lying about that.
“Bram had his interview with the cops this morning, and he could tell right away it was a witch hunt. He refused to say another word without a lawyer.”
“That’s wise,” I say. “They went after you guys pretty hard during my interview.”
“Really?” Henry asks, looking like a scared boy with his sea-green eyes wide. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” he mutters, focusing on the road again. “Not with everyone at this school convinced we had something to do with Mariana’s death last year. And now this.”
“And”—I lick my lips, almost too nervous to get the words out—“with the security camera footage of Kennedy and…youknow.”
He’s silent for a long stretch before he finally shakes his head. “That’s not what it looks like.”
“What is it then, Henry? If you can explain it away, why don’t you?”
“I can’t,” he mutters. “It’s not up to me.”
So my gut was right. It’s not Henry on the footage. But heiscovering for one of his brothers. “Look, I know you want to stay loyal to Bram and Adam, but this is your life.”
“It’s not like that,” he says, a quiver running through his voice.
“Do you think they’ll arrest you?”
Another headshake. “Our lawyer says they won’t arrest anyone until they figure out who’s on the video. And even then, he’s ready to fight tooth and nail. The footage isn’t clear, and without our faces, it’s impossible to prove it’s even one of us.”
“Oh,” I say, settling back in my seat. “That’s good. I just don’t understand why you can’t tellmewhat you were really doing.”
“Because I can’t,” Henry says, eyes still on the road. “Please, Hayden. Can you just trust me?”
Can I trust him? I always have in the past. But I really don’t like this secrecy.
It’s not the first time the brothers have kept something from me over the years. Not the only time they’ve made me feel like an outsider. They’re triplets, close even before birth; naturally, they have secrets. When we were in second grade, they came up with a language all their own, and they refused to teach me how to speakit. I once got so frustrated, I stormed out of the mansion and down the road. Bram eventually chased me down and taught me how to say one word. It wasn’t much, but he swore I could use it to get under Adam’s skin the next time he did something annoying. And of course, it worked, and I felt like a part of the group.
Is this the same? Am I simply jealous they won’t include me?
“Hayden,” Henry says, his voice rough as he lifts a hand off the steering wheel to adjust his glasses, “I think the only way to prove that none of us were involved in Kennedy’s murder is to prove that someone else was. And with Adam’s current state of mind, and Bram essentially locked up, Ineedyou.” He turns to meet my gaze, his eyes pleading. “Will you help me figure this out?”
I don’t answer at first, even though the words tug at my heart. “Why is Bram locked up?” I finally ask, avoiding his question.
“Not literally,” Henry says. “But our parents won’t let him out of the house because of what everyone’s saying about him. That he was in the woods with Kennedy when she died.”
“Poor Bram.” Yesterday, he seemed as desperate as Henry not to be shut away again.
“You and I know he didn’t do this,” Henry says. “But the cops won’t look anywhere else, not when they have Bram, the guy whose girlfrienddiedin a freak car explosion last year. Not when he happened to be the one to find Kennedy’s body.”
