With all the vitriol surrounding the Abbott name, Henry’s first thought was that the letter seemed in poor taste. If it had been stitched in red, it would’ve made perfect sense—a scarlet letter fit for a trio of criminals. But Hayden added, “No matter what, you three will always be a team.”
Henry felt nothing but shame then. Hayden’s words had struck him deep in the gut. Upstairs, he hadn’t acted like much of a teammate.
But he could change. He could help Adam, protect him. This sweatshirt would be his reminder that even when he wanted to knock that smug look off Bram’s face, or silence Adam’s whining and self-pity, the brothers were a team. A team since birth. They would do anything for each other.
Anything.
Henry glanced back down at the sweatshirt in his lap. It was much more Bram’s style than his, but he tugged it on and leaned forward to give Hayden a hug. “I love it. Thank you. I only wish I had something for you.” He mentally chastised himself.
“I don’t need anything. Seriously, you guys have enough to worry about.” Hayden glanced at the kitchen window. “Will your parentsbe here for Christmas?”
Henry tugged on the strings of the hoodie. “They haven’t mentioned it. Opening these presents may be the closest thing we have to a Christmas.”
“Well, you’re all welcome at my house. It’s never been quite the same with just me and Dad, anyway.”
Henry smiled. “That sounds really nice.”
“Hey, Henry?” Hayden asked, her forehead lined with concern now. “What did you mean back there, when you said it was all Adam’s fault?”
“Nothing,” he said with a headshake. “Just forget about it. I didn’t mean anything, and I’m going to apologize to Adam. If he ever comes out of his room again.”
Hayden smiled. “Good. I don’t like seeing you boys angry with each other.”
Henry didn’t either. Teammates had to stick together.
13
“I can’t believe we’re not going to the mountains,” Sage whines beside me on the bleachers, examining an acrylic nail—pastel pink this time. She pulls out a tube of lip gloss and applies it using her phone’s camera while we wait on the gymnasium bleachers for Mr. Fuller and the rest of the student council to arrive.
“At least we get to have a retreat,” I tell her, still bitter about her comment to me last week regarding the Abbotts.
She rolls her eyes. “A day on campus is literally the opposite of a retreat. We can’t even go outside because it’s a crime scene.”
“That’s not true.” Technically, we just can’t go into the woods, though they’re the closest thing we have to retreat scenery. She’s right that the school gym is less than ideal, though. “And hey,” I add, “we still get to miss class.”
“They should’ve excluded the Abbott brothers, and everything would’ve been fine.”
I don’t bother to argue with her or mention the fact that the police still haven’t made any arrests, which means the school doesn’t have cause to exclude the Abbott brothers. It’s pointless. Plus, I get her frustration; this retreat is the highlight of student council. Sage only has herself to blame, though; it was people like her and herconcernedparents whose complaining got the whole thing downgraded in the first place. Instead of a three-day mountain experience, wehave this one Friday in the gym. The school decided to keep the event close to home, where the whole staff could keep an eye on us.
Classes resumed on Monday, following an assembly in the gym for Kennedy, just like for Mariana last year. Lydia spoke, not only as Kennedy’s best friend but as acting student council president. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. As student council president, Kennedy was known by all. She was popular not only because she was pretty but because she was nice to everyone. So even people who didn’t actuallyknowher felt like they did.
The Abbott brothers stayed home. Adam was already asking to return to independent study, but the boys’ lawyer told them it would look like admitting culpability.
So on Wednesday morning, all three of them were back in class. And while gossip is still plentiful, things this time around are very different. There’s no taunting, no laughter in the halls. This time, the football players avoid crossing paths with the Abbotts entirely. Everyone is keeping their distance.
Last year, because the circumstances surrounding Mariana’s death had been murky, people liked to speculate. They’d trade theories about what happened because they never believed it could happen again—or happen tothem.
But with Kennedy, it’s different. There’s no speculating that she was brutally murdered, her body discarded in the woods just behind the school. There’s no wondering if someone killed her. Someonedid, and everyone in this school believes it was an Abbott brother.
And unlike last time, I’m not sure they’re wrong.
I keep thinking about the words of revenge spoken by Victor Frankenstein’s murderous creation, underlined in red. The page torn from the photo album. Henry’s words about Adam last December:It’shisfault we’re in this situation in the first place.
“There’s no way they’ll actually show up,” Lydia whisper-yells a few rows behind me in the bleachers.
“And then this will all be for nothing,” Liam Yang says.
“And it’s like, they weren’t even on student council. No one voted for them.”
