Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

Nardo lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Fuck if I know. You were screaming at him about something or the other. Then you ran into the house. You were actually a bit mad. I was afraid you’d break Mother’s good china. And you were partaking of rather too much of Father’s Scotch. They were going to be very pissed when they got home.”

Emily had never seen Nardo’s parents get pissed about anything.

“Well it sure as hell wasn’t Dean who knocked you up. The man’s balls got fried when he was a kid. He couldn’t make a baby if he wanted to.”

Emily looked down at her hands. That wasn’t the kind of information that Dean Wexler would randomly throw around. Which meant that he had talked to Nardo already.

“Do you—” Nardo dropped the book back onto the floor. “Do you think it could’ve been Clay?”

“I—” Emily stopped herself. She silently ran through the list of questions Nardo had thrown at her. He was Columboing her. All that was missing was the one more thing.

She cleared her throat, trying to keep the shake out of her voice. It wasn’t only Dean and Nardo. They had all strategized—Blake, Ricky, Clay, Nardo and Dean. They were all in this together. And they had all agreed that Nardo was their best hope of shutting this down.

She asked, “Do you think it was Clay?”

“I mean—” Nardo shrugged. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, old girl, but Clay has been very clear that he doesn’t see you that way. Acid doesn’t make you do shit you wouldn’t do when you’re sober. And frankly, he’s got a better selection at his hands, doesn’t he? No need to fish in the little pond.”

Emily stared at her hands.

“Come now, old girl, you don’t want to fall into wishful thinking, do you?” Nardo waited for her to look up. “An allegation like that could ruin Clay’s life.”

Yet again, they were circling the wagons around Clay. Emily wondered why no one ever really worried about her life being ruined. Even Ricky had focused only on the boys—what Emily’s pregnancy would do to them, how it might ruin their lives.

“You need to be careful,” Nardo said. “You’ve said yourself that you’re not sure who did it. You might even have the wrong night. I mean, who knows? You certainly have an expanded group outside the clique, with all your practices and debates and whatnot.”

She borrowed a line from Blake. “I know where my vagina has been, Nardo. I’m very attached to it.”

He looked surprised by her coarseness.

She put it to him plainly. “You claim that you were in the bathroom with Blake. Mr. Wexler is sterile. Who else could it be?”

“What about Cheese?”

She laughed for the first time in days. “You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious.”

“He wasn’t even there.”

“He was standing right in front of you when you walked into the house,” Nardo countered. “Jesus, Emily. Who do you think sold us the acid?”