"I'm just saying it's possible," Noelle added, looking at Ariana in the rearview mirror.
I took a deep breath. Images were starting to flood my mind. Blood. Rope. Knives. Guns. Gags. Images I would rather not have dwelled on.
"Do you think the police know that Thomas was dealing?" Noelle asked Josh.
He cleared his throat again. There was no doubt he wanted out of this conversation. "Probably not. If there was one thing Thomas knew how to do, it was cover his tracks."
"Well, somebody should tell them," Noelle said, her tone as casual as if she were suggesting an ice cream stop on the way home.
20
"You want us to tell on Thomas?" I said without thinking.
"Aw! That's so cute! What are you, five?" Noelle said. "Come on, Reed. What does he care? It's not like they can arrest him."
Everyone fell silent. Noelle was getting just a touch too morbid for me.
"I'm serious!" Noelle said. "If that freak show did have something to
do with it, he should be brought in and questioned. Unless you want him to get away with it."
I glanced at Josh, who stared back at me in the mirror. How could we tell the world that Thomas was dealing? He was gone. Didn't he deserve to rest in peace? To have his perfect prep school boy image untarnished?
"His parents would freak," Josh said. "I don't think I could do that to them."
'You don't owe those ice sculptures anything," Noelle said.
Josh's face went flat--in a way that made me think that maybe he did owe the Pearsons something. Interesting. What could that possibly mean?
"The guy did die," Kiran said, her eyes half-closed and bleary. "Somebody should probably pay for it."
Taylor let out a choked sob, then dropped back in her seat and started crying all over again.
"Are you okay?" I asked her.
Actually, it kind of snapped out of me. But Taylor didn't seem to notice. She simply nodded and grabbed a new tissue from the box at her feet.
21
"It's just so sad," she said. "I just wish none of this had happened. I just--"
And then she went incoherent all over again.
After that we all lapsed into silence, watching the world go by as Taylor's sobs slowly quieted to nothing.
22
FAT PHOEBE
When I walked into my room at Billings, the sun was just starting to set. I was surprised to feel relief as I closed the door behind me. Apparently, this room, with its huge bay window, hardwood floors, and the scent of Natasha's lavender perfume, had actually become a comfort zone.
Two seconds later, the door opened and my roommate, Natasha Crenshaw, walked in with her cell folded in her hand. Her phone never worked inside our room, so she was constantly going outside or up to the Billings House roof to make calls.
"Hey."
It was amazing how much tentative sympathy one syllable could convey. She stepped around me to take a survey of my face, probably to check if I was in the midst of a breakdown. Her dark skin was clean and makeup-free, and she wore a pair of yoga pants topped by a baggy sweatshirt.
"Hey," I replied, dumping my stuff on my bed.