The Headmaster's List Read online

  His dimple reappeared when he scrunched his nose, laughing. “Nah. To be fair, a field hockey ball is a lot smaller than a soccer ball when it’s hurtling toward your face, a lot harder to see it coming. How you’re not terrified of getting whacked in the face is beyond me.”

  “Occupational hazard. All my front teeth are fake,” Spencer said, grinning. This time she was the one who was joking.

  In the sunlight cast from the ceiling window, Jackson looked like he was glowing when he laughed, and Spencer made herself look away or else the flush on her face would be obvious. She looked down at her notes with the intent of focusing on something else, but she couldn’t help smiling too, even though it tugged on the stitches in her cheek.

  “Okay,” she said, and chanced a glance his way to find him still smiling at her. “Shall we get started?”

  * * *

  At the memorial, Spencer and Olivia joined the throng of bodies in the courtyard as the sun was just starting to set. Hardly anyone spoke, and if they did, it was kept to a hush. Even the bugs that usually came out at this time of night kept their buzzing to a low hum. She and Olivia, being part of the student union, had been recruited to help set up for the ceremony. With Spencer’s injuries, she was delegated the task of handing out candles for the memorial.

  When the box was empty, Spencer hovered in the back of the crowd, trying her best to blend in with the brickwork pattern of the rear wall of the building, waiting for the event to begin, holding on to Ripley’s harness. The candle wax had already begun to drip onto the paper disk protecting her hand. The sea of heads in front of her were all turned to face the stage. Chris had been more popular than she thought. Tears glinted in the candlelight, and boxes of tissues were being passed around to people who needed them. A sound system and microphone had been set up on a small stage near the garden and they were playing a song by The Beatles, Chris’s favorite.

  The garden was small, big enough for only a single bench, but there was a small looping path so a person could disappear into the high foliage for a second. It looked nice, peaceful. Spencer wished it never had to be built in the first place.

  The Moores had arrived only a few minutes earlier, shaking hands with some of the teachers. Mr. Moore looked grayer than she remembered as he firmly grasped Dr. Diamond’s hand and they said some words to each other that were too quiet to hear.

  Olivia emerged from the crowd and joined Spencer leaning against the wall. “Mrs. Moore looks as hot as ever. Why do all the heinously evil people always look like cliché stepmothers from a Disney movie?”

  “Liv … we’re at a memorial.”

  “I’m just stating a fact. Mrs. Moore tried to fine my parents because the grass in our front lawn was half an inch higher than the neighbor’s just yesterday.”

  That definitely didn’t sound like the actions of a grieving mother. But Catherine Moore was a classic Karen, determined to nose into everyone’s business and generally difficult to be around. Mrs. Moore had famously—or rather infamously—as a city hall elected official, published an anti-homeless proposal regarding a gathering of tents outside the VA’s office near the Brain Freeze, where Spencer’s after-school job was. It was controversial to say the least. She’d also been one of the leaders of the silent blacklisting of the Chen family when they first moved here.

  “Come on,” Spencer said. “She just lost her son…”

  Olivia sighed and folded her arms across her chest. She knew how to hold a grudge, but she didn’t say anything else about it.

  Mrs. Moore stepped up to the microphone. She was remarkably put together in Spencer’s opinion, given the circumstances. Her honey-colored hair was pulled into a low bun at the base of her neck, not one sleek hair out of place. She looked down at her index card, tapping the edges into place with French-tipped manicured nails. The microphone whined with feedback as she leaned in, so she backed off and waited a moment before trying again.

  “Thank you all for coming,” she said. “My son Chris … He would have loved to see all of you here today. Thank you to Dr. Diamond and the Parents’ Association for this lovely memorial to my son’s life. We also want to thank the student union for putting together such a lovely ceremony. Jonathan and I”—she glanced back at Mr. Moore, whose head was bowed low, he didn’t notice—“are truly grateful for all the support the community has given us in … in this trying time.”

  Mrs. Moore’s voice sounded robotic, rehearsed, like she was a politician at a town hall meeting.

  Spencer’s heart felt like it was about ready to burst out of her sternum, like an alien exploding from her chest. She wanted to be anywhere but here, but if she left now, everyone would stare, and everyone would think she was being inconsiderate, so Spencer kept her feet rooted to the ground and rubbed Ripley’s head rhythmically. All she could do was close her eyes and breathe. But she couldn’t help the thoughts that swirled in her head like a tornado.

  No matter how hard she tried to accept the official version of the crash—that Ethan was speeding, that he didn’t brake, that he was most likely driving under the influence—she wanted to believe it was all just an accident. She wanted to believe that something like this couldn’t be misunderstood, but the feeling that something was wrong wouldn’t go away. It nagged at her, tugging at her insides, telling her that something wasn’t right.

  Scream. Float. Crash. Pain all the way down.

  If she ever hoped to get any kind of peace about what happened, she needed to know all the details of that night. She needed to fill in the blank pieces in her mind; otherwise she would always wonder if she had done something differently, if she had said the right thing, maybe she could have changed how it had ended. She wouldn’t be able to rest until she knew the truth, and journaling would only get her so far, as much as she hated to admit it.

  It was Mr. Moore’s turn to speak. He came up to the microphone, and he said, too far away from the mic so it sounded distant, a gentle thank-you, before turning and stepping down from the stage with his wife.

  With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Spencer watched as Hailey Reed took the microphone next. She lowered the stand so it was level with her mouth. “We hereby dedicate this garden to Chris Moore, calling this area the Chris Moore Memorial Garden.”

  Spencer couldn’t help the scowl that pulled on her lips. She couldn’t even look at Hailey without wanting to scream.

  The crowd clapped politely. Spencer joined in, half-heartedly, stopping just short of rolling her eyes. Her skin crawled and she had the sensation of someone watching her. Lo and behold, Tabby Hill was frowning at Spencer through the crowd. Spencer tore her eyes away, just as Hailey was replaced on stage by Harrison Ressler, with his long, dirty blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, holding his guitar.

  When Spencer looked back at Tabby, Tabby was gone. Spencer got the distinct impression that Tabby had seen the scowl on her face and probably thought the worst of her. If Tabby didn’t dislike Spencer before, they definitely did now.

  Harrison had been the host of the party that night, but Spencer hadn’t known before that he and Chris had been close. They must have known each other somehow, though, as Harrison’s low, velvety voice carried over the crowd. “Thanks, Hailey. And thank you all for coming. I’m sure he would have been glad to see all your faces. I’m going to play a song to Chris’s memory.” He readied his hand on the neck of his guitar and turned his eyes to the sky. “You were taken from us too soon. This one’s for you, man.” As he began to play “Hey Jude,” the crowd raised their candles high into the air, and Spencer took the chance to duck out.

  It didn’t feel right to sing along with everyone. Spencer quietly led Ripley down the sidewalk that wrapped around the school, pain rippling through her arm, determined to figure out everything that happened that night. She had too many questions that needed answering, but most of all, she had to prove to herself that she wasn’t crazy.

  It was time to see Ethan and find out what really happened that night.

  TWELVE

  THE CLARITY OF MIND SHE had when riding her bike from Chris’s memorial felt incredible. The breeze cooling her skin, the sound of Ripley’s claws scratching on the pavement as she cantered beside her, the sky turning a deepening shade of purple—all of it made Spencer feel surer than ever that it was time to see Ethan. It was long overdue that she got some type of closure or answers about what happened that night. She couldn’t keep not knowing.

  She needed to see him, even if it would be for the last time, but at least then she’d be able to take the first steps toward recovery.

  The ride to Ethan’s was a ten-minute coast down quiet Brentwood streets, the echoes of Harrison’s rendition of “Hey Jude” at the memorial still echoing in her head. She only saw one or two cars on her way, which would have been a relaxing bike ride if not for the feeling that she was about to do something foolish.

  The Amoroso home looked like a brick of cement, rectangular, with hard lines jutting out above tree cover. Typical of Californian modern architecture, it reminded Spencer more of a modern art museum than a house. Its many glass windows afforded plenty of sunlight, and some were lit up this time of night, meaning that someone was likely home.

  The house sat behind a gate and a row of hedges, perfect for privacy. Spencer, however, still knew the code and punched it in before opening the gate just wide enough for her to slip her bike and Ripley through and shutting it behind her. How many times before had she sneaked out of the house to see Ethan past curfew, doing exactly this? The memory sat bitterly in her stomach.

  She walked her bike up the drive, set it down on the front porch steps, and rang the bell. The moment she did it, she thought maybe she was being inconsiderate. It was just after nine in the evening, and maybe everyone was already getting to bed, but the foyer light came on and a shadow moved in the doorway window. The door unlocked and Ethan’s father appeared in front of her. He had a phone held to his ear, but he put it to his shoulder when greeting her.

  “Spencer,” he said, surprised. Mr. Amoroso was a candy company executive, and he always had bowls of sweets and chocolates around the house, something that Spencer took full advantage of whenever she was visiting. Mr. Amoroso was the breadwinner of the family, or rather, Ethan liked to joke, he was the candy winner. This was the first time seeing him after the accident, and he took in her face with a graying expression. He looked like he’d been getting ready for bed, wearing plaid pajama pants and a T-shirt. “I’m just on the phone with Ethan’s lawyers. Can I help you?”

  “Hi, Mr. Amoroso, is Ethan home?” Dumb question, of course he was home. He was still under pretrial home confinement—aka house arrest—until he was brought to the courthouse for the first day in court. But she didn’t care that she sounded stupid for asking.

  “He’s in the back,” he said, tipping his head toward the backyard and stepping aside for her to enter the house. Inside, the house was much like the exterior, wide open and well structured, all lines and boxes, with everything in its place and a place for everything.

  Mr. Amoroso went back to his conversation with the lawyer, talking about potential plea deals, leaving Spencer and Ripley to make their own way through the house. Perhaps he knew what she’d come here to do. She opened the sliding door leading to the yard and closed it behind her.

  Just as his dad said, Ethan was in the backyard, laid out on a lounger by the glowing infinity pool. A small waterfall was the only sound as Spencer stepped forward, Ripley obediently at her side. As she got closer, she knew Ethan heard her coming, but he didn’t stir. A few bottles of beer were open and empty on the ground next to him. A blunt rested in an ashtray half burned, and at first she thought Ethan was asleep, but his eyes followed her as she circled around the edge of the pool toward him. His lids were heavy, and he watched her approach without saying a word. They’d spent many days and nights here, swimming and playing and partying. Kissing. With a sudden flush to her cheeks, Spencer remembered the quiet night when they’d first started dating, sharing a kiss in the shallow end of the pool that literally stole the breath from her lungs. And then everything was ruined by another kiss.

  Ethan was the type of guy whose wild and carefree aura made her feel like she could do anything, be anyone. He was charming and witty and a little reckless, but she wanted to be a part of that life, too. The money didn’t hurt, either. With Ethan, they went everywhere—VIP tours at Disneyland, exclusive nightclubs on the Sunset Strip, his parents’ private clubs where she’d see Harry Styles one day and Taylor Swift the next, and he hardly ever even looked at a bill. She’d felt different when she was with him. She felt important, like she mattered. She wasn’t just some brown scholarship kid, a charity case. With Ethan, she felt like a movie star.

  Then—Ethan’s fingers twined in Hailey’s golden hair, their mouths open wide like they wanted to swallow the other whole, Hailey’s hand down the front of Ethan’s jeans, and Ethan’s eyes snapping open, then seeing Spencer standing there, her whole body freezing cold and boiling hot at the same time. While Hailey didn’t even move her hand, she just smirked at Spencer. And somehow, Spencer knew—this wasn’t the first time Hailey had kissed her boyfriend. That this thing between them wasn’t new. It was just new to Spencer.

  She clenched her jaw. Seeing Ethan again, in person, made the moment come back to her. She remembered that at least.

  Was Hailey sleeping with Ethan? Because Spencer wouldn’t?

  It didn’t matter. She still wanted to know everything. Still wanted to know what she couldn’t remember.

  “Hey, Ethan,” she said quietly. Her throat felt constricted, and she was impressed she could even manage to say that much.

  “What are you doing here?” His voice was gravelly low. She knew he’d ask that question, and yet she still didn’t have an answer.

  Spencer chewed on her lips for a moment and then took a seat on the chair next to his. He didn’t stop her, instead taking a sip from the beer in his hand. She could smell it on him, the stale cloud of cheap brews hovering over his head like a storm. He must have been drinking all day, not caring that his parents were home, but then he never cared before. His face was shadowed, glowing blue from below, the light catching the slant of his nose in a way that made him look bruised. He didn’t look at her now that she was close. She wanted him to, and maybe a little part of her wanted him to look at her the way he used to. But she was kidding herself—that wasn’t going to happen anymore.

  “I needed to see you,” she said. He still wouldn’t look at her. “How are you?”

  He shrugged and hissed. “Great! Best time of my life. Going to jail instead of college!”

  “Don’t say that,” she said.

  “Why not? It’s true,” he replied.

  Ripley sat on Spencer’s shoe. Not protectively, more like she too was tired of his attitude.

  “I found your hoodie,” Spencer said. “Your green one.”

  “Keep it.”

  “I’ll give it back.”

  “I don’t want it. I gave it to you.”

  “Well, I don’t want it, either. You can give it to Hailey.”

  He screwed up his face, as if that was the last thing he wanted her to say, and took another sip of his beer. He drained it empty and set it down with the others. “Did my dad let you in? I told him I wanted to be alone.”

  “Don’t blame him. I came here on my own. I want to talk about what happened that night at the party.”

  Ethan rolled his head, exaggerating exasperation. “Of course you do! You’re not here to see if I’m okay, you just want to find out all the details. Why am I not surprised?”

  She let his anger slide. He was too wasted to even try to argue with. His T-shirt was wrinkled, and he was wearing old soccer shorts with paint stains on them. His ankle monitor blinked. From his spot on the floor, Ripley stared up at Spencer as she shifted in her seat. “Does your dad know you’re out here drinking?”

  “He doesn’t care. It’s the least of his problems right now.”

  “How about I get you some water.”

  Ethan sighed loudly. “Let me guess, Jackson put you up to this.”

  “No. But he is worried about you.”

  Ethan’s smile cracked as he opened yet another beer. His gaze went skyward as he took a swig. “Why should he care? I’m a piece of shit. He’s better off forgetting about me, same as you. You two might be perfect for each other, after all.”

  His self-loathing was getting tiresome, and she wanted to smack the beer out of his hand. “If you keep up that attitude, you’re going to lose your case.”

  “Oh, I know I’m going to prison. I’m already packed, got my chinos and my toothbrush all ready to go.” His attempt at a joke fell flat.

  “No, you’re not, stop talking like that. It was an accident!”

  Ethan almost laughed but it came out like a wheeze. He still wasn’t looking at her. The cut of his profile was something out of the history books. He looked like a timeless beauty, sculpted from marble and pure imagination. The shape of his cheekbones, cut against the dark sky, could send shivers down anyone’s spine. If he wasn’t so beautiful, she might have thought he wasn’t real. How someone with a face like his could hate himself that much was beyond her understanding.

  “Ethan…” She said it like a warning. His name was basically a warning on its own: caution, turn back, category 5. “It was an accident, wasn’t it?” she prodded. “Or were you drunk?”

  He snorted.

  “The thing is, I know you, you wouldn’t drive if you were drunk or high. You wouldn’t.” She firmly believed that. Ethan was wild and rich but he wasn’t spoiled that way. He wouldn’t deliberately put people in danger. Not when they lived in Los Angeles, where kids like him and his friends have been Uber-ing around since sixth grade. What was the point of driving drunk when you had Mommy’s Uber Black account? “Did you?”