Page 67 of The Bright Lands

They sat in silence a moment. Clark strained to hear anything from the little room behind her.

Jamal held her eye. He took a water bottle, unscrewed it clumsily with his free hand and drained it in one long gulp. Bringing the bottle down he crushed it loudly. “On their phones,” he murmured.

Clark cocked her head. “What?”

He squeezed the bottle tighter. “Something on their phones. At halftime.”

Clark heard the sound of a door slamming, the click of shoes in the hall. Shit. It had been worth a shot.

She leaned forward, whispered fast, “What was it, Jamal?”

“I don’t fucking know. I think something bad. Garrett almost killed me when I asked—”

The door to the interview room swung open and a small black man in a baggy blazer and brilliant shoes strode inside, bringing with him a sudden scent of cinnamon. Clark recognized the man (and his cologne) with a mixture of resignation and relief. At least Jamal finally had a lawyer.

“Not another word, son.” Mr. Irons spoke with a voice far deeper than his little frame looked capable of containing. The man ran an eye over the blank pad of paper Mayfield had left on the table, the empty bottle of water. “Did you drink from that?”

Jamal nodded.

County Attorney Boone appeared at last, followed by the sheriff. They both gave Clark a dubious look—she prayed they only thought her incompetent, not complicit—and a moment later Boone and Jamal’s new attorney were embroiled in dense legal talk. She knew she’d never get another unguarded word with Jamal now.

She thought about what sort of secrets players could pass around on their phones at halftime. A halftime a few hours before one of those players turned up dead.

She’d need help from someone else at that school. Rising from the table she gave Jamal a curt nod. He stared through her, the way you would a stranger.

KIMBRA

Kimbra Lott was in the cafeteria when her phone buzzed. Dashandre, sorting through his little fuchsia cooler, shot a look at the contents of her lunch box and said, “Is that supposed to be spaghetti?”

April Sparks said with her usual fake disinterest, “I hear Mrs. Sanchez from the beauty parlor fell asleep at her stove this morning and caught her robe on fire. They say it’sveryserious.”

“You really give a shit about that?” Dashandre said. “You miss the part where the cops arrested an innocent motherfucker?”

Kimbra hardly heard this. She couldn’t think of much except the message that had just arrived on her phone from Joel Whitley.

Are you still willing to help find KT?

She sighed through her nose. She would be an idiot to help this buff guy with the whiny voice. Hell, word had already spread through the school that Joel had been asking her questions at the diner yesterday. But the fact remained that her boyfriend was still missing despite all she’d done in the last two years to protect him. That he’d been hiding something from her before he disappeared. That he might be hurt. That this town could go fuck itself.

She typed,what do you need?

As Kimbra waited for Joel to reply, she spotted something unusual across the cafeteria. Luke Evers was seated near the head of the Bison table, flanked by Garrett and Mitchell, Tomas and the Turner twins, the six of them laughing violently at something Tomas had just said. It was strange. Every day for years Dylan had sat exactly where Luke was sitting now.

“They’re saying Luke’s going to be quarterback tomorrow,” April said.

“It’s like they don’t even know Jamal’s in jail.” Dashandre deftly flayed an orange with his thumb.

“And now people are saying Bethany made up all that shit about her and Jamal,” April said. “Butotherpeople are saying she actually did somethingmuchworse.”

“She’s been getting that dark chocolate to melt in her mouth,” Dashandre said.

At the cheerleaders’ table Bethany sat carefully chewing a salad, looking more guarded behind her eye shadow and her contoured cheeks than Kimbra had ever seen her before. Guarded and exhausted. The news of her alleged weekend with Jamal—news spread first by the students who’d opened their classroom windows this morning and heard every word she’d shouted to the police in the parking lot—had already done its damage. Kimbra suspected that Bethany’s position at the top of the school’s pyramid was in danger of toppling.

Joel wrote:

I’ve heard that the footballers were showing each other something secret on their phones Friday night at halftime. Did KT mention anything?

no, Kimbra wrote, which was the truth. She felt April watching her quizzically and ignored her. She texted Joel: