Everett paused. The light on his face shifted as his computer screen turned black from disuse. “So who did it?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, if I go sit at the bar”—he shuddered—“after I recover from last night, at least . . . If I go sit at the bar and buy people drinks and ask, ‘What happened to Corinne?’, what are they going to say? There’s always a name. Even if it never gets to an arrest or trial, there’s always a common assumption. So who’s the name?”

“Jackson,” I said. “Jackson Porter.”

“The boyfriend?”

The one who mixed your drinks last night, I wanted to tell him. But The Boyfriend, yeah, that was what the investigation made him. “Right,” I said.

Everett took another sip, went back to his work. “It usually is. Are they looking at him for this other girl?”

“Annaleise,” I said, staring back out the window. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What do you think? Did he do it?”

“I don’t know.” There was too much to explain, too much to whittle down into a testimony under cross-examination on the stand. “The thing is, Jackson and Corinne were always fighting. It was nothing new.”

They spent at least half their time breaking up and the rest getting back together. If Corinne hadn’t disappeared, I could imagine them caught in the cycle still. Her pushing him to do something he shouldn’t have done; him getting fed up and leaving; her “forgiving” him; and him coming back for her. He always came back for her.

Didn’t matter that she once sent Bailey after him when he was three drinks past drunk to see if she could get him to kiss her. Or that half the time, Corinne didn’t show up when she said she would. Or she’d show up unexpectedly, swearing you had plans, and How could you forget? and Did you have a mind-fuck or something?

Didn’t matter that she was constantly trying to get us all to prove our loyalty to her.

“She liked to test him,” I said. “She liked to test everyone. But he still loved her.”

Everett raised an eyebrow. “This was your best friend?”

“Yes, Everett. She was also fierce and beautiful and I’d known her forever. She knew me better than anyone. That counts for a lot, you know.”

“If you say so.”

He went back to his work, calm and contained, but I was wound tight with adrenaline.

Everett had never been a teenage girl—maybe there was some equivalent in the adolescent male, something that simmers under the surface of a friendship like that. But the simple truth was that when a girl like Corinne loves you, you don’t ask why. You just hope it doesn’t change.

Tyler never understood, either. Inevitably, he was the thing that changed us. Winter break, senior year, Corinne had dragged me to a party where I didn’t want to be in the first place—mostly because my brother would be there. Don’t tell Tyler, Corinne had said. It’ll be a surprise. She told me to find a place for our jackets, and I watched from inside as she practically threw herself at Tyler, who was sitting in the back of his truck, tailgate down, legs dangling over the edge. He tossed her aside—it wasn’t a hard push, but he was firm, and Corinne remained in motion until colliding with the car beside his.

“Domestic abuse, asshole,” she’d said, rubbing her side as a crowd started to gather. I was already outside, had started moving the second I saw her lean in to him.

“Not interested,” Tyler said, his eyes scanning the crowd, settling on me. He pushed through the crowd, into the house, while Corinne recounted the story to everyone who would listen.

“Were you really wondering what I would do?” he’d said to me. “I’m not one of her games. Don’t play them with me, Nic.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I didn’t know she would do that.”

He cut his eyes through the crowd, and I saw where they landed. I watched as Corinne stared back. “You’re friends with her, you’re already playing.”

Truth or dare. Dare. Dare. Always take the dare.

Tick-tock, Nic.

I confronted her as we were leaving, while Tyler waited for me at the front door. “What the hell, Corinne?” I asked.

“You needed to know,” she said, smiling at me. “And now you do.” She rubbed her arm, leaned close when she saw Daniel watching us. “But tell me, does he always push that hard?”

That was six months before she disappeared. I started to pull away, just a little. Eighteen, on the cusp of adulthood, and perpetually shaken by the feeling that at any moment I might burst from my skin. That I was trapped, and Cooley Ridge was the thing I had to escape.

I had missed something. That was what I’d told Everett. Ignoring her calls while I was with Tyler. Brushing her off when she showed up pretending we had plans, heading out with Tyler instead.

I hadn’t been looking, and then she was gone.

* * *

PARTS OF THESE STORIES made it into that imaginary box—the official investigation—in witness statements, in people’s suspicions.

Tyler pushing Corinne made it into the box.

Bailey kissing Jackson made it into the box.

But there were countless stories that never did. Things I held on to that felt too private, like her whisper in the middle of the night from the sleeping bag beside mine. Like the time the bird flew into the high living room window at her house, how she didn’t flinch, just rolled her eyes and took a shovel from the garage and bashed the bird as its wings beat against the sidewalk, how the noise of the wings on the concrete haunted me for months. And so did her words: You’re welcome, she’d said to it after.

Or the senior-year camping trip, how she dragged me with her into the outdoor shower—Don’t be such a prude—making it seem like a show, our bare feet visible under the swinging door, hanging our clothes over the wall. Soap my back? she’d asked, loud enough for someone outside to whistle. She’d turned slowly so I could see the gash running from spine to shoulder blade and another below, fine and precise, as if made by a razor. I never said anything, just moved the bar of soap around, never too close. Never knew if it was from Jackson or her dad or something else, but she showed me, and I knew.

And when we walked out, our wet skin clinging to our dry clothes, I’d felt the heat of Jackson’s glare—felt him watching me through the trees for the rest of that trip.

Corinne was larger than life here. Had become even larger because she disappeared. But she was just a kid, eighteen, and bursting out of her skin. Believing the world would bend to her will. Must’ve torn her up something good the first time she realized it wouldn’t.