Silver Stilettos

23 | teenage rebellion

My father tenderly laid an afghan around my shoulders when I began to shake, and my mother's warmth next to me, our joined hands in my lap, helped the trembling subside. It didn't sink in until I saw pictures of the accident scene that I realized: Emily Vargas was really dead.

The unnatural bend in her neck, the glassy eyes, the open mouth and the hands draped over the steering wheel...I wrenched my eyes away, disgust and grief pooling in my belly like the worst menstruation cramps of my entire life.

It was hard to recount the details of the evening without mentioning Reed. I didn't trust him anymore, but I couldn't throw him to the wolves, especially if, as he claimed, Emily's death wasn't on his hands.

And from everything the police were telling me, it did seem like an accident. She ran a red light and was hit by a car. Alcohol in her system, phone in her lap. It looked like textbook reckless driving.

The police took my statement, and in a whispered aside to my dad, told him that they would go to Emily's to get statements from the girls at the slumber party. Horror flashed through me. I'd just lied to my dad and told him that Lenox had been the one to drop me off. What if one of the girls revealed that I'd left much earlier with Dom and Lenox?

Would they even remember? They were all pretty drunk. Maybe the cops would assume they had lost track of time. Maybe they wouldn't even remember me. I was pretty sure that despite being one of the few non-white students at Hammerfeld High, I wasn't that memorable. Hopefully nothing about me would stand out to them, especially not my name.

But just to be sure, I sent Lenox a quick text, telling her that I'd already told the cops she'd dropped me off. I assumed she was asleep when she didn't reply right away. Unfortunately, my mom took that exact moment to glance at me—she'd been doing that a lot since I'd come home, like she was afraid I'd disappear at any moment—and her gaze shifted to my phone.

"Who are you talking to?" she asked lightly.

I pressed the home button to close the screen. "Just Lenox," I said, glad I was able to tell the truth this time. Sort of. "Just wanted to tell her that she may have to talk to the cops tonight."

My mother nodded and pressed a lingering kiss to my temple.

I wondered whether they simply hadn't noticed my skimpy attire yet, or whether they were choosing to ignore it.

A second later, Mom said, "Why don't you go get into your pyjamas?" Her eyes crinkled. "And go to bed. It's so late."

"What about Dad?" I asked, looking out the window to where my dad was still conversing with another officer. His hands were stuffed into his jacket pocket and his ears were bright pink. I could see wisps of white breath coming from his mouth as he responded to something the other man had asked.

"He'll be in, soon." My mother's voice was strained with the effort it took to keep from falling apart. I could see it in the way she held herself, limbs tightly inward, like she was trying to hold herself sturdy for my sake.

Even though my limbs felt like water, I slithered to a standing position. My pencils and coloring book lay forgotten on the floor. Kiran had gone to sleep half an hour ago, after my father had shouted at him for wanting to take a look at the grisly crime scene photos.

I climbed the stairs, changed into my flannel pajamas, and was about to turn off the light and pull back the covers when there was a quiet knock on my door.