I try to put the phone call to Detective Blake out of my mind. I’m fine. Everything is fine. There’s a blood test and eyewitnesses that prove Freeman is at fault. I’m just freaking out because I can’t remember. I take a quick shower and then return to my room, where I put on clean clothes and start combing the tangles from my hair.
Someone knocks gently on the door.
“Come in,” I say.
Rachael peeks in from the hallway, and then when I don’t object she slides all the way into the room. She looks the same as I remember her from the wedding—tanned, reddish-brown hair, a kind, welcoming face and slightly overweight body that hasn’t been starved and exercised to perfection like my mom’s. She’s wearing olive green pants and a gray button-up shirt, a National Park Service patch on her shoulder.
“Hi, Genevieve. Your dad wanted me to let you know that the pizza is here.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Good to see you again,” I add, like she’s some kid I knew in kindergarten who I bumped into at the grocery store.
“You too. Better come quickly before he eats it all.” The skin around her eyes crinkles a little as she smiles.
“I’ll be right there.” I manage to squeeze out half a smile in return.
I know firsthand how difficult it can be to please, or even satisfy, my mother, so I can totally understand how my dad would have gravitated to someone like Rachael—appreciative, laid-back, nice. But still, up until the day Dad sat me down at the dining room table and told me he and my mom were getting a divorce, I had kind of the perfect life. Successful but doting parents, only child. It was a sweet gig.
After that, Mom took on more and more work under the pretense that we suddenly needed the money, but I knew enough about how divorces worked to know that Dad would be paying her heaps of cash until I graduated from college.
The truth is, I reminded her of things she didn’t want to think about, so she alternated between avoiding me and berating me. I think of how I debated dodging Shannon’s text earlier and I wonder if I’m following in my mom’s footsteps, hiding from things I don’t want to deal with by hurting the people who care about me.
“I’m sorry I was a bitch to you, Rachael,” I blurt out, before I can change my mind. “You tried really hard to get to know me and I shouldn’t have avoided you.”
Rachael’s cheeks redden slightly. “I know I was pushy. I wanted you to accept me so badly. Part of me worried that if you weren’t okay with me then your dad might change his mind.”
“Part of you worried for nothing,” I say wryly.
“Perhaps,” Rachael says. “But your opinion means a lot to him. And I don’t want you to think that because I quit reaching out means I quit thinking about you. Your dad said to give you time, so that’s what I did.”
I nod. “I appreciate it. And thank you for letting me stay here.”
“Genevieve,” she says softly. “You’re family now, whether you like it or not. And family will always be welcome here.”
I bite my lip. “I’m sorry I’ve never treated you like family.”
“Given the circumstances, I think you’ve been remarkably understanding,” Rachael says. “And I want you to know, I’m not expecting anything from you while you’re here. I’d love to get to know you better, but this visit is about you having a safe place to recover. If that means steering clear of me, I can respect that.”
“That’s cool of you,” I say. “I’ve got a bunch of stuff to do for school that will take most of the next week, but after that I’m sure the two of us can . . . hang out or whatever. Maybe you can show me around the park?”
“I’d love to.” Rachael pats me on the shoulder. “Now let’s go eat before your dad picks off all the pepperoni.” She turns toward the door.
“Eew. He still does that?” I make a face as I follow Rachael out of my bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen. I don’t want my dad’s hands all over my pizza, but it’s good to know that not everything has changed.
I spend the next few days holed up in my room working on last-minute school stuff, not venturing farther away from the house than going outside to grab the mail from the curb. On the weekend, Dad and Rachael invite me to go with them to a barbecue that one of Dad’s colleagues is throwing in St. George, but I tell them I have to study for finals.
Then on Tuesday I wake up at five a.m. when my phone starts to blow up with text alerts. It’s Shannon.
Her: I know you’re probably sleeping, but call me when you get this.
Her: It’s not true what people are saying, is it? I’m your best friend. You would tell me, right?
Her: It makes a weird sort of sense, though. It would explain why you were so upset at school, and why you were in such a hurry to get out of town.
Panic rattles my insides. I don’t know what Shannon is going on about, but whatever it is, it can’t be good.
Me: I WAS sleeping. What are you talking about?
Her: This.
There’s a link attached to the message. I exhale a deep breath before I open it.
THE SCOOP
Was Dallas Kade About to Be a Father?
QUINN KING, 2 hours ago
New information has come to light regarding the death of YouTube sensation Dallas Kade, a Fusion recording artist whose first single “Younity (featuring Tyrell James)” debuted at number eleven on the Billboard Top 40 charts and has been at number one for the past two weeks.
Kade’s girlfriend, Genevieve Grace, who was driving Kade’s car the night he died, has vanished, leaving the people of her affluent Lake St. Louis community to wonder where she went . . . and why.
Sources close to Genevieve have informed us that she was pregnant the night of the car accident, and that her abrupt departure is because she has gone into seclusion after the loss of her unborn baby. Neither Genevieve nor her mother, Elena Grace, MD, were available to comment on this story.
Criminal defense attorney Max Collier from Collier and Dunst Legal, who is not personally involved in this case, informed us that if Grace was in fact pregnant the night of the accident, and the accident was determined to have ended her pregnancy, Brad Freeman might find himself charged with not one, but two counts of vehicular manslaughter.
Recent Comments:
dallasismybae: awww. this is so sad :( i hope it’s wrong and that genevieve has just gone into hiding so she can have the baby without people bothering her. she seems so nice.
SoccerStar5151: Two of my friends go to school with Genevieve and apparently one of the teachers said she’s still pregnant and her doctor might have put her on bedrest until the baby is born.
pxs1228: If she really had a miscarriage because of the accident, I hope they decide to charge Freeman with murder, or at least two counts of manslaughter.
CeliaRN0612: it might depend on how far along she was, whether the fetus was viable outside the womb at the time of the accident.
Kadet4Ever: I read on a message board that the source for this article was actually a member of Dallas’s family.
Lila Ferrier: link?
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter. It’s no one’s business where I am or whether I’m pregnant, and there’s no way my teachers or anyone in Dallas’s family would be gossiping about it. I can’t help but feel a slight sense of relief, though. If people believe this is true, they’ll probably be less likely to try to hunt me down.
I log on to Twitter and sure enough, almost all the tweets mentioning me are talking about this story and how everyone should #PrayForGenevieve and #RememberDallas and demand #JusticeForDallas. I scroll through the first few tweets in my notifications feed:
Karla French @klf1222 • 6m
@GenevieveLGrace omg gurl. i lost a baby in a car accident too. I know just how ur feeling. hang tight. and remember god is luv.
Aksel @VictoryIzzMine • 11m
@GenevieveLGrace I hope that SOB #BradFreeman gets charged with 2 murders. Don’t let him scare you away from testifying!! #JusticeForDallas
The Mad Marvel @psylockeshock • 17m
Hey @GenevieveLGrace, the #KadetKorps has got your back. Wherever you are, we’re all thinking of you and wishing you well #PrayForGenevieve
I notice that my followers have increased from eight thousand to twelve thousand. I log off Twitter and call Shannon. “I am not, nor have I ever been, pregnant,” I tell her. “I don’t know who these ‘sources’ are, but they need to stop making shit up.”
“I’m so relieved,” she says. “I mean, of course I would support you if it were true. But just the thought that you felt like you had to go to Utah and avoid all your friends was horrible. You know you can always confide in me, right?”
“I know,” I say softly. And I wish it were true. But I feel like there’s a statute of limitations on secrets. If I tell her I’m worried I might have caused the accident, she’ll want to know everything that happened at Tyrell’s house, and that probably means telling her about Dallas cheating on me. And if I tell her that, she’s going to be hurt that I kept it a secret for so long. “Hey,” I say, as my feed updates with additional notifications. “I’m going to delete my social media accounts so random strangers will quit bothering me.”
“Seriously?” Shannon asks. “But . . . what will you do? I mean, how will you talk to people?”
“Shan, you’re one of the only people I want to talk to, and you’ll still be my friend if I don’t like all your Instagrams and YouTube vids, right?”
“Of course. I just . . . I can’t imagine giving up social media. Aren’t you going to be bored?”
“I don’t know. Rachael says I should go outside or something. But I don’t want you to think I’m avoiding you, okay? You’d better still text me.”
“I will,” Shannon says. “Outside, huh? Like, for fun? Very retro-chic. I trust you will email me some pictures of small-town Southwestern style so I can poach anything good and pretend I invented it?”
I snicker. “You know it.”
“I just wish I was closer so I could give you a hug.”
“All the hugs for you,” I say.
“And all the hearts for you,” Shannon says.
It’s the way we usually sign off on our texts, only reversed.
Shannon swallows back a yawn. “I should go find some coffee so I don’t fall asleep during one of my finals.”
“Just think. A few more days and you’ll be able to sleep in.”
“Hardly. I have to be at the pool by seven a.m.”
“Oh, right, I almost forgot.” Shannon works as a lifeguard during the summer. My only summer job has been working for my mom in her lab. I suddenly dread the idea of an entire summer without any specific place to be. Maybe I can find a coffee shop or something around here that needs someone for part-time work.
But as soon as I think of that, I think of handing over my driver’s license to some college-aged hiring manager. She’ll see the name Genevieve Grace and ask where she’s seen it before. Or she’ll just Google me.
Maybe I can register for an online college course or two instead.
“I should go call my mom so she doesn’t freak out if she saw this article,” I say. “We’ll talk soon, okay?”
“Okay. Take care,” Shannon says. “And remember, send me some pictures!”
“Will do.” I end the call and find my mom’s number in my contacts menu. It’s going on six-thirty a.m. there, so she’s probably already at work. For a minute I debate letting it go—after all, she’s probably not stalking the Dallas Kade newsfeeds. Then again, it would be bad if she heard about my fake pregnancy from one of the scrub nurses. With a sinking feeling, I tap the screen.
The phone rings twice and then my mom comes on the line. “Are you calling about the newest articles?” she asks. No “Hello, how are you?” No “I miss you.” Straight to business—that’s my mom for you.
“Yeah. Sorry to call so early. I just wanted to assure you I’m not, nor have I ever been, pregnant.”
“Oh, I know that, honey. The hospital does a pregnancy test on everyone of childbearing age before they’re given any kind of scan. Of course your initial CT was emergent and done before the results came back, but if you were pregnant, your father and I would’ve been informed.” She pauses. “I’m more worried about the other rumor.”
“What other rumor?”
“The one that says the real reason you left town was because Brad Freeman threatened you. Did that man make any kind of contact with you?”
“What? Someone is saying that now? No, Mom. I have had no contact with Brad Freeman. How can people write articles that aren’t true? Do you think I should respond and tell them they’re wrong?”
“I wouldn’t,” my mom says. “It’ll just fan the flames. Plus, it’ll make it easier for tech-savvy types to find out where you are.”
“Good point. I didn’t even think of that. Has anyone asked you where I am?”
“The police know, but they won’t tell anyone. Some reporter called me on the phone and I told him you were spending the summer with your grandparents. Let him hunt for you in South Dakota or Michigan, or Africa for that matter.”
“Do you think they’ll eventually find me?”
“I don’t know. It depends on how deep they dig. Hopefully something else will come along to distract them,” my mom says. “But enough about all that. What else is going on? Why are you awake so early?”
“Shannon texted me. That’s how I found out about the article.”
“Ah. Are you still working on stuff for Ridgehaven?”
“I’m almost finished,” I say. “I already emailed in three final projects. I just need Dad to watch me take a couple of online exams and sign off on them. But I should finish everything by the deadline, so I’ll get my grades on time.”
“Good, good,” my mom says. “And you’re sure you won’t regret not walking in your graduation ceremony?”
I heard before I left that graduation was going to be dedicated to Dallas’s memory, with a slide show of him before the ceremony and music from his album playing on the way in and out of the auditorium. I’m surprised no one asked me to give a speech.
“Positive,” I say. “It’s high school. It doesn’t mean that much.”
“I see,” Mom says. “So what else are you doing there? I assume your stepmother has taken you to see the national park?”
“I haven’t done much of anything yet,” I admit. “I’ll get out and see some stuff once I finish my finals.”
“Are you unhappy? You can always come home if you want.” My mom says it lightly, but I can sense the loneliness beneath her words.
“I’m okay,” I say. “I guess I’m just afraid someone will recognize me and start asking me questions.”
“Oh, honey. You are completely entitled to tell anyone who bothers you that what happened is none of their business. Please don’t let that fear keep you cooped up in the house all summer. Your father and I might not see eye to eye on most things, but I completely agree with him that where he lives has breathtaking scenery and loads of outdoor activities, and you should take advantage of that stuff while you’re there.”
“You’re right,” I say. “I will. Thanks, Mom.”
“I love you,” she says.
“Love you too.” I disconnect the call and set my cell phone back onto my nightstand. Maybe I do need to get over my obsessive fear of being recognized. But that doesn’t mean I have to listen to people spreading lies about me online.
I go from Twitter to Tumblr to Instagram to YouTube to Facebook, deleting all my social media profiles. Each time I zap another electronic version of Genevieve Grace out of existence, I feel a little bit lighter. I might not be able to escape my own thoughts about the accident, but I can escape everyone else’s.
Running away, that voice in my head reminds me.
I shush it. There’s nothing wrong with tuning out a bunch of hurtful gossip and speculation from random strangers. If anyone has anything important to say, I’m sure I’ll hear about it one way or another.