We Fell Apart: A We Were Liars Novel(44)

He reappears, wearing board shorts and a T-shirt, hopping on one foot as he shoves a socked foot into a sneaker. “Here now. What about Prince of Denmark?”

I take a deep breath and look him in the eye. “Have you been doing Kingsley’s art?”

“What? No. What do you even mean?”

“In the sketchbook I found, it wasn’t just that he was drawing in Sharpie. Anyone can do that. It was that he drew something I told you about. The piranha plant from the video game. Remember?”

I hand Meer the sketchbook. He sits down on the mattress and flips through it, stopping when he gets to the Sharpie pictures. “Ha. I told him for years that Sharpies are awesome for drawing! He always said real artists use soft materials like charcoal and oil paints. But look—he tried the Sharpie.”

“Turn forward.”

Meer gets to the piranha plant.

“Kingsley can’t possibly know about that level in Haunted Mansion,” I explain. “So there’s no way he could have drawn this.”

“Hm.”

“So I’m asking you, Meer, if you drew it.”

“No,” he says. “I didn’t.”

“I don’t think Brock has anywhere near the skill, and Tatum doesn’t have time, with his job and all the swimming. June never heard about the piranha plant, so it has to be you.”

He closes the book. “I don’t know what to say, Matilda. It’s not me. What’s your logic? I don’t even understand what you’re saying.”

It starts to sound outrageous as I say it out loud: “Kingsley taught you to draw and paint like him. You’re homeschooled because he was teaching you. He wanted you to do it so that he could—so that he could leave, I guess. So that he could escape this life and you could keep painting, as him, for as long as he’d reasonably live.”

Meer shakes his head.

“Or he’s dead,” I say. “That occurred to me, too. Like he could have trained you because he knew he was dying. And he’s been gone a long time now and all this is a cover-up so you can sell paintings for eight million dollars.”

“Oh god, he’s not dead,” says Meer. “He’s been emailing you. He’s just— Look. I know it’s really hard for you that you haven’t met him. And it has been a strange time, with the waiting, and my mom being upstairs all day. But he’s done lots of paintings with scary plants. Like this one he did of a poison garden. And another, like a Sleeping Beauty thing, a castle covered in briars.” He taps the sketchbook. “I don’t think this is your piranha plant at all. I think this is just Kingsley imagining plant monsters, which is a thing he does.”

I look at Meer’s kind face.

I love him. I am not sure I believe him, but I love him.

“Okay,” I say.

There’s a thump in the hall then as Tatum bounds up the stairs. “Meer!” he barks, sticking his head in the open doorway. “Tell me you didn’t order a box of live animals.”





41


Meer and I follow Tatum to the kitchen. Brock isn’t down yet. Glum is closed in the pantry, barking and barking. On the counter is a large package with holes in the lid.

“It’s my poultry!” shouts Meer when he sees it. He hugs me happily. “I did it! What you said? I’m raising chickens. And whatever. I supercharged it. You’ll see.”

“Damn it, Meer,” says Tatum, scowling at the box. “You decided you like chickens literally last week.”

“I’ve liked them for a long time!” says Meer. Then he peeks into the pantry at the barking dog. “We should put Glum outside.”

“We’re out of dog food,” says Tatum. “I couldn’t get her to go out.”

“She can have bacon,” says Meer. “There’s leftover.” He rummages in the fridge for the bacon, then lures Glum outside with it and shuts the front door.

Back in the kitchen, Meer lights up again. “I ordered them super rush,” he says. “With Brock’s credit card. Brock said it was okay.” He lowers his voice. “Don’t tell my mom I got them delivered to the house. Kingsley likes everything sent to the post office. But it turns out you can’t get poultry delivered to a PO box. It’s like, illegal or something.”

“Got it,” I say. I pour a glass of water and drink the whole thing, trying to clear my head after being up all night.

“She won’t ask, though,” says Meer. “She won’t even notice.”

“How is she not going to notice chickens?” Tatum asks.

“We’re gonna build a hutch over on the faraway part of the property. It’ll be economical in the end, because of all the eggs,” says Meer. “And it’s not just chickens. It’s a poultry grab bag.”

“What?”

“The guy who owns Meadowlark, he told me where I could order birds from. I went on the website thinking oh, maybe I’ll get Silkies because they’re just so hilarious-looking. Those are the super puffy ones. Then I thought no, maybe Plymouth Rocks, because they’re absolutely classic. Those are the black-and-white ones with the red combs. You know?”

Tatum shakes his head. “We have nowhere to put poultry. What are you thinking?”