We Fell Apart: A We Were Liars Novel(48)

“Why are you so secretive?” I snap. I pull my hoodie over my head and toss it on a lounge chair.

Hurt crosses Tatum’s face. “I’m not.”

“You are. It’s like a way of life for you.” I busy myself taking things out of my tote bag.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s impossible for anyone to know almost anything about you.”

“Really?”

“Tell me,” I say, sitting down and looking him in the eye. “Tell me what you bought today, Tatum.”

He is standing still, his arms at his side. “No,” he says. “I decided not to.”

“It’s literally the simplest question.”

“No.”

Anger fills my body. “That’s what I’m talking about. You deliberately brought up a topic, said you wanted to tell me something, then flipped and informed me that I didn’t need to know it. Why? There’s no reason to do that but to make me feel bad.”

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did, Tatum. You one hundred percent did that.”

He wrinkles his forehead. “You’re reading into it. I changed my mind, is all.”

“You kiss me and change your mind. You make up excuses instead of saying what the hell you actually mean. You live and breathe secrets, Tatum. You disappear all day. You swim out to sea so far that no one can even see you anymore.”

“I disappear to work, Matilda. I’m not a child anymore. I can’t keep living off Kingsley. I have to contribute.”

“Nothing adds up. It’s like you can’t wait to get away from Hidden Beach half the time. You escape into the water whenever you have a free hour. But also, you stay here. At the castle. You only go into town if there’s an errand. You’re antisocial.” He tries to interrupt me again, but I’m on a roll now and I just talk over him: “Why don’t you leave the island if you don’t want to be here? Go to college or find a job in some new part of the country? You used to have friends in high school, girlfriends, whatever, a band—but school just ended and you don’t see a soul. Your whole world is Brock and Meer.”

“And you.”

“You’re trying to get rid of me. I don’t know why I thought even for a second that things were any different. You tell me not to defend my brother and you tell me June sedated me. You tell me things aren’t my business. Every single thing you do pushes me away because you want Brock and Meer and Kingsley to yourself again.”

“That’s not it.”

“Think how narrow you are. Your universe can’t just be guys together doing guy stuff, trespassing and clamming and cementing the patriarchy and the boys’ club all the time, holed up in your castle. Don’t you see what an absolute weasel you are for wanting that?”

Tatum bites his lip. “You have it wrong.”

“Then tell me,” I say. “Tell me the right version.”

“Mom and Dad, don’t fight,” calls Brock from the pool.

Tatum turns away, but I reach out and grab his hand. “I need to be here,” I whisper. “I am lost. Okay? I don’t have any home right now. My mother is gone, and I need to see Kingsley to figure out who I am, and what I’m made of. I need Meer, too. He’s my family.”

He wrenches his hand away from mine and pulls off his sweater, then the T-shirt underneath it. He strides to the pool without a word, dives in at the deep end, and swims laps, furiously.

I turn my back and go sit in the Jacuzzi.

After I’ve been alone for twenty minutes, Brock climbs in and asks me to tell him the story of the Something Rotten video game. So I do, and I’m almost to the plot twist when we hear a voice: “Matilda Klein. In my hot tub.”

Standing at the break in the hedge is Holland Terhune.

“Sorry,” says Tatum, pausing his swim. “We’re totally trespassing.” He heaves himself out of the pool and goes over to his towel.

“This is your house?” I say.

“Did you not know?” Holland says.

“No idea. We, um, borrow functioning pools. Various places on the island.”

“My functioning pool is your functioning pool,” says Holland. “Stay. Hang out.” Then, to Tatum: “Seriously, you don’t have to leave.” And to Meer: “Are you Meer? You have to be Meer.”

He nods, grinning. “How do you know Matilda already?”

“Oh god, long story, but basically I stalked her,” says Holland. “After she puked very cutely at the airport and almost needed a medic and then we rescued her with wintergreen gum and advice. Wait.” She squints at Brock, who is with me in the Jacuzzi. “Is that Sammy?”

“Men and Other Critters. Yeah,” says Brock. “Paul-David Brock.”

“No, from the Kingsley Cello painting,” says Holland. “With the burning donkey skin.”

“You’ve seen it?”

Holland shrugs. “My family owns it,” she says. “They’re big art collectors. You’re better looking in real life.” She winks at Brock and then looks at her phone and sends a text. “The others are on their way out. You’re going to love these sluts, I promise you.”

In a matter of minutes, five girls appear through the gap in the hedge, all in bathing suits. Winnie I’ve met already, and there’s also Olive and Jia, Agnes and Amma. They bring with them two bottles of rum, a pile of gray and white beach towels, a cooler of soft drinks, and some speakers that push music out into the night air.