We Fell Apart: A We Were Liars Novel(73)

“What?” I ask.

“I poked a pencil into her, just to see what would happen, and all these little plasticky beads came out and went all over the floor. My mom sewed her up, but I kept poking at the place where the threads were and the beads were always all over and finally Laxative had to say goodbye.”

“Oh, that’s a sad ending,” I say.

“But she was a really good present,” says Meer. “Our dad didn’t give presents all that often, but when he did, he gave really good ones.”

“Except to the fish market lady who didn’t want her million-dollar painting,” says Brock.

Of course there is nothing I can tell them about Kingsley. He and I had all of twenty minutes together. But I love hearing their stories. Now the boys won’t avoid talking about him. Their secret is out in the open, so I can maybe learn a little more of who my father really was.

Even though he is gone.

Gone.

Horrible and wonderful.

My phone pings and I open my texts. It’s Holland, checking in.

I promise I’ll fill her in on everything soon. Then I glance at the other messages that have built up: My mother has sent several short expressions of fondness, plus a photograph of her in what seems like a new dress, which I heart. There’s a link from the housing office at UC Irvine, telling me my dormitory and room number. Then there’s a series of texts from Saar, increasingly concerned at my lack of response. A lot of texts, actually.

Send update when you can. More tie-dye? Photo of castle? Info on you and your dad?

Breaking news: I found out college shopping is a thing. Desiree in the makeup trailer told me you will need extra-long sheets or something?

And a mini-fridge.

Let’s figure that out.

We wrapped the season of mother-effing Highly Classified! Yahoo. Going up the coast with Serena for a couple days. Then back.

Please confirm not dead.

And when coming home?

I need to finish Something Rotten. Am stuck on Polonius level. Haaaalp meeeeeee.

Matilda! Hello?

Now I am SERIOUSLY WORRIED. Please text back. I even actually called you like it’s 1962, but it went to voicemail.

The last one reads: On my way. Sorry if that’s weird.

It’s from last night.

I text Saar back now: I didn’t mean to worry you. My father died.

The phone rings immediately.





67


“Oh my god, Matilda,” says Saar in his nasal, gangstery voice. “I am so sorry. I had no idea. Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

“This is the tiniest freaking airport,” he says. “I’m literally walking off the plane, like across a parking lot. Is it called a tarmac? That thing. I’ve never walked on a tarmac before.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m off the tarmac and I’m in—it’s a garden, actually. An airport garden. I need to find the rental car area.”

“Where?”

“The Vineyard. I told you I was coming.”

“You’re here?”

“You got me worried,” he says. “Did you not see all my anxiety texts?”

“Only just now.”

“So I thought, she’s dead! Matilda is fully dead. Or she’s joined a cult or she decided to hitchhike and unspeakable things happened. You can use my Uber account. You know that, right? Don’t hitchhike. Did I give you my Uber account?”

“No.”

“Well, you should have it. Because when you’re at college, you need a safe way to get home from like a bad frat party or whatever.”

“Thank you. I will use that for all my bad frat party needs.”

“It’s nothing. But listen, I probably overreacted by coming here, I get that. But on the other hand, I couldn’t just assume you were all right. People go missing and bad stuff happens all the time. You know? Like those girls who were in the sway of that creep at Sarah Lawrence College! And that hospital chaplain who got kidnapped by her mental health patient.”

“Saar.”

“Okay, but I didn’t know, so I came to try and help,” he explains. “If you need help.”

I can feel his anxiety vibrating through the phone. “I can take care of myself,” I tell him. “You don’t need to feel obligated to me. But thanks for being so nice.”

“You’re usually the one storming the castle or leading the slaughter,” Saar says. “I do know that. I didn’t mean to make it sound like you weren’t capable. I just—I came to see if you need backup. Backup is what I mean, not help. Your location didn’t move, you know? Not ever.”

“You were checking my location?”

“I asked you if I could, that time you did that overnight visit at UC Irvine. Look at it from my angle. The kid I’m responsible for goes across the country for a short visit and never comes back! If she’s sharing her location with me, of course I’m gonna check it sometimes. And you never seemed to go anywhere on the island. Every time I looked, you were in the same place—on that one property.”

“We were just unplugged,” I say. “There are rules.”

“You didn’t answer me, and your mom had barely heard from you. And then UC Irvine actually called me because you never filled out the form to pick your classes.” He changes the subject. “Oh good. I found the rental car area. Then yesterday I texted—well, I know it was a lot, ’cause I was determined to check in. But also, I saw your location was finally moving. So either you were alive or the cult leader was taking your phone somewhere.”