Her panic kept rising until a single thought interrupted. It gripped her, ice-cold and powerful enough to slow her galloping heart, cool her burning skin, fill her with a sense of conviction so strong it felt almost like faith. Heather wouldn’t take away anything. Alone in the dark, she brought a hand to the cross at her throat, feeling the metal ends stab her fingertips, the pain like a promise. Caro wouldn’t let her.
Chapter 25
Now
We didn’t plan to stow away on Frankie’s float, the six of us. But it was a madhouse outside the stadium, the Homecoming crowd an ocean, tides pulling, impossible to navigate. And though we looked like everyone else, dressed head to toe in crimson and white, we were a world apart, skittish with anxiety, with the weight of our questions for Frankie.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something; couldn’t stop looking at Caro every time she turned her back, thinking of her raw face in the morning light of my hotel room. Imagining her ten years ago, watching us from across campus. Determined to know us better than we’d let her, terrified of being left behind.
Where had she followed me?
Everyone had things they were ashamed of. Caro was still the same person. But as we pushed through the crowd, she turned, catching me staring. And I could feel her confession like an electric charge between us, buzzing my skin.
So when we got to Frankie’s float—the football float, where the grand marshal rode, first in line—I didn’t think before I leapt onto it, propelled by the discomfort of being around her. Everyone followed, Eric included, and we huddled behind a six-foot replica of Blackwell Tower, agreeing to grab Frankie once we spotted him among the swarm of football players, tug him off the float to talk. But then there was a giant thrust, a roar from the crowd, and suddenly we were moving.
“Oh god,” Caro said, face paling. “It’s starting.”
I looked over the railing. Waving, cheering fans, young and old, a sea of crimson and white. I felt nauseous. “We have to get off.”
“Don’t be crazy,” Mint said. “Everyone will see us. Let’s just stay here and hide, and confront Frankie once the parade’s over. It’ll be fine.”
“Mint?” A big voice—Frankie’s—boomed from the other side of the tower. “What are you doing here?” Resplendent in the grand marshal’s blood-red cape and scepter, his mouth agape, Frankie looked like a very startled king of Duquette.
“Uhh—” Caro looked desperately at Eric, waiting for him to take over the questioning, but he just arched an eyebrow, as if to say, This was your idea.
“You came to cheer me on,” Frankie said, with unexpected emotion. He looked at us, searching our faces, lingering on Mint’s. “This is even better than I pictured. Come up front with me.” He tugged Mint with him; the rest of us followed, looking at each other uncertainly.
At the front of the float, Frankie turned to me. “Just like freshman year, huh?”
Jack banished. Heather dead. And your friends ambushing you to ask if you killed her. Yes, Frankie, exactly the same.
I cleared my throat. So many people in the crowd were waving to him, shouting his name. One man even wore his Saints jersey.
“They love you,” I said. “You really are a star.”
Was Frankie still using? What would all these people think if they knew?
“Let’s hope so,” Frankie said. “Because I stayed up all night thinking. And I have a plan.”
“We’re here to ask you something,” Eric cut in, voice rising to be heard over the cheering. “About Heather.”
Frankie looked around at us, the first hints of understanding—and betrayal—dawning on his face. “Wait. You’re here to interrogate me?”
“You knew Heather was planning to out Jack during Parents’ Weekend,” Coop said. “And your parents would likely hear the news right beside them. Your dad would hear. Why didn’t you tell us that part?”
“It’s a pretty big motivation to kill Heather,” Mint said, pulling no punches. “Killing her would keep her from telling your dad about Jack, maybe making him suspicious, making him ask you questions.”
Frankie’s mouth dropped open. All around us, people kept shouting his name.
“I can’t believe you guys. I didn’t tell you about Heather’s plan to out Jack because I didn’t want to say something so ugly about her.” Frankie scrubbed his face with his hands and paused. “She wouldn’t have gone through with it.”