Page 62 of Heartless

“Sophie says her parents aren’t coming back until late tomorrow morning.” Reagan blinks at my words, and when she looks away from me to study the comforter beside her, I know I’m right. “Even though I swore you told me that they’d be back by eleven tonight. Remember?” I want to give her a way out, an excuse.Anythingto make this less than what I’m thinking.

“They changed their minds,” Reagan tells me, looking guilty. “They called right before you got here. I figured I wouldn’t say anything and you could still leave after the movie was over. I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to stay all night, too.” Her words are convincing, and she barely fidgets as I watch her, making this seem almost believable.

But not quite.

“Oh, yeah?” I move to lean against the dresser, hip cocked against it. “That’s fair, I guess.” I know she’s lying, but her shoulders slump slightly and she pushes to her feet.

“Sorry,” Reagan chuckles. “Let’s go finishScooby Doo and the…” she trails off, squinting. “Yeah, okay, I have no idea which one we’re watching. The only one that really matters isZombie Island. That’s what you’ve always said, right?” She flashes me a quick smile that I don’t return.

I roll my shoulders in a shrug. “Sure. Can I ask you one more question, though?” She’s already walking, and by the time she stops, she’s level with me and glances up at me, her eyes curious.

“You can ask me anything, Winnie,” Reagan murmurs earnestly. “You should know that.”

But Idon’tknow that. And whatever’s going on here isn’t making me believe it, either. I scuff my foot along the floor, gazing over at the bed as I think.

There’s no easy out for this one.

Not one that I’ll believe, anyway.

“How’d you know?” The question comes out slow and patient. But Reagan just looks at me.

“How did I know what?”

If I ask her this, if I finish my question, there’s no going back from it. My stomach twists and flips, like my own internal Olympic gymnast is kicking at my insides when I gaze at Reagan with everything in me screaming to make up a lie or brush off my question.

Because this won’t end well.

Itcan’t.

“How’d you know I found a hammer in the slaughterhouse?”

She doesn’t answer. Reagan stares at me owlishly, and I can almost see the excuses forming behind her eyes. But I shake my head, frowning. “Don’t lie to me, Reagan. I didn’t tell you that, so don’t try to tell me that I did. The only person who knew about it was Cass.”

Reagan looks down at the floor, studying the carpet like we’ll be tested on it later.

“Can’t you just let it go?” she murmurs. “Everything would be so much easier if you let it go.”

I swallow, taking a deep breath as I try not to step away from her. That’s enough of an answer for me, and I want to scream at her.

“Fine.” I won’t let it go—obviously—but I’m not prepared for an all out confrontation with Reagan, right now. “We’ll talk about it some other time.” I move toward her, only for her to step backward, blocking the door with her slim frame.

She glances up at me, guilt across her features, and worries at her bottom lip. “I can’t…let you leave,” Reagan tells me finally. “I’m sorry, Winnie. But this is the only plan I can think of. I just need your help. Just for tonight, okay?”

Somehow I knew this was going to go poorly. But looking at her in the doorway, her eyes bright with anxiety and something else, I worry that this is going to go even worse than I’d expected.

“No.Move, Reagan. I’m leaving and I’m taking Sophie with me. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but?—”

“Of course you don’t.” Her eyes widen, and her voice is a low, suddenly disdainful sneer that makes me take a step back. “Because you’re too distracted to pay attention to me anymore.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about, and I open my mouth to say so, only for her to start speaking again.

“I don’t know what else I have to do, Winnie.” She laughs ruefully, reaching up to anxiously comb her fingers through her hair. “I tried inviting you to everything. I’ve tried showing up so you’ll hang out with me. I even applied for a job at the diner. But you just never seem to notice. Frankly?” She closes her eyes hard. “It’s pretty shitty of you.”

“Excuse me?” Indignation wars with my sudden fear and I step closer to her, shoulders stiff. “Pretty shitty ofme? What are you talking about, Reagan? We’re friends, but we’re not attached at the damn hip. I have a life?—”

“No you don’t.” She cuts me off sharply and opens her eyes, hands falling to her sides before she moves to clasp them behind her back. “Get real, Winnie. Your mom hates your guts, and you’re just a free babysitter for your sister.”

The words hurt, turning my stomach into an aching, twisting knot.

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