Page 31 of Broken Things

Which means: maybe,maybe, we’re actually getting somewhere.

“It wasn’t like it mattered. Everyone knew who did it,” hesays. At least he has the grace to look embarrassed. “At least, we thought we knew.”

“Right. I forgot.” Now it’s my turn to be sarcastic. “The Monsters of Brickhouse Lane.”

“I’m not talking about you.” He frowns like I’m being difficult for no reason. “I meant that guy Waldmann. He’s guilty, right?”

“Maybe,” I say. I think of surprising Owen yesterday, the way he tugged on his lip with his teeth, the look on his face when he asked about Mia. Like even saying her name was some kind of mortal wound. “I don’t know.”

Jake frowns again. “Who elsecouldit have been?”

“You sound just like the cops,” I say. “Just because they couldn’t figure out who did it doesn’t mean that he did.” I don’t know why I’m defending Owen—only that guilt isn’t supposed to be determined like one of those school superlatives,Most Likely to Succeed,Most Likely to Bash Girl’s Head In with a Rock.

“I’m sorry,” Jake says in a quieter voice. “Really. I am.” He manages a smile. “See? You got your apology after all.”

“Lucky me,” I say. Suddenly, I’m exhausted. I shouldn’t have come. Even if we are making progress, so what? It doesn’t change what happened. It won’t bring Summer back.

And it won’t change what she did to us.

“It was stupid of me to lie,” Jake says. “It was stupid of all of us. But I guess we were all just in shock. I never in a million years expected things to turn out the way they did. I always figured she’d be the one who got in trouble.”

“Shedidget in trouble,” I say.

“You know what I mean.” Now the smile drops, leaving just his eyes screwed up around a wince. Suddenly, he blurts out, “I was a little scared of her, to be honest.”

I must be giving him a look, because he coughs a laugh. “I know. She was, like, half my size. But you know how she was.Intense.I hardly knew her. But I saw it. Glimpses of it, anyway. That’s all she’d let me see.” He takes a deep breath, like he’s run out of air. “Am I making any sense?”

“Yes” is all I can say.

“Like sometimes she’d open a door, just for a second, just a crack, and what you saw inside was...” He trails off, clears his throat, obviously embarrassed. Now I know he really was afraid of her: he’s telling the truth.

“She hurt someone, you know,” he calls out when I’m already halfway across the lawn. I turn and see him handling his long limbs like they’re part of some old Halloween costume he’s embarrassed to be wearing, trying to tuck them into hiding. “At her last foster home. It’s why she got moved. She—she burned one of the other kids with a fire poker. Did you know that?”

I shake my head. My throat is too full of feeling to speak. I remember another thing Mr. Ball said about Summer:She’d been bounced around some bad places. Some real bad places, with some real bad people.

“One time we were messing around with a box turtle we found on the road. Heath Moore said he was going to keep it as a pet.Then Dunner said we should make turtle stew. It was a joke, obviously. But then Summer went inside and came out with a kitchen knife.”

He looks up at me. Face raw. Open. As if years and years have been cut away. As if he’s looking not at me but at that moment, the shock of it, the turtle on the ground.

“I swear to God, I really thought she might kill it.” Suddenly, he blinks. Tries a smile again, settles for a quick flash of his teeth. “It sounds crazy now.”

“No,” I say. “It doesn’t.”

Brynn

Then

“You must have loved her.” The new cop, Lieutenant Marshall, was a lot nicer than the last one. The last one, Detective Neughter—pronounced New-ter, he told us, like being named after the act of cutting a dog’s balls off was a good thing—was pale and mean and smelled like tuna fish.

Lieutenant Marshall smelled clean and minty. His eyes crinkled when he smiled. He had dark hair, just graying at the temples, and kept his hands in his pockets.Relax, he seemed to be saying.Just relax. I’m on your side.

“She was my best friend,” I said. “So, yeah. Pretty much.”

He moved around the table, removed a hand from his pocket, and rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t look at me. Not because he was angry—because he knew I didn’t do it. I trusted Lieutenant Marshall. “It must have made you mad when she started going out with Owen Waldmann.”

“Not mad,” I said, but my mother cut me off.

“Don’t,” she said. “You don’t have to say anything, Brynn.” Then, to Lieutenant Marshall: “We don’t have to be here. Don’t try to trick her.”

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