Page 24 of Jerk
“Sad you weren’t invited?” I ask, pulling another cigarette out of my slacks.
“Didn’t seem like your kind of party,” Mac adds.
They ignore our comments, one of the officers reaching into the front pocket of his blue shirt. He pulls out a blurry photo, one taken from a security camera.
My breath stills in my chest.
It’s Hannah slipping into my mother’s home studio. I can tell by her slender body, long dark hair, and that dress hugging her frame.
“Do you recognize this person, Mister Rowen?” The air goes quiet as the officer squints. Every second feels like minutes as this unfamiliar knot forms in my throat. Numbers float through my mind, and before I can say anything, the officer speaks again. “Mister Rowen, is this Hannah Alfonso?”
“No.” The word flies from my mouth. Krystal’s head whips to me. At the risk of causing suspicion, I’ll have to own it. I take a long, hard puff on my cig. “It’s not.”
“Then who might this be?” The officer arches a brow, and now the time is really ticking.
I scan the space around me. It can’t be a campus nobody. They wouldn’t have been at the party. Neither would someone from the Chess Club, or Theatre. So when my eyes hit Marisol, chatting with the rest of the posse, I know she’s my best bet. All her years of emulating Hannah are about to pay off. For me.
“That’s Marisol Hernandes.” The officer follows my gaze to Marisol, eating one of those yogurt bars with the other girls in the shade under a big tree.
The officer looks back at the photo, his brows knitting. “Are you certain, Mister Rowen?”
Looking over the quad again, my body stiffens, the air shifting when my eyes land on Hannah.
She moves from the steps of the art building down to the quad in a pink mini and a matching cropped velvet sweater. With a flip of her hair, she strides along the stone path as if yesterday didn’t bother her at all.
“Don’t believe me?” I take a risk. A big one. “Hannah’s right there if you’d like to question her. Alfonso!” I call her over before anybody has the chance to make a move.
She freezes, her shoulders rising as she turns to us. Those honey eyes look brighter in the sun, even more when they widen as she notices the cops. Crooking my finger, I beckon her. The officers turn to her, stopping them from seeing the smirk forming on my face. She glances behind her, and it looks like she’s thinking about running, but instead, she straightens up, walking over. Perfect.
“Hello, officers. Are these boys bothering you?” Hannah’s never one to admit when she’s scared, but I hear the same tremble in her voice she had in Coach's office.
“Where were you on Wednesday night?” The officer is quick with his question.
Hannah glances at me before she fires an answer. “At home, with my parents, since all my so-called friends bailed on me.” For extra effect, she looks over at them, glaring.
“Can you prove that?”
She flutters her lashes. “Do you mean did my mom and dad stop their fuck fest long enough to know I exist? Likely not. But the maids can.”
Then they hit her with the photo. “Is this you, Hannah?”
She looks at the photo, her head falling to the side like she’s thinking about it. After a glance at me, she hardly misses a beat. “No, that's Marisol.” Beautiful.
The officers whisper to each other before they nod. “Thank you.”
We all watch in silence as the officers move towards the Posse. The girls notice the officers one by one as they approach Marisol. Her face turns white as they reach for cuffs, and like every other privileged fuck in this place, she starts calling for Daddy. They escort her away as students pull out their phones, a murmur filling the air. Chloe chases after Marisol, but not without glancing back at Hannah and me.
“Did you two just throw Marisol under the bus?” Ember whispers.
“She deserves it,” Hannah says, a proud smile on her face. It fades as she looks over the group, her gaze stopping on me. It lingers for a second, like she’s trying to figure out why I made that move. But without saying anything else, she walks away.
My eyes land on her ass, the material stretched over her cheeks. My gaze lingers on it, swaying back and forth as she struts through the world like a supermodel. She doesn’t deserve that confidence. She deserves my hands around her throat.
“Explain that, Rowen,” Mac says, moving closer to me. “You had a clear shot. What am I missing about her?”
“Forget Hannah,” Gray says, joining us on the other side of me. “You live to see another party. Which is when exactly?”
“Did you forget about the fire?” Ember asks. “Kinda hard to come back from that.”
