The Betrayal of Natalie Hargrove

“I’m still mad at you,” I said.

He didn’t answer. We tramped through the soggy cemetery, past the Cyprus trees with their billowing gray trunks, and away from the melodrama of the crowd. Soon there was just the white noise of the rain. I knew where Mike was leading us. His feet just went there naturally.

We stopped in front of his family’s lineup of plots in the center of the graveyard. I followed Mike inside the walk-in mausoleum where Grandfather and Grandmother King were buried. I had been there one time before, two summers ago on the fifth anniversary of his grandfather’s death. The mausoleum had seemed creepy enough to me then, full of living people in the middle of a hot, sunny day.

Now the two of us ducked like zombies under the low cement doorway. We took a seat on the carved marble bench. The dank smell of Spanish moss filled my nose and made me cough. I might have been scared if I had stopped listening to the thunder and keeping my eyes on the large stamped KING printed over entrance of the mausoleum. Mike ran his hand in circles over my back. It was hard to stay mad at him in here.

We hadn’t said a word since we left the funeral. In fact, we hadn’t said much to each other since Mike’s big speech yesterday, except for a few polite remarks made for public consumption at the reception. Come to think of it, we hadn’t really talked since. . well, since before J.B.

I had friends who stressed about lulling into a pause in conversation with a guy on the phone or during a dinner date at MacB’s. I’d always felt bad for them for missing the point. Mike and I didn’t have awkward silences; we had intimate ones. Kate would look at me like I was insane whenever I’d talk about how much I loved to be quiet next to him. But maybe this hush was stretching it, even for us.

I opened my mouth, sure that I’d have something of interest to say, but when I hung there gaping for too long, Mike said, “I wish this rain could wash everything we did away.”

“It can’t.”

Both of us sounded like robots.

“Justin’s dead,” I continued, feeling the impact of those two awful words fill up the mausoleum. “We can’t ever undo that.”

My mind was whirling with thoughts of J.B.’s smug face, the bragging manner he took on whenever he smiled. I wanted to stop thinking about him, stop getting those flashes of his green eyes. It made me wonder what exactly Mike was thinking just then but not saying.

On my left, he sighed. “Maybe we have to come clean.”

“What?” I gasped, whipping my head around.

Mike rubbed his eyes like a kid someone forgot to put to bed. His shoulders seemed to cave in around his chest.

“This thing is driving me insane. I haven’t slept in four days. They’re going to find out what we did.”

“No, they’re not,” I said, turning my head away so I wouldn’t have to stare at how small he seemed right then.

“I left my water bottle in his hands—”

I shook my head. “Mike, every guy your year has that exact same Nalgene. And all the Bambies think it’s cool to buy them, too. We can skirt that evidence easily.”

“But someone will have seen us leave the party with Balmer practically halfdead already. What’s it going to look like if we try to cover it up until they find us? Let’s just come clean. We’ll say we didn’t mean for things to get so—”

“No.” I stood up and started pacing. There was a square cutout in the cement that looked back at the church, and I could see the funeral-goers heading out toward the parking lot. They’d all go back to their quiet little homes and spark the phone lines with their gossip. But if we came clean, what would I go back to?

My old trailer-park world with no way out? The muck of my past life? I could almost smell the rotting-fish stench right now. Girls like me didn’t get a second chance. This was it. My lips quivered, and I could feel my shoulders start to shake.

Mike sighed and reached his hand out for me. “Look, I don’t want to go to jail any more than you do.”

Who said anything about jail? I suddenly realized that Mike had no idea what I was thinking. I filled his open hand with mine.

“Then we fix this, Mike. We just do.”

He looked up at me. “How?”

“Starting at the source of all Palmetto intel,” I said, forcing my mind to keep up with my tongue. “The rumor mill. What have we heard so far?”

Mike shrugged and exhaled. He was never one to get too caught up in the mill. “Something about that footage Baxter Quinn shot at the party.”

I smacked my palm against my forehead. “You’re a genius,” I said, surprised to find myself laugh in spite of our dire straits. “They’ve already picked out the man for us. He’s still missing, by the way.”

“Wait. . do you mean. .” Mike shook his head, incredulous. “We blame Baxter?”

“Why not?” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, even though I could feel my voice breaking. “Just plant a few clues.”

“Hold on.” Mike dropped my hand and rubbed his forehead, the way he did when he was cramming for a big test. “First we accidentally. . kill someone. Now you want to frame someone else? ”

“No, no, no,” I cooed, standing up and stepping in between his legs. I rubbed my fingers in a slow circle around his temples. “It wouldn’t exactly be framing. You saw Baxter that night. He was handing out drugs left and right. We both heard him say someone should cut J.B. off — then twenty minutes later, he’s cheering on the second keg stand from the balcony.”

“I don’t know,” Mike grimaced. “Baxter’s no saint, but he’s not a murderer.”

“We don’t have to make him a murderer. We just have to clear our names by shifting the focus somewhere else. Look,” I said, lowering my forehead so that it was touching his, “we can’t bring J.B. back.”

There it was again. The icy feeling I now got whenever I really thought about J.B.’s death. This time, it was so strong I almost cried out in pain. But then I looked at Mike’s furrowed brow — which meant the window for persuasion was closing. I wrapped my arms around my chest to fight the chill and made myself keep going.

“All we can do is uphold our reputations as ambassadors of goodwill during our school’s time of need,” I said finally.

“I guess you’re right,” Mike nodded.

“Of course, I’m right.”

“It’s not like Baxter ever even comes to class. If he got expelled. .” he trailed off.

“Exactly,” I said. “Isn’t it better to hold our heads high and let the police punish someone who deserves to be hauled away, anyway? We can’t go down for this, Mike.” I covered my heart with my hands. “Now more than ever, Palmetto needs its Prince and Princess.”

“Well,” Mike said, giving me a small smile and pulling me onto his lap, “I know I need my Princess.”

It felt like centuries since we’d been this close. I couldn’t help it; I gave in to his lips and, for the first time all week, I relaxed.

“Something’s poking me and it’s not, um, me,” Mike said, adjusting himself over me on the marble slab. He pointed toward my hip. When I realized where he was going, I grabbed his hand.

“Don’t,” I said.

He wrestled free and went for the side pocket of my raincoat.

“What do you have in there?” he asked quickly.

When he pulled out J.B.’s pill bottle, his face screwed up like he’d eaten something bad. “What are you still doing with these?”

“I don’t know,” I stammered. Why couldn’t I just tell Mike the truth? Oh yeah, because it sounded crazy.

“Me neither,” he said, incredulous. “I thought we agreed you would lose them.” He stood up and ran his fingers through his hair. “You act like you have this all figured out, and then you can’t hide the most obvious piece of evidence? What if someone catches you with this?”

“It’s not like I can just throw it out at home,” I said. Mike was well aware that ever since Mom started screwing the Dick and got all into composting his gardens, she had the maid pick through our trash like a hobo. I