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“She needs them. She’s in pain.”

“I know, but lately . . . Never mind. I’m being stupid.”

“Hey, no.” Trev puts his arm around her, pulling her into him. She

rests her head on his shoulder. “I get it. You’re worried. We all worry

about her.”

“
You
worry about her,” she says pointedly. There’s resentment in

her voice, and resignation.

A long silence. Trev pulls away from her, and they stare at each

other. “Does that bother . . . Is that a problem?” he asks.

My heart thumps. I should cough, call out one of their names,

anything to draw attention to the fact that I’m awake. It’d be the right

thing to do.

But I stay where I am, eavesdropping in the worst possible way on

the two people I love the most. I wait for her to answer. A part of me

can’t help but hope that this will be
the
moment—when she fi nally

tells him, when he fi nally realizes the truth.

“Of course it’s not a problem,” Mina says, and it’s so smooth, the

way she says it, like there isn’t years of denial and heaps of lies and

boys who touched our bodies but never had a chance at our hearts.

“You sure?” Trev asks. “I know she’s your best friend. If it’s

weird—”

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F A R F R O M Y O U

“Oh, whatever,” Mina says lightly. “You’ve never been able to hide

things. It’s why you suck at poker. Everyone knows. Even—”

“Sophie,” Trev says. He’s glanced over his shoulder, caught sight of

me. “You’re awake.”

I’m looking out at the water, away from the two of them, but

my cheeks heat up. I’m still not sure what I ever did to inspire that

need, that love in them both. I’m not honest and steady like Trev or

bright and burning like Mina. I’m just me, with dirt underneath my

fi nger nails and a weakness for love and drugs. Somehow, though, I’ve

managed to tie us all in knots, and I don’t know how we can break free.

“We should get back.” Trev is up and pulling at the rigging while

Mina stays where she is.

I can feel her watching me.

But when I look at her, she’s turned toward the docks, blocking

me out.

Cowards, both of us.

49

NOW (JUNE)

My mother’s in the kitchen the next morning, waiting

for me.

“Where are you going?” she asks over her coffee cup.

“Breakfast with some friends.” I’d texted Kyle and Rachel

the night before, and they’re meeting Trev and me at the

Gold Street Diner before we head over to talk to Matt.

“Do those friends include Trev?” Mom asks. Her eye-

brows practically disappear, they rise so high. “Your father

said he was here yesterday.”

I grab the coffeepot and pour some into a travel mug.

It’s only a ten-minute drive to the diner, but I’d slept badly.

“Yeah.”

“Does Mrs. Bishop know?”

I dump too much sugar into the cup, popping the lid on

it. “Mrs. Bishop’s in Santa Barbara. Anyway, Trev’s twenty.

I don’t think he needs her permission to hang out with

anyone.”

“Sophie.” Mom’s got a worried look on her face. “You

and that family . . .” She stops.

Mom isn’t forgiving. After the crash, she’d tried to sep-

arate me from both Mina and him, and it hadn’t worked

then, either.

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F A R F R O M Y O U

“What about me and ‘that family’?” I demand. “I grew

up with Trev. I’m not going to throw that away.”

“I know how that boy feels about you,” she says. “Are

you still on birth control?”

Anger spikes inside me. It isn’t any of her business. I

hate that she automatically assumes this is all about sex;

like with me, that’s the only thing it could be about.

“I’m not sleeping with him,” I say. And I wait until the

relief pulls across her face. I wait, because I want to hurt her

like she’s hurt me. “Not anymore, at least,” I add.

Mom fl inches. I tell myself I don’t care, that this is what

I wanted, but I regret it almost instantly.

“I’ll be back later.” I walk past her and out of the kitchen

before she can say anything.

I lock the front door behind me and swing my bag over

my shoulder, balancing my coffee in the other. Trev’s get-

ting out of his truck as I walk down the path.

“We’re meeting Matt in an hour at his apartment,” Trev

says. He pauses, his eyes darting to his truck. “You want to

drive to the diner?”

I know it makes him nervous to drive with me, so I say,

“Sure.” I catch the keys when he tosses them and climb into

the driver’s seat. Trev slides in next to me, buckling his seat

belt as I turn the key in the ignition.

“I forgot to tell you last night—I talked to Mr. Wells, the

reporter in charge of Mina’s internship.”

Trev’s been carefully looking out the window, concen-

trating on the trimmed hedges and tidy older houses that

fi ll my neighborhood. But at the mention of Mr. Wells, he

T E S S S H A R P E

229

turns to face me so fast, I’m afraid he might strain some-

thing. “Tom Wells?” he demands.

“Yes.” I turn off my street and head toward the railroad

tracks.

“Don’t talk to him,” Trev says, and it sounds like an

order.

“Why? What’s wrong with him?”

“He was bugging Mom, after Mina . . . after it happened.

Showing up at Mass, trying to get her to talk, wanting to

do a profi le on Mina. I told him to leave us alone, but then

he started calling the house, saying he had some of Mina’s

stuff from her desk after the cops searched it. He wouldn’t

stop until I came and got it.”

“I just went over there to ask him if Mina had talked to

him about Jackie,” I say. “He said she didn’t. But he tried to

get me to talk about Mina on the record.”

Trev’s hands clench and unclench rhythmically; I can

see it out of the corner of my eye as the truck rumbles over

the railroad tracks and I turn onto a side street lined with

dingy industrial buildings. The road’s rough here, bad

asphalt that the county’s never bothered to replace, and the

truck jerks back and forth when I hit the potholes.

“I didn’t talk to Wells about anything important,” I

assure him.

“I know you didn’t,” he says, and relief unfurls inside

me that at least he still knows that hasn’t changed. He still

trusts me with some things.

“What did he give you?” I ask as I pull into the parking

lot. The diner in front of us is a squat little building made

230

F A R F R O M Y O U

up of two big rooms with the bathrooms on the outside

instead of in. It’s painted an eye-smarting shade of yellow,

with wind chimes made out of old silverware dangling

from the porch.

“It was just a bunch of half-fi lled notebooks, some pens

and a few pictures. I didn’t really look carefully through it,”

Trev admits. “I haven’t . . . It was right after, and Mom was

still . . .” He stops, breathing hard like he’s ready to run. “It

was hard,” he says fi nally. “Afterward. You were gone, and

I was so mad at you, and Mom was . . . I didn’t have any-

one. And I just—I couldn’t. I kept the door to Mina’s room

shut and I put the package in the garage and tried to forget

about it.”

I want to reach out and grab his hand or raise my own to

squeeze his shoulder, like he’d do for me. But I’d probably

make things worse.

All we ever do is hold it in. It’s the only way to keep

going.

“Kyle and Rachel are waiting for us,” I say.

Trev nods. We get out of the truck and head into the

diner. It’s noisy inside, the counter lined with old-time reg-

ulars on their stools, sipping black coffee and reading the

local paper. The dining room is crammed with tables and

mismatched chairs, with just inches between for the wait-

ress to navigate. Rachel and Kyle are sitting in the corner

next to the picture window.

“You must be Trev.” Rachel smiles. “I’m Rachel.”

“What happened to your eye?” I ask Kyle as Rachel and

Trev shake hands. He looks up from his coffee, his right eye

swollen and purple.

T E S S S H A R P E

231

“I punched him,” Trev says.

“What?”

Rachel laughs. “Seriously?” she asks Kyle.

“It’s not a big deal,” Kyle mutters.

Trev shrugs and sits down. “He deserved it.”

“Okay, no more punching,” I say, shaking my head.

Punching wasn’t going to solve anything. “Let’s just all get

along. We all want the same thing.”

After we order our food, we get down to business.

“I asked Tanner about Amy,” Kyle says. “He told me that

she has soccer practice tomorrow from fi ve to six. I fi gured

you could talk to her then.”

“I just hope she’ll talk to us,” I say. “If she didn’t want

Mina recording her interviews, I don’t know why she both-

ered to do one in the fi rst place.”

“Her family probably just doesn’t like reporters,” Trev

says with a scowl.

“Do you want me to go with you to see Matt?” Kyle asks.

“He knows me pretty well because of Adam.”

“Trev’s coming,” I say. “But thanks. I think we’ve got

another job for you.” I nudge Trev with my elbow. “Do you

think it’d be okay if Kyle and Rachel went over to your

house? They can go through the package from the
Beacon
.

Maybe there’s something in Mina’s notebooks.”

“That’s a good idea,” Trev says. “If you want to dig

around the garage, you can. It’s the only place I haven’t fi n-

ished searching yet There’s still a lot to go through.”

“I’ve got time,” Rachel says. “You in, Kyle?”

Mouth full of coffee, Kyle nods.

The rest of our order comes, and our conversation’s

232

F A R F R O M Y O U

abandoned for the clink of silverware and some really

excellent home fries. When Trev goes up to the counter to

pay, I ask Kyle, “What do you think of Matt?”

“Like, as a suspect?”

“Suspect, person, whatever. He and Trev were friends,

I’m looking for another perspective on him. You must’ve

been around Matt sometimes, because of Adam.”

Kyle leans back in his blue wicker chair. “Matt’s a

tweeker,” he says. “And he’s relapsed twice. He’s clean now,

has been for maybe six months. Adam seems to think this

time’s different, but he always wants to think that. Their

uncle had to step in this time, really lay down the law.

Someone in the family has to go with Matt to meetings so

he doesn’t ditch.”

“You don’t like Matt,” Rachel observes.

Kyle’s cheeks redden. “He was shitty to Adam when we

were kids. But family’s really important, so Adam always

forgives Matt, no matter how bad he acts. Matt was older—

he should’ve stepped up when their dad left, but he just

caused more problems.”

“Shitty person doesn’t necessarily translate into stone-

cold killer,” Rachel says.

Trev walks back to the table. “Let’s get going,” he says,

tucking some bills underneath my coffee cup for the tip.

He grabs his keys off the table and twists one free from

the ring, handing it to Kyle. “There’s soda and stuff in the

fridge. Help yourself to whatever. Just make sure to lock

up and leave the key under the rock on the porch after you

leave.”

T E S S S H A R P E

233

“And call us if you fi nd anything,” I add.

“Here,” Rachel unhooks her batman charm bracelet

and fastens it around my own. “For luck.” She gets up and

slings her message back over her shoulder.

We part at the door, Rachel and Kyle heading across the

street. Trev tosses me the keys again and reaches over to

turn the radio on once we’re back in the truck.

“I don’t think we should tell Matt we found Mina’s inter-

views,” I tell him as we drive past the soccer fi eld, where

girls in blue uniforms are chasing the ball across the grass.

“Then what do you want to say?”

“Just that we found a list in her room with his name on

it. I want to see how he reacts.”

“Okay, but let me do most of the talking.”

I nod as I pull up to the address that Trev’s given me, a

squat brown apartment building with a chipped tile roof

and a FOR RENT sign on the lawn. We get out of the truck