They thanked Señor Garman and left. The moment they did, Sophia tugged my hand and started for the stairway.
“Sophia,” Edward called to her.
“What do you want?”
“Bradley Whitfield is dead.”
&n
bsp; “So?”
“If you had anything to do with it…”
“What are you, deaf as well as blind right now, Edward? You heard everything.”
“Delia,” he called to me, “is that the truth? La verdad?”
Before I could respond, Sophia tugged me back and stepped between me and Edward and Jesse.
“We’re both very upset, Edward, especially Delia. You can’t see her face, but she’s devastated. Just leave us alone,” she told him, and continued to tug me toward the stairway.
“That was good,” she whispered as we ascended. “I’ll go call the girls. We’ll be just fine. Just as long as we stick together, understand?”
I wanted to let go of her hand. She wasn’t handing me a life line, I thought. She was dragging me down into darker places along with her and her friends. She made me sit beside her in her room while she called each of them and described what had occurred with the police and what she had told them. From the way she spoke, they all sounded absolutely terrified and shocked by the news of Bradley’s death. She ended each conversation the same way: “If you don’t do and say exactly what we planned, you could get yourself and all of us into very serious trouble. We could be accessories to murder or something!”
What did she mean, could be? I thought. That was exactly what they were, and by being cooperative and going along with it all, I was no different.
How far I had fallen from the morning I stood with my parents at the altar to celebrate my quinceañera.
How much farther away would I fall?
Had I crossed too far to the dark side ever to return?
19
No More Lies
Wherever Tía Isabela had gone for the weekend, she was close enough to hear about the events immediately in the morning. She called Sophia, and Sophia came into my room to wake me and to tell me that her mother was rushing home.
“I never heard my mother so upset. She can be worse than the police,” she warned. “So be very careful about what you tell her.”
And then, as if we were participants in some big, national, exciting event, she told me that Bradley’s death was on the front page of the newspaper and on television news already. She was very excited about it.
“Of course, because we’re underage, our names aren’t mentioned,” she added, as if that were something bad.
The little sleep I had gotten the night before did nothing to alleviate my numbness and shock. I still felt as if I were floating in some limbo, caught in another sticky nightmare. Sophia’s words were stunning. I stared at her in amazement. If there was any sign of real worry and real remorse, it was well hidden beneath the electricity in her eyes and the enthusiasm in her voice. Why wasn’t she as terrified as I was? How could she still see this as something exciting, something fun, even after it resulted in Bradley’s death?
“She won’t be here for an hour or so, so let’s both get up and have our breakfast and act as if nothing is wrong. Nada, get it?”
“Nothing? How can we pretend there is nothing wrong?”
“Well, you know what I mean.” She grimaced. “Don’t start that. Don’t start acting guilty. You didn’t do anything, anyway. You certainly didn’t throw him out the window, and we didn’t tell them to go kill him, did we? It’s not our fault they went too far. You can feel sorry for him and his family if you want, but you can’t blame yourself or us, understand?”
I didn’t respond. I just closed my eyes and turned my head. She really believed she had done nothing wrong. I wondered if people who lied a lot to others were good at lying to themselves.
“Don’t just lie there moping. Get dressed,” she ordered. “I’m starving this morning. Just stick close to me, and you’ll be all right. Delia! Are you listening to me?”
“Sí,” I said. “I’m getting up.”