"You have lost your mind," I say, the words heavy in my mouth. "You have lost it."

"Hey, Coach," Beth sings, her grin wider and wider, Beth sings, her grin wider and wider, "where you goin' with that gun in your hand?" "where you goin' with that gun in your hand?"

"Shut up," I say, my hand leaping out and shoving at her, a strange half laugh coming from me.

But then I'm shoving harder and I'm not laughing, and Beth grabs my hands and locks them together. When did she get so sober? When did she get so sober?

"He killed himself," I say, so loud it hurts me to hear. "She didn't do anything. She'd never do anything like that."

My hands in hers, she leans toward me, very close, her wine-thick breath in my face, my hands knotted in hers so tight I feel a hot tear in my eye corner.

"She would never do anything like that," she repeats back to me, nodding.

"She loved him," I say, the words sounding small and ridiculous.

"Right," Beth says, smiling, pressing my hands against her own hard ribcage, like clutching in the backseat with a boy, "because no one's ever killed the person they love."

"You're drunk, you're drunk and awful," I say, and I'm trying to get my hands free, and we're rocking, our faces so close. "An awful b.i.t.c.h, the worst I ever knew."

She drops my hands at last, tilting her head and watching me.

Suddenly, the alcohol heaving in me, my hands palsied, I have to get out of the car.

Feet on the smooth, freshly poured asphalt of the lot, I breathe deep.

But this is what she wants because she gets out too.

I look at her, face shot through not with moonlight but with the wan blue of the bank of parking lot lights.

"Let's go," I say. "I don't need this-"

"Do you smell something?" Beth asks, suddenly. "Like flowers or something. Honeysuckle."

"I don't smell anything," I say.

I smell all kinds of things, most of all chlorine. Bleach. Blood.

"Did you know the government is studying the possibility that people might give off these scents when they're lying?" Beth says, and I must be dreaming. "And each smell is very individual. Like a fingerprint."

I've dreamed my way into one of Beth's nightmares, the one where we're standing above the gorge, like an open throat.

"I wonder if yours is honeysuckle," she says.

"I'm not lying about anything," I say.

"Honeysuckle so sweet I can taste it. You're good enough to eat, Addy-Faddy," she says, and I feel she's monstrous now.

"He killed himself," I say, my voice almost too low to hear. "It's the truth, if you want to know."

"You lie and lie, and I keep lapping it up," she says, clucking her tongue. "Not anymore."

"He did. He shot himself in the mouth on his carpet," I say, and it's not even my voice, not even my words, but they come so fast and so sure. "It's the truth."

Beth is watching me, and there's no stopping me now.

"He shot himself," I say. I wish I could stop, but I can't stop until I convince her. "He fell on the carpet and his head was black. And he died there."

With those security floodlights glaring, her face like marble, she says nothing.

And I keep going.

"You don't know," I say, the wind whipping my hair into my face, my mouth. "Because you didn't see. But I know. But I know."

"How do you know?" she darts back, and repeats her question from the girls' restroom. "Were you there?"

"Of course I was," I say, almost a howl, my breath sliding from me. I say, almost a howl, my breath sliding from me.

"Of course you were," she says, fingers reaching out, lacing through my blowing hair.

"So that's how I know," I say, tightening my voice. "That's how I know more than you. I saw his body. I saw it lying there."

She is quiet for a moment.

"You saw him kill himself."

"No, after."

"Ah, so you saw him after he was already dead. After Coach shot him dead."

"No," I say, my voice loud. "We found him together. We got to his apartment and there he was."

There is a pause.

"I see," she says, an unspeakably lewd leer rising. "So what exactly was going on that Coach would bring you to the Sarge's apartment, at all hours of the night. Were you some virgin prize-"

"No," I nearly shout, feeling stomach-sick. "She found him and she called me. I went and got her."

She smiles faintly. "Huh," she says.

My stomach turning, I lean against the open car door, breathing in.

"Wait," I say, heeling back, dropping into the front seat. "You saw us that night. You saw me come home after."

"I didn't need to see you," she says, toe-kicking at my ankles. It's not really an answer, though. "I know all your beats, Addy."

"You know everything," I mutter.

"I know you, Addy," she says. "Better than you ever could. You've never been able to look at anything about yourself. You count on me to do it for you."

I press my face into the car headrest.

"And what you've just told me," she continues, "I'm glad you finally fessed up, but it doesn't change anything."

Turning my head slowly toward her, my mouth drifting open...

"What?"

"All it proves, Addy, is that you lied to me. But I knew that already."

Later, in bed, the alcohol leaching from me, I cannot make my head stop.

Drunk and weak, I gave her everything.

I feel outmaneuvered, outflanked.

Because I was.

Don't you believe me now? I'd said, whining like a little JV, all the way home. I'd said, whining like a little JV, all the way home.

Don't you get it? she'd said, shaking her head. she'd said, shaking her head. He was done with her. And now she's done with him. And now she's sunk you down in it with her. And soon she'll be done with you too. He was done with her. And now she's done with him. And now she's sunk you down in it with her. And soon she'll be done with you too.

She made you her accomplice.

She made you her b.i.t.c.h-but then again, weren't you already?

I think I will never sleep and then, finally, I do.

26

SAt.u.r.dAY MORNING: TWO DAYS TO FINAL GAME

I wake up with a start, and a picture flashes there. with a start, and a picture flashes there.

Last Monday night, Coach opening Will's apartment door to me. The alarm in her eyes like she'd forgotten she'd called me. The shimmery dampness clinging to her thick hair.

The picture so vivid, it aches. My heart rocketing in my chest, I feel my T-shirt sticking to me, my hung-over body blazing.

Grasping for the warm water bottle by my bed, I know something suddenly. Something I'd forgotten.

The dew on her.

Faint. Like someone who'd showered maybe a half hour before.

And Will, lying on the floor in his towel.

I can't quite piece it together, but it reminds me of something.

It reminds me of another time.

It reminds me of this: Will, waving through the lobby doors, his hair wet and seal-slick.

Coach, slipping from behind him, walking toward me, her hair hanging in damp loops to her shoulders, darkening her T-shirt.

The first time I drove to The Towers, the time I came and picked her up. And I knew what they'd been doing before I arrived, because it was all over them.

Their clothes on but they seemed so naked, all their pleasure in each other streaked across their faces.

Fresh from their shower, their shared shower I'd imagined.

I imagine now.

Monday night, Coach and Will, both shower damp, but Will is dead.

She didn't find his body, Beth said. Beth said. She was there when it happened. She was already there. She was there when it happened. She was already there.

The phone rings and rings and rings. I turn it off and stuff it under my mattress.

The thoughts that come are rough and relentless.

The days leading up to Will's death, the way Coach had been acting, missing practices, the car accident, and now I wonder if she'd lied about all of it. If she had felt Will slipping away and had been calling, had been begging him to come over, like that day at her house, when she finally lured him there. When she had me wait in the backyard with Caitlin.

And that night. The faintly damp hair. The bleachy tennis shoes. What had that been about, really?

And how did she get to Will's?

I took a cab, she'd said. she'd said. I snuck out of the house. Matt was asleep. He took two pills. I had to see Will, Addy. I snuck out of the house. Matt was asleep. He took two pills. I had to see Will, Addy. That strangely robotic voice. That strangely robotic voice. So I called a cab. But I couldn't call a cab to take me back, could I? So I called a cab. But I couldn't call a cab to take me back, could I?

Snuck out at two in the morning, and Matt French didn't hear her? It made so much more sense that she'd gone over earlier, made some excuse to Matt, or gone because Matt wasn't home yet.

Could Will have been done with her, and she...

Suddenly, I think of last week, that sleeping snarl in the night as I lay beside Coach: How could you do this to me? How?