Page 86 of Belong With Me
I groan. “Maybe I should’ve rethought who I chose as a partner.”
“No, you should not have. Because your partner is better than someone who read the book: you chose a partner with charm, and we’re going to blow the socks off Mr. Lewis and the entire class with our presentation on . . .
I wanna say . . . Juliet?”
“The play isOthello.”
“She’s inOthello, right?”
I sigh, but secretly I’m laughing. Sure, we have a lot of work ahead of us, but at least I know I’m going to have fun with my friend along the way.
Hours pass, and Warren and I have not only finished the entire bowl of red gummy bears, the bowl of chips, and most of the popcorn, but we have pages of notes between us and a pretty good idea of what we’re doing for the presentation. Considering one of us didn’t even know what play we were reading, I’m confident this presentation is on track for an A-plus. Scholarship, here I come.
“Let’s go look in my closet for a costume,” Warren says as he stands and stretches. “They’re going to be so impressed with our presentation, they won’t even notice if what we’re saying makes sense or not.”
I laugh as I stand and roll out my neck. Costumes are fun. I can pretend to be someone else when I need to stand in front of the class, all of whom are watching me, judging me,scaredof me, wondering if I was involved with Lily’s disappearance.
I follow Warren to his closet, but when he opens the door, it’snota closet. It’s a room, bigger than mine at Dario’s house, that Warren’s converted into a closet. There’s an island in the middle with drawers, and built into the walls around the room are stylish floor-to-ceiling cabinets. There’s even a huge mirror with the sides folded in a little for a better view, and a sitting area beside it. Like his bedroom, this room is impeccably neat and organized, with nothing out of place. I’m so impressed that part of me considers asking him to come organize my stuff when he’s bored, but then I remember I don’t reallyhavea room at the moment.
“I think I have miscellaneous stuff and costumes over here,” he says, leading me to the back wall. He opens the cabinet door and reveals racks of various hanging clothes, with open shelves beside them storing more items. It’s not as neat as I was led to believe, with things stuffed in every which way and clearly overflowing from the sheer volume of stuff in this one section.
“Ah, so the trick is hiding everything behind closed doors.”
Warren’s head snaps to me. “What? I’m not hiding anything.”
I point to the chaos in the closet. “Yeah, the mess.” I laugh. I hope I didn’t make him feel insecure about it. It’s still ten times more organized than my closet.
“Oh.” His shoulders relax a bit. “Just the miscellaneous section. If you open the other cabinets, it’s all color coordinated and sectioned by occasion.”
I don’t doubt it. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Warren in the same outfit twice.
“I don’t see anything for women in here,” I say, trying to sift through the packed-in clothes on the hangers. “But we might be able to find you something.”
“My mom might have stuff in her closet,” Warren suggests. “Let me check in there, and you keep looking for me. Find something that screams sophisticated and historical, yet roguish and appropriately sexy.”
I pull out a full fluffy bunny onesie, complete with a butt flap and a hood with long, floppy ears, and hold it out to him with a raised eyebrow. “I’m sure I’ll find the exact combination you’re looking for in here if I have stuff like this as my options.”
He laughs and backs out of the room. “I’m sure there’s better stuff buried in there. Yell if you find something, I’ll be a few doors over!”
Warren leaves, and I’m left staring at the organized mess of clothes that I don’t even know how to start going through. Maybe I should search the internet for inspiration before going through everything, so I have an idea in mind.
I pull out my phone and search for Shakespeare-inspired costumes, pushing aside a hanging clown costume when something on the floor catches my eye.
It was thrown there haphazardly, but it catches my eye because it’s so out of place here in Warren’s closet.
I freeze.
I can feel every single beat of my heart as I stare down at it, my mind connecting what I’m seeing with what it means.
Slowly, like I’m scared it’ll get up and run if I move too fast, I bend down to pick it up. I grasp it carefully and straighten, staring at the object in front of me, trying to comprehend what I’m seeing.
It’s a coincidence, it must be. This can’t prove anything—but it has to. It’s the only evidence I’ve found after all the digging and hunches and pointing of fingers.
My breathing is unsteady as I turn it in my hand, and my brain registers without a doubt that this is what I think it is.
I’m holding Lily’s red stiletto heel, the very same one she was wearing the day she went missing.
And there’s a splatter of blood on the toe.