Cold Calls (18 page)

“If I'm going to give you what you want, I should at least get a good story out of it.”

“Please. I don't want anyone to know. I mean, things are finally starting to—”

“Oh, I won't tell,” Katie said. “I just want to know for me.”

“But—”

Katie laughed. “The more you squirm, the more I gotta know.”

“She, uh, she knows that I, uh—”

“Shelly? If I think you're lying, you'll never get the name.”

Shelly held her hand over her mouth, muffling the sobs.

“So what's it gonna be? Your secret for her name, or no?”

“I . . . I can't . . . please . . .”

“Fine, Shelly. You got my number, call me if you change your—”

“I killed my brother.”

Silence.

Then, in a low, curious voice, “Whoa.”

“I was babysitting. I did something, and he died.”

“That's a serious secret. Do the police—”

“Yes,” Shelly said. “They know. After I did it, I called 911. The ambulance arrived, and he was dead, and the police took me away.”

Another pause. “Was this, like, recently?”

Yesterday. It was always yesterday. But she said, “This year. February fourteenth.”

“Oh. Valentine's Day. That's gotta suck.”

Shelly listened to her own breathing on the phone. Short, choppy, uneven, then a sniff, a hard swallow. She could taste the salt on her lips.

After a long minute, Katie said, “Look. Shelly.” She sighed. “Here's what happened, okay? It was the last week at camp. We'd already done the final performance, so mostly it was just hanging out, which was cool, but you know how it is. You've been together that long, there's just some faces you're sick of seeing. There's no rule that says you have to be friends with everybody, right? Well, one night it was Connor's birthday, and Heather finds out he's never gotten high. I mean, the guy's turning
fifteen
and he's never even
seen
a joint. Can you imagine?”

Shelly could imagine.

“So we buy a fat spliff off one of the landscape guys and we take a walk. Just the three of us, on this trail a half mile away from the dorms. We fire it up and hilarity ensues. The next day, the three of us are hauled into the counselor's office. Seems we weren't as alone as we thought. Oh, and of course she didn't turn us in to get us in trouble.
Noooo,
it was because she
cared
about us and didn't want us to do anything quote-unquote stupid. She was just mad we didn't invite her along.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“
Pffft.
They knew that if they blew us in,
they'd
be the ones in deep shit. My parents would have gone
ballistic
on them. My mom's an attorney, so she'd be all for suing their asses. In the end, we weren't allowed to go to the big pizza-party bonfire on Saturday night—whoop-de-do, right? Plus, we had to work extra kitchen duty. You know, scraping plates and loading the dishwasher. Scrubbing the big pots. That's when we saw her in the cafeteria. I quick slopped some cold mac and cheese on a paper plate, and Connor ran out and dumped it on her. Heather filmed it on her phone.”

“Didn't anybody try to stop you?”

“Nobody saw us.”

“Wait. I thought it was in the middle of lunch.”

“What, you think we're stupid? The cafeteria was empty, she was just cutting through. We all laughed—well, not her—then she ran off and took a shower. I don't think she ever told anyone. At least, I never heard about it again.”

“But people saw it when you put it online.”

“Saw what? It was shot on an old phone from way across a dark cafeteria. You can't see shit. And I just had it up a couple of days. I think the only people who saw it were us. It was stupid.”

Shelly thought about the caller's instructions, how it had to be at school, in the cafeteria, close to noon and everybody watching, and remembered something Jeff once said about payback being a bitch.

“Anyway, that's what happened. I haven't kept in touch with Heather or Connor. Facebook friends, but that's about it. And not even on my real list. It was one of those camp things. You're friends there, but back in the real world, you've got nothing in common.”

Like a Catholic baby killer, a jock pornographer, and an atheist Muslim.

“So promise me something,” Katie said. “This little shit? You teach her a lesson.”

Shelly took a breath. “That's the plan.”

A
FEW MINUTES AFTER EIGHT, HIS GRANDMOTHER'S OLD
phone started ringing. He was in the living room, watching TV, and the phone was upstairs on his bed, but it was loud enough that he could have been down the street and heard it.

The scratched-up screen made it hard to read the incoming number, but he had a good idea who it would be.

“So, I called him,” Fatima said.

“And?”

“Everything was going good till I asked him about the macaroni-and-cheese thing.”

“What, he freak or something?”

“No, he was just all ‘That's ancient history' and ‘I've asked God's forgiveness.' I couldn't get anything out of him. How about you? Any luck?”

“She said she heard about it, but claimed she wasn't part of it.”

“Think she's telling the truth?”

“I don't know. Maybe. She didn't seem the type.”

“Did
I
seem like the type?”

He smiled. “Have you heard from Shelly?”

“Her phone's busy. I bet she's still talking to Katie. That girl scares me.”

“Which one?”

“Both,” she said, and laughed. “Katie's pretty, but she's got this look about her, like she'd rip your head off if you made her mad. Shelly's more the sneaky type. She'd find a way to get even.”

“Good thing she's on our side.”

“What do you think she did?”

“She probably stuck to the script, asked her the questions we came up with. I hope she did better than us, though.”

“Not that,” Fatima said. “You know.
Her secret.
What do you think she did that was so bad?”

He blinked, and there was Shelly, leaning out of the bus, glaring at him, his joke about her killing someone still hanging in the air. He shook his head and it was gone. “No clue.”

“I bet she's pregnant.”

“No, she's a virgin,” he said, regretting it as he said it.

“And you know that how?”

“It just sorta came up. Something she said. Besides, who'd want to admit to that?”

“There's nothing wrong with being a virgin,” Fatima said, her tone shifting. “I'd rather be a virgin than some skank who sleeps with every guy she meets.”

“Oh, please. Just because a girl isn't a virgin, that doesn't make her a slut.”

“Easy for you to say. You don't know how girls talk. They find out you're nasty? They rip into you. Girls are mean. And all it takes is one asshole guy for a girl to get a slutty reputation.”

Eric felt his stomach roll. “Not all guys are like that.”

“You're a guy,” Fatima said. “Of course you'd say that. This one kid at my school? He took a
video
of his girlfriend in the shower.”

“Did you actually see it?”

“Duh,
everybody
saw it.”

He switched the phone to his other ear. “What happened to him?”

“Him? Nothing. She moved away, though.
Anyway,
” Fatima said, saying it in a way that let him know the subject was closed. “Do you think Shelly will find out who's been calling us?”

“Maybe. She's smart. She figured out that it was a girl. And she's great at getting people to do what they don't want to do. Look at us. Meeting every day, making phone calls.”

“I'm just glad she did. I wouldn't have known what to do. There's no way I would have done it on my own.”

“You're the one who figured out the link between the victims.”

“Yeah, but she told me where to look. That was the hard part.”

“I'm still impressed.”

“So, tell me the truth,” Fatima said. “You think we'll be able to find out who the caller is and stop her?”

He didn't say anything.

“I think there's a good chance we can do it,” she said.

God, he hoped so.

The chance they had was slim at best, but he was holding on to it anyway. That and second chances, the kind he prayed he'd be given if the photo started popping up in everyone's inbox. And then there was the chance he tried not to think about at all, the chance that the photo crossed more than just a moral line, the chance that he'd end up on some list of offenders, some national registry, a court-ordered bumper sticker on his car, a sign in front of his house.

“If Shelly gets the girl's name,” Fatima said, bringing him back in the moment, “we can, I don't know, do something.”

“Like ask her not to do it?”

“We could start with that. Then, if it doesn't work, you could, like, you know, scare her.”

“Me? I'm not gonna beat up some girl.”

“
Noooo,
you just have to make her
think
you would.”

“Well, I wouldn't. So you better have another plan.”

“I bet we can probably talk her out of it,” Fatima said. “You said yourself that Shelly was good at getting people to do stuff. Why can't she talk this girl out of sending the emails?”

Because the girl is crazy. Because she went this far to get revenge and isn't going to stop because they ask politely. They had to play her game, and that meant no mercy.

“We'll see,” he said, thinking.

“It's funny,” Fatima said. “I'm not scared of what's going to happen to
me.
I'll get grounded and stuff like that, but that's not what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid of what it's going to do to my parents.”

“Yeah, that,” he said, an image of his parents staring open-mouthed at the picture on a police-station laptop forcing its way into his head.

“And I know what they're going to say, too.”

“Let me guess. ‘We're not mad, we're disappointed.'”

“Ugh, I hate that. Plus, they're still mad, no matter what they say.”

Eric nodded, smiling at the truth of it all.

“What's funny,” Fatima said, “is that my family is going to find out someday anyway.”

“Why? Somebody else know?”

“No, I'll end up telling them. I'd have to. I couldn't lie to them forever. They'll still be hurt, and they're never going to understand, but they'll deal with it. Because they're family.” She sighed. “But that's
years
from now. Decades.”

“Well, if by some miracle we dodge this bullet, I plan on lying to everyone, forever. At least about this.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

He laughed. “I don't even want to
think
about it.”

S
HE KNEW IT WAS A DREAM
.

It was dark, of course, and raining, and there she was, running away from something she couldn't see but that was getting closer. And as she watched herself run—in slow motion, and clumsy—Shelly could hear herself saying, “Running in a dream? How cliché.” The sound of her own voice startled her awake, and when she sat up, it took a moment for her to place where she was and how long she'd been there.

“Rise and shine like the sun, Miss Shelly,” Father Joe shouted from across the empty church, the Thursday-morning crowd of twelve already gone.

Shelly rubbed her eyes as the priest made his way down the aisle. “How long have I been asleep?”

“I saw you start to nod off during my sermon. You were not alone. Mrs. Mitchell, also. But she falls asleep several times during every mass.”

“Sorry,” Shelly said as she yawned. “I haven't been sleeping good at night, and it's so warm in here this morning.”

“Then I am truly glad that my words were able to help you.” He sat at the end of the row, draping a long arm over the back of the pew. “The church is here to provide comfort, and sometimes that means a place to sleep.”

Shelly massaged her shoulder. “If they're serious about comfort, you might want to pad these seats.”

Father Joe thought a moment, then laughed. “I see what you are doing. You are using the different meanings of the words
comfort
and
comfortable
to make a joke. Very clever, miss.”

She stretched and yawned again.

“What is it that is keeping you from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Just a little problem I have to solve.”

“A school problem? Perhaps I can help. I was top of my class in maths.”

“Not that kind of problem. Something personal,” she said. Then, sensing he'd still want to help, she added, “It's a female thing.”

“Ah, well then,” the priest said, backing away from his offer. “I pray it will all work out for the best.”

She flipped open her phone and checked the time. Ten hours, fifteen minutes, left. “I'll let you know tomorrow.”

“As the apostle Matthew wrote, do not worry about tomorrow, miss, for tomorrow will care for itself.”

“Yeah,” she said, stretching her legs out and pushing the phone into the pocket of her jeans. “That's what I'm worried about.”

Father Joe nodded, but Shelly was sure it was something he did when he didn't understand. She did the same thing in French class.

He turned and faced her. “I spoke with Father Tony last night. He said to me to say hello to you from him.”

She clicked the end of her zipper with her thumbnail. “That's nice.”

“Indeed, miss. Father Tony is a good and nice man. And he says hello to you.”