Authors: Elle Cosimano
I spent Sunday morning with the shades drawn tight, sagging into our creaky dirt-brown sofa. I was still in my pj’s, buried under a faded afghan that smelled like mildew and cigarette smoke. The TV was bright in the dimly lit room. I poked the remote through a gap in the blanket where it was pulled up to my ears, flipping between channels with the sound muted so it wouldn’t wake my mother. News stations had footage from the Air and Space Museum on a loop, each showing different angles of the front of the building, rows of yellow buses, and flashing police lights. The police hadn’t released many details to the press, only that an unidentified minor was found dead during a school field trip, and police were investigating the possibility of foul play.
Possibility. No mention of how he’d been asphyxiated with his own shoelace, or the mysterious number left in stickers on his arm. Five.
Emily . . . ten.
Marcia . . . eighteen.
Posie . . . three.
Teddy . . . five.
I’ll put it all on the table for you.
I looked past the reporters’ faces searching for someone
familiar in the background, someone who might have a reason to frame me for murder. Someone who might stay through the chaos to see me carted off to jail. But the media was careful not to show any students on camera, and the police barricades kept the press from getting too close.
Who wrote the ads? What did he want from me and what was he trying to tell me?
I flipped the TV off and sat in the dark for a while, listening to Mona snore in the next room. Then I threw off the quilt, padded to my room, and flopped on my bed. Einstein stared back at me from the poster on my wall, as if to say: “Why the hell haven’t you figured this out yet? It’s four lousy numbers. Not the Theory of Relativity, for crying out loud.”
But those four numbers were impossible to solve. I had no idea what factor connected them. It’s like I was missing the value of
x
, because I couldn’t figure out what
x
was supposed to represent.
The phone rang on my nightstand and I reached to grab it before the second ring.
“What are you doing?” Anh asked before I could say hello. She knew I’d be the one to answer this early on a Sunday.
“Talking to Albert.”
“I bought you that poster to demonstrate the correlation between frizzy hair and scientific brilliance. Not so you’d become all codependent upon Our Holy Father of Modern Physics.”
“It’s Sunday. Let me worship in peace.”
“Fine, what are you doing after nerd-church?”
“Sleeping.”
“Want to study for finals?”
“Can’t. I’m out of bus money and I don’t have a ride.”
Anh sighed. “Jeremy’s just upset. He won’t keep you in pedestrian purgatory forever. You can walk.”
It felt wrong that Anh should be the one telling me how Jeremy was feeling. “I don’t feel like it.”
“Come on. I’ll bring lunch. I made hummus and glutenfree dippers.”
“No can do. My brain’s a carb- and fat-oiled machine. It runs on these crazy little alkaloids called theobromine and phenethylamine. They’re found in nature in something called Snickers bars. Maybe you’ve heard of them?”
“Very funny. Will you come if I promise to bring chocolate?”
I didn’t feel like leaving my room. All I wanted was to climb under my covers and try not to think about Teddy’s face in that bag, and the last words I’d spoken to Posie. But my stomach growled at me. I thumbed through the syllabus on my desk and grumbled, “Throw in a Coke?”
“Adding caffeine to your growing list of vices?” Anh chided. “Fine. I’ll stop at Bao’s and pick up chocolate and soda. And if your arteries haven’t spontaneously combusted by then, you can meet me at the library in an hour, where I expect to hear all the gory details of your scandalous affair with Mr. Scary Hot New Guy.”
“Fine.” I rolled my eyes, as if she could hear it through the phone. I was getting ready to hang up when something occurred to me. “Hey, Anh. What do the numbers ten, eighteen, three, and five have in common?”
Anh was quiet for a moment. I couldn’t hear anything but the rattle and drone of the small rusting air conditioner ducttaped to the frame of my window. “No idea. I need more information.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Me too.” Even if I wasn’t any closer to solving the numbers, at least I didn’t feel as stupid as I had a moment ago. Anh couldn’t see a connection either. I could only hope the next ad would reveal the missing link. And that I wouldn’t be too late to solve it.
I said good-bye to Anh, got dressed, and packed up my books. When I grabbed my hoodie off the back of my desk chair, something crinkled in the pocket. The torn page from the hospital log book still smelled like the inside of Reece’s jacket. I should have destroyed it or flushed it down the toilet, but I looked around my room for a place to hide it instead. I reached under my mattress and withdrew the plastic bag. It was the one place Mona was sure to avoid.
I put the hospital log sheet inside it, adding it to the old photo of my dads’ poker club. A mystery for another day. I shoved them all under the mattress. This week was all about being normal. Laying low. I threw my backpack over my shoulder and recited the rules that would get me through the next six days: No bad grades, no trouble, and no touching.
• • •
I’d wanted to get to Rankin’s class early on Monday, but that didn’t happen. I was still in purgatory. Jeremy hadn’t picked me up and I didn’t want to call Reece for a ride. Despite my best efforts, our kiss had landed him in suspension for another week and I didn’t need to give Romero one more reason to expel him. Reece had given me an alibi and confiscated the evidence from the hospital. I was safe at least for now. I just needed to keep a level head. To be on time when attendance was taken, and to be as shocked as everyone else when the rest of the school figured out that the unnamed minor found murdered in the planetarium was Teddy Marshall, and that Posie was dead too.
A reporter stood on the front steps of the school, holding a microphone and talking into a TV camera. School security guards and police flanked the front doors, and I slipped in with the last of the students to arrive.
Inside the lobby, a line of parents waited to speak with administration, talking animatedly to each other about emergency PTA meetings and the need for increased security at school events. The secretaries politely nudged them out of the office, telling them they’d have to schedule an appointment to speak with Principal Romero.
I dodged around the tail of the line and headed to my first class, trying not to notice the red personal safety flyers on every bulletin board I passed.
I flew into the chem lab as the second bell blared. No time to check Friday’s test scores, or the rankings for the week. Curious heads turned and followed me to my seat. Anh sat hunched over, her face uncharacteristically pale. She didn’t look at me when I sat down. My test lay facedown on the desk. I took a deep breath, turned it over, and felt Anh’s eyes dart to the score circled on top.
103%. A yellow sticky note beside it read: “Please meet Kylie Rutherford at 2:45pm today. You will be tutoring her in geometry through Thursday.”
I stifled a strange involuntary noise.
“Congratulations, Miss Boswell.” Rankin’s back was to the class as he copied the day’s homework on the blackboard. “You and Mr. Petrenko both achieved perfect scores on this exam. You both also solved the extra credit question.” He slapped his hands together, a cloud of chalk dust fanning out as he turned to address the class. “It was quite a puzzle. I must say, I was rather impressed.”
I rotated my head slowly toward Oleksa’s table. He reclined in his seat, assuming his usual I-couldn’t-give-a-shit slouch. His test scores wouldn’t be enough to sway the rankings. His lab partner was hopeless, he’d never completed a homework assignment, and his attendance was sketchy at best.
I wanted to savor the moment. I’d aced the test and I had four tutoring sessions booked to keep me on track this week. I should have felt buoyed by Rankin’s confidence in me, but I couldn’t shake the image of Kylie Rutherford, strung up and tied like a lamb for slaughter.
Anh turned her test facedown and tried to hold a smile, but it wavered, and she gave up. I opened my mouth to apologize, a stab of guilt prodding me to say something. But I stopped. Anything I said would sound clumsy and insincere.
The silence was deafening as Rankin marked his attendance log. Finally he said, “I’m afraid I must share some rather grave news with you today.” I imagined every eye in the room darting in my direction, but when I looked up all eyes were on Rankin. “Some of you may already know that two students passed away this weekend under tragic and uncertain circumstances. Posie Washington and Teddy Marshall are no longer with us. There will be a memorial service for them here at the school on Friday.”
A roar of whispers erupted, rumors confirmed behind cupped hands. Oleksa’s head rotated slowly in my direction. Our eyes locked, and I turned away.
Rankin went on to disclose the events of the weekend in vague detail. I slunk down, kept my eyes low. It wasn’t hard to look broken by the news. I picked at the corner of the sticky note, wondering if Kylie Rutherford had any idea what she’d signed up for.
• • •
“I’m sorry! I just can’t do it.” Kylie dragged her fingers through the magenta hair at her temples and squeezed her head. As if that might somehow expel the information from her brain and spray it across the page.
“You can do it. We have all week to practice. The test isn’t until Friday.” I pushed the book at her. She looked up through a jagged veil of bangs. Her raccoon eyes were shiny and wet.
“I’m not smart like you.” The pathetic whine seemed out of character with her tough-girl face. She wrestled a finger under the dog collar at her throat, like she was loosening a tie. Or a noose. I closed my eyes and shook off the thought, but not before seeing the mud-colored hickey behind the leather band.
“You are smart,” I lied, unable to stop staring at the bruise on her neck. Kylie lived a few doors down from my trailer. She was seventeen and already a rent-a-girl. She’d be lucky to finish school at all, much less pass this test. “You can pass this,” I said anyway. “You just have to memorize a few simple equations.”
And stop letting losers suck away your future.
Kylie smeared the black stream under her eyes with her sleeve. “You’re really nice. I don’t believe anything people are saying about you,” she said between sniffles. “I mean, not the bad stuff. You don’t seem like the type.”
I stiffened. “What bad stuff ?”
“You know, all that stuff about how you think you’re so much better than the rest of us just because you’re smart. I think it’s cool that you’re smart. Gives the rest of us a reason to hope, right? Everyone’s talking about you maybe getting some big scholarship—that you might make it out of the park. I hope you do.” She smiled. It was a sad smile, like the corners of her mouth had to fight to pick themselves up.
I wasn’t sure what to say. I was used to people talking about me, but not like this. Usually, the comments felt like hands grabbing at my ankles, dragging me back down into the slag. I’d never thought anyone in the park would care enough to offer a push from below. Like it might lighten their burdens if just one of us could make it out.
“Thanks.” I took one last look at her neck, feeling protective for reasons I didn’t want to think about. Her face flushed, splotchy and streaked. She fidgeted with her dog collar, pulling it up to conceal the mark, ashamed—the same way my mother tugged up the collar of her robe. Kylie would be someone else’s Mona someday. “I hope you do too.”
She looked down at the desk. “Can I give you one piece of advice?” Her brow lined with thoughtful creases. “Lonny says you’re seeing that new kid, Reece?”
I nodded, feeling a little more cautious now that I knew who’d been sucking the life out of her.
“Be careful,” she said. “Boys like him . . .” Kylie cocooned her hands in the cuffs of her sleeves. I wondered what secrets she was hiding under them. “Just be careful.”
I wanted to tell her the same, but I couldn’t. Not without saying too much. So I changed the subject instead.
“What are you doing on Friday night, to celebrate after the test?” I asked casually, as if I wasn’t so anxious to know the answer. As if her life didn’t depend on it.
Both Posie’s and Teddy’s funerals took place on Wednesday, one after the other, and the school announced a liberal absence policy for those who wished to attend. I didn’t wish to. I wanted them both to be alive and well. But I’d go.
That morning, I fished in Mona’s closet for a simple black blouse and paired it with a pair of black jeans. My only shoes were my sneakers, but no one would see them if they were tucked under the pews.
I dropped some change in my pocket and walked to the bus stop at the end of Sunny View Drive. The clear plastic shelter felt like a magnifying glass in the sun, and I stood beside it, with my toes on the curb. A car slid to a slow stop at my feet. I looked up and saw Anh’s face in the passenger-side window of Jeremy’s Civic. The glass rolled down. She was perfectly polished in a sleeveless black sheath and a strand of delicate pink pearls. Her nails were painted pale pink to match and in her small hands, she held an elegant black clutch that shone like her patent leather heels. She said nothing about my jeans and sneakers. Just looked at me with a sad smile.
On her other side, Jeremy wore a dress shirt and tie, and looked hard at the steering wheel.
“You shouldn’t go alone,” Anh said quietly. “Get in. We’ll take you.”
The city bus rolled to a noisy stop behind the Civic, a trail of suffocating exhaust blowing over me. The air brake released and the bus doors swung open, but the choice Anh was offering didn’t feel like a choice at all. I knew they were going to the funerals, same as I was, but they looked like a matched pair, and I felt like I was crashing their date. But if I took the bus, I’d seem ungrateful.
I pulled open the Civic door and scrunched myself into the backseat. “Thanks.”
We rode to Posie’s family’s church in silence. Neither of them asked the questions I knew must be on their minds. Why my mentees? Why me? Because how can you ask a question like that without it sounding like some kind of accusation? So instead, they said nothing.
I sat beside Anh in the back of the church with my hands tucked under me, and my legs folded tight at the ankle. Jeremy sat on her other side, her leg crossed at the knee, angled toward his. She cried silently into a clean lace hanky. My own tears slid steadily down over my chin.
When it was over, Posie’s family took up quiet places beside her open casket. The receiving line moved slowly, relatives and students pausing to hug or shake hands with her parents. I wiped my palms over my jeans as we neared the front of the line, made an excuse about needing to use the bathroom, and waited outside until it was over.
Silent and numb, we loaded into Jeremy’s car and followed a caravan of students to Teddy’s graveside service on the other side of town. We stood on the outside edge of a large circle of mourners. The soccer team was there to acknowledge the loss of their water boy. Vince stood tall in a dark designer suit, hands folded and head bowed. I watched, bitter, as he approached Teddy’s mother and reached for her hand. He held it while he spoke to her, paying day late respects to her lost son, a kid he never had a kind word for until he was lying in a hole.
As if reading my thoughts, Jeremy shook his head and whispered, “Amazing, isn’t it? How they all see him now?” He watched the endless receiving line with a look of fascination. His hand wandered to his chest where his camera would normally be.
Anh took a deep, shaky breath and rested her head on Jeremy’s shoulder. The thought of getting in the backseat of Jeremy’s car again was unbearable. When I walked away from the service, across the cemetery, I was pretty sure neither of them noticed.
• • •
It was dusk when I got off the city bus and stared down the potholed mouth of Sunny View. Every inch of me felt heavy, and I walked slowly toward home. Music blared from Lonny Johnson’s trailer, and strange cars lined both sides of the street. Kylie hung over the railing of his front porch.
“Boswell!” she called, heavy-lidded and unsteady on her feet. “Come party with us!” After two funerals, I didn’t have the energy to shout back. I half smiled and kept walking. “Come on,” she sang loudly after me. “Your boyfriend’s here!”
I slowed and looked at the line of parked cars, finding Reece’s motorcycle wedged in it. I hesitated, unsure, and glanced back at my own trailer. The shades were drawn tight. Mona might not notice. Even so, I’d rather gouge my eyes out than step foot inside Lonny Johnson’s front door. But how would it look to him if I turned away now?
Lonny’s door flung open and Reece stepped out, a cigarette dangling between his lips. He held a beer can in his hand, laughing and talking with one of Kylie’s friends, a bleach-blonde with dark roots and heavy eye makeup, and boobs too big for her frame. Kylie elbowed him hard in the ribs and jerked her chin at me. Reece’s eyes found mine and his face sobered. He handed the blonde his beer without looking at her. Then he flicked his cigarette and directed his exhale to the ground in a move that looked entirely too practiced.
“Leigh, wait up,” he called, but I was already walking. He vaulted the porch rail and caught me halfway down the street. “Leigh, wait.”
I made it two steps before Reece grabbed my wrist and dragged me behind my neighbor’s trailer, out of sight of Kylie and her friend. I swayed a little at the touch of his fingers on my skin, my lips tingling and my head suddenly light. He stopped short, pulling me in close, steadying us both. He was drunk. I ripped my hand from his, bracing myself against the trailer while I waited for the fog in my head to clear. His face was flushed and he looked at me with glassy eyes. “I can explain.”
“You don’t need to explain. I know who you are.”
“Do you? Because that would make one of us.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, as if trying to sober himself.
I stepped back. He was entirely too close. No good could come of this conversation. “I’m tired, Reece. I just came from two funerals. All I want is to go home.”
“Is it so unbelievable that I want the same?” He threw an arm toward Lonny’s trailer. “I have to be here. I don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice. You can choose to leave.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not like you! I’m like them. A year ago, I was just like Lonny. I was at the bottom of the food chain and I was hungry. I wanted the big car and the hot girls and the fat wallet and I didn’t care who got hurt. There are only two ways out of places like this—the quick way or the right way. I chose the wrong one. And now I’m stuck here. And the only way to fix what I’ve done is to keep guys like Lonny from stealing that choice from people like you.” He rubbed his eyes and cussed. They were bloodshot and weary. “Don’t you see? I have to go to his screwed-up parties. I have to drink his booze and hang out with his friends and put up with girls that don’t have half the guts or brains that you do. I have to be someone I don’t like—someone you don’t trust—to make him trust me—”
I put a hand up to stop him, still buzzing from his touch. I didn’t want to know what he was doing behind Lonny’s closed doors. It was painful to think about, and I didn’t want to overanalyze why. “I know, I know . . . so we can get Lonny’s list of ketamine buyers. I get it.”
“You don’t get anything! I can’t keep making this about you! I came to West River for one reason. To destroy Lonny. To set him up for a big fucking fall and put him behind bars for good. I can’t lose sight of what side I’m on, just because you show up on the hood of Lonny’s car and turn everything upside down.”
Reece was suddenly quiet. He swallowed hard, looking like he’d said too much. If he was so angry, why was he standing so close? If I turned everything upside down, why wasn’t he walking away?
“I don’t understand,” I said, wanting to touch him without feeling drunk. Wanting to feel the things I saw in his eyes that his lips weren’t saying. “I thought we were on the same side. I thought . . . I thought we wanted the same thing.”
We did, didn’t we? Want the same thing?
His eyes crinkled, confused. “Maybe I don’t know what I want anymore.”
He leaned in slowly, lips parting and hesitating close. His breath was warm against my face. Beer and other things that blurred the lines between us when he touched me. The way Jeremy had blurred the lines the first time he got drunk and tried to kiss me.
“I should go,” I said, pulling out of reach. He looked down at his feet as I turned to leave.
“Why’d you do it, anyway?” He wore a self-deprecating look, hands stuffed in his pockets while he kicked at the gravel.
“Do what?”
“Why waste your time saving someone who can’t be fixed?”
I folded my arms over my chest, tucking my hands under them as I backed away, wishing I could kiss him without caring how he felt. “Maybe you’re not the only one who’s broken.”
• • •
When I got to school on Thursday morning, my locker was buzzing. I jerked my hand from the lock and looked around. A cluster of girls from my trig class stood at the end of my locker bay. They lowered their voices when they saw me watching, slammed their lockers shut, and hurried away. People were beginning to connect the dots. Rumors were spreading about the bizarre connection between the dead students, bringing curious eyes around to me. It felt like those dreams when you’re sure that you’ve come to school naked. Only this wasn’t a dream. And no one was laughing.
I rose up on my toes and peered into the vent. A red light blinked inside. I sucked in a breath and spun my combination. Slowly, I opened the door. A cell phone rested on a folded sheet of paper.
4 New Text Messages
flashed across the screen.
I reached for the folded paper and peeled it open. The handwriting was immediately familiar.
IT’S MORE PRACTICAL THAN A BASEBALL BAT. MINUTES ARE PRE-PAID.
TRY NOT TO WASTE THEM.
— RW
A cell phone? Why would I need a cell phone? I looked for a hidden message, turned it over, but nothing had been written on the back.
The phone vibrated again.
5 New Text Messages
flashed across the screen. The first message popped up.
R U THERE?
I scrolled down to the next one.
WHERE R U?
The screen flashed
Incoming Call from REECE
. I pressed the green talk button. “Hello?”
“I guess you got the phone?” There was a drowsy quality to his voice. It was gravelly and deep, like he’d just woken up.
“You mean the one inside my locker? Note the emphasis on
lock,
” I snapped.
“Don’t shout,” he groaned. “My head’s splitting. Where have you been?”
“You’re the one still in bed.” I shook my head to clear that image.
“Cut me some slack. It was kind of a late night.”
I wondered who he’d been up late with. I bit my lip. “Yeah well, I was out late too.”
“No you weren’t. You were in bed by nine, and I didn’t want to leave the phone with your mom—”
“Wait . . .” I couldn’t get enough air. I hunkered behind my open locker door and whispered, “You talked to my mom?”
“Relax, Leigh. I didn’t talk to your mom.”
My body tingled with receding panic, like I had narrowly missed a disaster. Until a curious thought occurred to me. “If you didn’t talk to my mom, how did you know I was in bed by nine?” The thought both fascinated and horrified me. “Were you watching my trailer last night?”
No answer.
“We need to talk about Friday,” he said, changing the subject.
“Did Nicholson tell you to watch me?”
“I told you, Nicholson’s team is off the case—”
“Then whose team are you on now?” It was the wrong thing to say, and I regretted it the minute it came out of my mouth. But I needed to know where his loyalties were, and if I could trust him. All those things he’d said yesterday, about how he didn’t know whose side he was on . . . Was he watching my trailer because he wanted to or because some homicide detective was paying him to?
“I’m on the team that’s trying to keep you out of jail. What are you wearing tomorrow night?”
“Excuse me?”
“To the rave? On Friday? We had a deal, remember?”
I felt lost in the conversation, still preoccupied with the fact that he’d been watching my house.
I glanced down at my faded T-shirt. It was two sizes too large and fit me like a muumuu.
“No clue.” I squeezed my eyes shut. I knew what was coming.
“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow at eight. Bring your phone.”
The bell for first period rang. I plugged a finger in my ear and pressed the cell tight to my head.
“You’ve only got five minutes and a long walk to class. Better get moving. I’ll call you later.” He disconnected.
He was right. I was going to be late. But I still had so many questions. I scrolled through the contacts. Gena and Reece were both on speed dial. I gnawed the inside of my lip. Why would he program Gena’s number into a pre-paid phone he’d bought for me? My finger hovered over the delete prompt, but at the last minute, I changed my mind. Reece said he was on the team that was trying to keep me out of prison. If there was any chance Gena was on that team too, then I needed all the help I could get.