“What? You can’t say it isn’t true. She—”
Dash brought his fist down on the table. Dishes and silverware jumped. “Back off her, man.”
That was a tone no one could ignore. Gage’s glee finally left him, and he dropped back in his chair like a petulant child. Everyone else slowly went back to their meals. I found myself staring at the wall clock over Gage’s head, watching the second hand tick, tick, tick, until breakfast was finally over and we were released.
My classrooms felt smaller and grayer than usual. The tall windows looked out on a slate-gray sky, and now and then the wind would whip a tree branch against an ancient windowpane and everyone would jump. It was like we were all waiting for a bomb to drop, and why not? Every time we reached a tentative peace around this place, something huge happened to unsettle us all again. It was the status quo.
Each class that day began either with a lecture on staying the course, or a group therapy session about our feelings—all except for history. Mr. Barber being the no-nonsense type, he got right down to a review of the homework. I kept waiting for him to call on me, to try to embarrass me in front of the class. I even had a few choice comebacks all lined up. But in a rare show of compassion, the man ignored my existence.
As soon as classes let out for the day, I ran across the withering grass to Gwendolyn Hall, an old, condemned class building with
crumbling stone walls and boarded-up windows. I bounded up the deteriorating steps and into the alcove in front of the door, trying not to think about the last time I’d been there—who I’d been with. Trying not to imagine spirits and ghosts and moments I could never live again. Hands shaking, I stashed my book bag under one of the benches. The place was like a cave, dark and cold—at least twenty degrees colder than the air outside. No one ever came to Gwendolyn unless it was for a quick tryst, and I had to hope that on a day like today, the make-out spot would remain deserted.
On my way out I paused for the splittest of seconds. I couldn’t help it. The last time I had been here, I’d been with Thomas. Right there. Right on that bench, with his lips and his hands and his warmth. . . . God, it had been perfect then. I had been so naïve. So happy. No idea what was coming. The pointlessness of it all threatened to overwhelm me. But then I threw up a brick wall inside my mind to stay the flood. I couldn’t indulge that kind of self-pity right now. I was on a mission.
Throwing the hood of my gray sweatshirt over my head, I hugged my coat close to me, looked both ways, and ran. The tall gray buildings of Easton loomed over me on all sides, glaring down at me like disapproving elders. I ignored the creeping feeling of being watched and upped the pace.
Behind the trees on the north end of the property, there was a fence. Cut out of that fence was a hole, big enough for a girl in a ball gown to crouch through. Everyone in Billings and Ketlar knew where the hole was—it had allowed us to sneak out and in on the
night of the Legacy, the night all this misery had begun. I just hoped we were the only ones who knew about it. For a few long moments I was out in the open for anyone to see and snag and expel, but I refused to look anywhere but straight ahead. The dean’s warnings rang in my head, but I ignored them. If someone was going to catch me, they were going to catch me on the run.
My lungs burned from the cold as I ducked through the line of trees, branches snapping at my face. I threw my back against the fence and sucked in a breath. Then I held it and listened. No air sirens, no shouting, no rabid guard dogs lusting for blood.
Walking sideways, I slowly made my way along the fence until I found the hole. Flashes from the night of the Legacy accosted me. Cold, wet feet; mud-stained skirts; Josh’s hand as he helped me through. The look on his face when he’d told me they’d found Thomas. That Thomas was dead. My heart seized just thinking about it. If anyone needed proof that Josh was innocent, they needed to have been there at that moment. Unfortunately, I couldn’t replicate my memory and play it for the judge and jury.
I shoved myself through the opening, caring little for the thousand-dollar coat Kiran had given me, then headed for the road. When my feet hit asphalt, I felt home free, but then I saw it, out of the corner of my eye: the media camp. At least four vans, their satellite antennae looming up into the sky. Dozens and dozens of reporters, cameramen, and various lackeys. They were all grouped around the Easton gates as if they might open at any second, like the gates of Oz, and admit them to the story of their lives.
Holding my breath, I sprinted across the street and ducked into the forest of trees on the opposite side of the road. Under cover, I made my way through piles of wet leaves and over fallen branches, the wet permeating my sneakers and soaking my socks. As I passed the crowd, I saw a man in a blue jumper perched on a ladder, affixing a security camera to a pillar at the side of the gates. The reporters shouted questions up at him.
“How do the students feel, knowing the administration has allowed a murderer to walk among them for the past few months?”
“Is there a feeling of terror on campus?”
“What are the boy’s friends like? Do you believe he had any accomplices?”
These people were evil. I could only imagine the salivating they would do at my feet if I stepped into the clear and offered up my story. But that wasn’t me. I didn’t want a spotlight. I just wanted my boyfriend back. Half a mile up the road, I emerged onto the street again and speed-walked toward town.
The windows along Main Street in the Village of Easton glowed with welcoming warmth. Even with the cold, the streets were bustling, pairs of ladies strolled the sidewalks, popping into shops as tiny bells tinkled overhead. A woman in a black suit whisked the priceless jewelry out of the display window of one store as I passed by, getting ready to close up for the evening. She caught my eye and smiled quizzically, probably amused by the odd sight of a teenage girl in a designer coat and a tattered gray sweatshirt hood pulled tightly around her face. I ducked my head, sidestepped a couple on their way into a swank steakhouse, and kept walking toward the center of town.
VILLAGE OF EASTON, ESTABLISHED
1840. That was what the plaque on the quaint brick police station read. I stepped through the doors into a small, well-lit office, bustling with uniformed officers and detectives. I had a feeling that this was not a normal scene. That the place was usually a lot less active than this. After all, they had a
murder suspect in custody. I bet no one had clocked out since they’d brought Josh through the doors. This was far too exciting for them.
Two people jumped up from chairs near the wall the moment they saw me. One shoved a tape recorder in my face.
“What’s your name, Miss? Do you go to Easton Academy?”
There was a blur of movement and suddenly I was being roughly escorted toward the wall by Detective Hauer. He gave me an exasperated look and turned around, effectively blocking me from the reporters.
“Look, you two already have our official statement. You’re gonna get nothing else here, so why don’t you just go look under some other rock?”
The reporters scurried out, and I removed my hood and stood up straight. This was not going to be easy.
“What are you doing here, Reed?” the detective asked me. His blue shirt was wrinkled and the sleeves rolled up. There was some kind of tattoo on his forearm, but when he saw me looking, he crossed his arms over his chest.
“I want to see Josh,” I told him, lifting my chin.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he replied.
And just like that, there he was. Past Hauer’s shoulder, Josh appeared. His hands were cuffed, and a woman with a severe bun and pointy features gripped his arm. They were all the way on the other side of the bullpen area, putting at least a dozen officers between him and me. It would take a miracle to get one word in, but
I had to try. I stepped aside, out from the shadow of Detective Hauer’s bulk, and Josh’s eyes lit up.
“Reed!”
Every cop in the place looked from him to me and back again.
“Josh! Are you all right?”
“I’m fine! I—”
“Get him out of here!” Detective Hauer bellowed, exasperated.
Josh’s eyes filled with terror as the woman yanked on his arm. I took a few steps forward but was blocked by a security counter. He was just a few feet away, but I couldn’t get near him. I could have clawed my way out of my skin.
“No. Wait a second!” Josh struggled away, took a step toward me. “Talk to Lewis-Hanneman and Blake! They saw me that night!” he shouted as the woman took hold of him again, this time with a lot more conviction. Lewis-Hanneman and Blake. The dean’s assistant and Thomas’s brother, Blake Pearson. I’d heard rumors. Was he saying the rumors were true? That they were
still
having an affair? “The art cemetery! Reed! Please! Get them to tell the truth!”
Then he was shoved through a door and the door was slammed.
That was all I needed. The slam popped a balloon inside of me, and I burst into tears.
“Come with me, Reed.” The detective’s voice was low and soothing and right in my ear. “Come on, kid. Come here.”
My hands were over my face as I sobbed. I choked for breath. I felt his palm on my back, leading me somewhere. I fell into a chair without seeing it. Folded my arms on a table and cradled my head.
Soft words were spoken. A door opened and closed. A chair was pulled out. When I could finally breathe again, I lifted my head. My nose was so clogged I had to breathe through my mouth, and my face was tight from the tears.
“This is so wrong!” I wailed, throwing my arms out straight.
Detective Hauer was sitting across from me. He leaned forward and placed the tips of his fingers together. “Reed—”
“You can’t keep him here! He didn’t do anything!”
“Reed—”
“No! You have to let me talk to him,” I begged. “Please!”
“Reed!”
His shout brought me up short. I sniffled and wiped under my nose with the end of my sleeve, shaking as I looked away. The detective pushed a cup of water toward me and nodded at it. I took a drink. Until that moment I hadn’t realized how empty my body was.
“I’m very sorry that you’re mixed up in all of this,” the detective said calmly. “But you need to go back to school now. You need to try to get back to your life.”
I snorted.
“Come on, you’ve got school. You’ve got your friends. Don’t you have finals to study for?”
“Like any of that matters,” I said.
He scooted closer to me. “You have to trust that we’re doing our job. You have to trust that we’re going to get this right. You need to stay out of it, Reed. For your own good.”
“But . . . but what about what he just said?” I asked, sitting up.
“About Blake Pearson and the secretary from school. Were they there? Does he have an alibi?”
“We’ve looked into it,” he said impatiently.
“And?”
“And I can’t divulge any details of our investigation,” he told me.
“But you have to tell me! I need to know what’s—”
“We have our suspect, Reed,” Hauer said through his teeth. “Don’t go giving my superiors a reason to think he had an accomplice.”
A cold finger of dread slid down my spine. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be.
“Now, we are going to get up and leave this office quietly,” he said. “I’ll drive you back to campus.”
He glanced at the one window high in the wall. It was already pitch-black outside, courtesy of December.
“I don’t need a ride. I’m sure it’s perfectly safe,” I told him, finally regaining control. I stood up and lifted my hood. “After all, you’ve got the big, bad killer all locked up, don’t you?” I added sarcastically.
He sighed, puffing out his cheeks. Like he didn’t know what to do with me. Well, he didn’t have to do anything. I could take care of myself. I turned around and strode out of the room, proudly surprised that my knees didn’t so much as quiver along the way.
That night I took a long, extraordinarily hot shower, and when I emerged, my room was empty—which I had been counting on. Natasha often vacated it at about this time to go up to the roof and call her girlfriend, Leanne Shore. Her cell never worked in our room, and considering that it had started snowing and gusting about a half an hour earlier, I had to give the girl points for effort. She must have really been in love.
I needed this time to myself, to think about what Josh had said. To figure out what I was going to do next. But first things first. I dropped my towel on my bed and sat down at Natasha’s computer. I had been aching to e-mail Taylor Bell ever since the night before, when her mysterious IM had been abruptly cut off. I opened up an e-mail window and typed, happy to find that my fingers were no longer trembling, as they had been since my encounter with Detective Hauer.
From: [email protected]
Subject: IM
Don’t leave me hanging, Taylor. I have to know. What do you mean, it’s all lies? Where are you? What’s not true? Please write back asap.
—Reed
I sent the e-mail, and two seconds later a new message icon appeared on the screen. I clicked it. It was a terminal failure message. The account [email protected] had been deleted.
There was this new sensation inside my chest. It had sparked up when I’d seen Josh, so helpless and alone, in the police station, and it had only grown stronger since then. Taylor’s “deletion” had fueled the fire, and when I’d woken up the following morning, the feeling had taken over. It was a sort of buzzing that started deep inside my core and was now radiating outward. It was a desire to do something. To figure out what the hell was actually going on in the hallowed halls of Easton. A desire to get off my ass and fix this.
Screw Hauer. Someone had killed Thomas and it wasn’t Josh. Maybe he thought it was okay to have the wrong person in jail, but I didn’t. I was desperate to
do something.
I was my own person. It was time to start making my own decisions.