The Unquiet (24 page)

I whap the book shut, horrified at my lurid thoughts about Dino’s dad. After a deep breath, I thumb through the other
yearbooks. There’s Nate’s dad, a younger version of Nate in his senior picture. Ruggedly cute.
No
crooked eyeteeth.

The grainy newspaper picture of Annaliese didn’t do her justice. In the color yearbook photos I see her hair was long and light brown, her eyes pale blue. In her sophomore photo a smile lights up her face. By junior year, the year she died, the smile is gone.
That
picture’s marred by a big red
X
, plus someone scrawled the word “SKANK” in the margin.

“Ni-ice, Millie,” I grumble. “What’d she do to you?”

I hear Mom’s climbing footsteps. A quick flip of my comforter covers the books. I know Mom’ll stroke out if she sees the Annaliese scrapbook. She’ll say my interest in her is unhealthy, morbid, and that reading this stuff will give me nightmares.
Which it might.

I make it to the top step in time to body-block Mom’s admittance. “I’m getting ready for bed,” I lie, flinging my sweater over my crackling hair.

“Are you okay? I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

Maybe she thinks I’m hiding Nate up here. God, I wish.
“No, just to myself. In a good way,” I add hastily, squiggling out of my skirt. Trying to look dignified in my camisole, tights, and underpants, I meet her gaze. “May I have some privacy, please?”

“Rinn, I haven’t seen you since this morning. I think we should talk.”

“I’m tired. Can’t we talk tomorrow?”

“I know it’s been a hard day for you, honey. I don’t even know where you’ve been.”

“I told you where I was.” I roll down my tights as I talk, then kick them off. This leaves me in nothing but my underwear. Mom still won’t budge. “Mom, please. I did not want to hang
around and watch people cry all day. None of us did. So we just took off.”

Mom doesn’t look pleased. “Fine. We’ll talk tomorrow.” When she hesitates, I cross my arms and grab the hem of my cami. That message she gets, and reluctantly leaves.

Maybe I
should
change rooms. A real door would be nice. Preferably one with a lock.

Monday, November 10

I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about Dino, how I was the last one to see him and nobody even knows that because I’m too afraid to say it. And Bennie saw me come out of the tunnel that day. What if he thinks I had something to do with it?

When I’m not thinking about Dino, I’m thinking about Lacy.
Why
did she write that terrible letter to Chad? Was she sleepwalking? Or was she simply mad because he didn’t answer her e-mails, so she told him off, then lied about it?

I don’t think she lied. I believed her. We ALL believed her.

And when I’m not thinking about Dino and Lacy, I’m thinking about Annaliese.

At 4:00 a.m. I give up, turn on my lamp, and pull out her scrapbook.

ANNALIESE GIBBONS: TEN YEARS LATER rehashes the story about how an early gym class found Annaliese dead in the pool. How witnesses saw her walk into the auditorium after school,
but no one saw her come out. No one saw her again till they found her dead.

Disconcerted, I read on:

SCHOOL BOARD TO VOTE ON FATE OF H.S. POOL—boring stuff about how the pool room poses a danger because the roof is bad, plus stupid kids keep sneaking in.

VANDALS STRIKE POOL TWICE IN TWO WEEKS—kids again, spray-painting walls, breaking bottles, smoking weed, and most likely fornicating. Because fire regulations won’t allow Principal Solomon to lock the tunnel itself, he puts a fence around the pool, a lock on the door, and threatens disciplinary action to any offenders.

Riiight
. Like any of that works.

AFTER ANNALIESE: NEXT GENERATION WONDERS—IS POOL HAUNTED? Interviews of students who believe in “the ghost of Annaliese”:
“I never get the flu, but I felt her watching me—and then I barfed!” “It’s so cold in there.” “It smells funny sometimes.” “I can’t explain it but it gives me the creeps.” “I tripped for no reason and broke my nose!”

Last of all, written last spring: STATE OF THE ART MEDIA CENTER TO BE BUILT ON POOL SITE. One staff member interviewed said, “
I have mixed feelings. I know it’s useless the way it is—but a child died there! You know, some people believe her spirit lives on. I happen to be one of them. So is Annaliese’s grandmother, my dearest friend. I’d much rather see a memorial built.”

The name of that staff member jolts me: Miss Roz Prout, former school secretary.

“Holy freaking hell,” I whisper.

Maybe it makes sense that Mrs. Gibbons believed that Annaliese’s spirit hung around. Maybe it comforted her. But how
many adults
believe
in ghosts? Did Miss Prout see something, feel something? Is that why she left in such a hurry?

I find Annaliese’s junior-year picture again. She stares, unsmiling, back from the page.

“Ghosts don’t exist,” I tell her. “You’re a joke, like everyone says.”

Whichever way I move my head, her pale eyes follow me.

“You’re dead, Annaliese. Get it? You do—not—exist!”

As I start to close the yearbook, a name jumps out: Unger. Not Bennie, but maybe his older brother. I remember how Mom said Bennie’s been working at RHH for years. He’s there
all
the time. Early in the morning. Long after school lets out.

If Annaliese’s ghost does exist, would Bennie know?

I tell Mom about Lacy before school. “Don’t say anything, though. Her mom wants to keep it a secret.” Maybe around here they stone you to death or something.

“If she lost it, Rinn, it’s probably for the best,” Mom says after a moment. “Lacy’s young. She has her whole life ahead of her. Believe me, it’d be a disaster.”

I stare, unsure of how to take her un-Mom-like lack of sympathy. Does she regret having me? When she had to drop out of college, did she consider
me
a disaster?

She’s never said that. But I wonder if she thought it.

Looks like half the student body took a mental health day; the halls are quiet, sparsely populated. A grief counselor, imported from Kellersberg, spends the day in the cafeteria reading
Deepak Chopra. Meg, who missed morning classes because of her doctor’s appointment, shows up in time for lunch.

“What’d he say?” I notice how chalky she looks.

Meg stares at the table. “He says my ears are fine.”

“How can they be fine?” Tasha yelps.

“I don’t know, but they are! So he thinks it’s neurological. They’re doing a test on Saturday, an MRI or something. And he
won’t
give me a note for Coach Koenig because I’m still dizzy.” Meg slaps the table hard. “My mom told him that.
I
was gonna lie, but
she
had to open her big mouth!” Tears shimmer on her lids. “If they don’t find out why, I guess I’m off the team for good.”

Gently I say, “But if you
are
dizzy, Meg—”

“How can I try out for a scholarship if I’m not even on a team? Do you think it’s crazy for me to want to be a professional cheerleader? Like, for the Dallas Cowboys?”

“Well, no,” I say honestly. “Anyway, maybe this’ll just go away.”

“Yeah,” Tasha agrees. “Maybe you just have a bug.”

“I hope so.” Meg swipes at her tears and attempts a smile. “I love you guys.” After a moment she adds, “I called Lacy yesterday. This morning, too. Nobody’s answering at the house.”

“Same here,” Tasha says. “I wonder what’s going on.”

The three of us lapse into uncomfortable silence for the rest of the period. Tasha says nothing about her regionals this weekend, and neither she nor Meg bring up Dino. They pick at their lunches while I finger, discreetly, that piece of pottery through the fabric of my purse. After handing it over to me, Mom never mentioned it again. If I talked to her about it, would she say it’s not my fault? Because that’s how she is.
She’s said “it’s not your fault” to me more times than I can count.

Even when it was.

On impulse, I stop at the main office after lunch. This is Mom’s lunch break, I know. I also know Lindsay McCormick fills in for her at this time.

Today Lindsay is buried in a copy of
Twilight
. With a “
Yeek!
” she jumps like a hamster when I wham the bell on the counter. “You don’t have to ring that when I’m sitting right here!”

“Sorry,” I say, though I’m not—that was
funny
. “Is my mom around?”

“She’s at lunch, as you well know.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“No, I’m not breaking into the computer to change your grades.” At my incredulous look, Lindsay explains, “That’s what you guys usually ask me to do.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Lindsay relaxes. I wonder if she remembers I’m the person she kicked at the football game. “Sometimes they offer to pay me.”

I point to her book. “Is that any good?”

“Yeah, it’s awesome. You wanna borrow it? I already read it twice.”

“Thanks.” Encouraged, I take it and pretend to rustle through the pages.

Lindsay reverts to her normal, bitchy self. “Well? What do you want?”

I hug the book. “I just wanted to ask you about something I heard. About a kitten you brought to school?”

She scowls. “Don’t tell me you believe that lie that I killed it myself?”

“No. I just want to know if it really happened. See, I’m new here, right? And people sometimes, well, try to freak me out …”

Lindsay twists her mouth down. “Maybe you’re hanging around the wrong people.”

“Just tell me, yes or no?”

Her smirk disappears. She picks a chip of polish off her thumbnail. “Yes.”

Oh, God. She’s messing with me, too.

“He was
so
cute. Black, with white paws. Coach Koenig wanted to see him, so I came in early and took the tunnel to the locker room. She played with him, but he had fleas, so she changed her mind. So I took him back through the tunnel—my mom was waiting in the car so she could take him back home—and when I came out, he was dead.”

I barely trust my voice. “Do—do you think the tunnel did it?”

“Well,
I
didn’t do it,” Lindsay says impatiently. “And Coach Koenig didn’t do it. That only leaves one person.” I notice how she avoids saying Annaliese’s name. “And you know
how
I know? Because when I looked in the box and saw he wasn’t moving, I took him right out. I shook him and stuff, but yeah, he was dead. But—” Lindsay stops. She rubs her arms roughly.

“But what?”

“He was already stiff, like he’d been dead for hours. Stiff
and cold. Just like all those rats we keep finding lately.” She nods at
Twilight
, pressed viciously into my chest. “Enjoy the book.”