EA _ We’re friends.
Y _ Are you.
EA _ Yeah.
Y _ Who are your other friends.
EA _ Emma.
Y _ Right. Emma. Who else . . . Evan.
EA _ Zaza.
Y _ Zaza said he’s spoken to you twice. Including last night. How long have you known Neesha.
EA _ Not long.
Y _ What about Emma. Your good friend Emma.
EA _ W we weren’t good friends.
Y _ Evan. Because she is my friend. I want to find her. Yanis. Were you close. Evan. V v v very close.
EA _ It it was complicated.
Y _ That doesn’t sound complicated . . . Did you know that the school hired ten security video people to come in to help with finding Emma.
EA _ Okay.
Y _ Why so many that was what I asked. Turns out if you get trained in this there’s a way to take pieces of video and put labels on to organize. So we can go through all of it like no big deal. In no time. So when I come in to them with a question like what were the last ten times Evan and Emma interacted they all start typing in keywords and whipping the mouse around . . . And their keywords and data on the bottom will tell them that Evan and Emma are in the same camera all the time. Great I say. Lots of context. So we started watching some of the clips and you know what we found out. About your relationship with Emma.
EA _ What.
Y _ There isn’t one. In the last two months we couldn’t find a single instance of you actually speaking with her. Plenty of being in the same place. None of you talking.
EA _ That that that’s spying.
Y _ Is that bad . . . that is a serious question. I want you to answer. What is the negative value associated with watching someone when they don’t know you’re watching them . . . Evan. What is it.
EA _ It it violates privacy.
Y _ Okay. So I know things about you that you don’t want me to know. Is that bad.
EA _ I it’s illegal. I’m a student.
Y _ What if I’m using those things for good. What if I’m using those things to try to make life better for. I don’t know. Emma. Then it would be a good value right.
EA _ O okay.
Y _ But you only know that it’s a good value because I tell you why I was doing it. I am being very transparent. I want to find Emma. Do you understand what I am saying here.
EA _ Y yes
Y _ Then convince me it is a good thing. Tell me why you were watching her.
emma donahue investigation.
neesha shah—year 4.
transcription by MONKEY voice-to-text software.
Y _ Final question.
NS _ Look. I don’t know anything. I am not hiding anything. I was just trying to find my friend and I thought this would be the best way. I’m sorry we tried on our own and if I could do it over again I would not. But I’ve told you everything else that I know.
Y _ Okay . . . I believe you.
NS _ Does that mean. You’ll make sure I don’t get expelled.
Y _ I can recommend a lighter punishment. But I make no guarantee. Your hearing is Thursday.
NS _ Okay.
Y _ And in the meantime. Don’t go doing stuff like that on your own anymore. If you have an idea come to us and tell us.
NS _ Okay.
Y _ You promise.
NS _ Okay.
Y _ Oh. I did have one last question. Just to confirm the account he gave. What was Evan Andrews doing in your dorm room on the night of evening mass.
NS _ You mean his dorm.
Y _ No. I mean your dorm. Last Thursday. The night Emma went missing. What was he doing there.
Evan.
HE HAD ONLY been out of the questioning room for twenty seconds when the buzzer sounded. It echoed like a gunshot across campus. Dr. Richardson’s voice came on the loudspeaker.
“Attention, students. Peace be with you. We would first like to thank all staff and students for their cooperation with our search efforts for Year Four student Emmalynn Donahue. We’re very relieved to report that Miss Donahue has been located and is safe with her family back in Kansas. While we regret the panic that was caused by this search, our primary concern, as always, is for the safety of our students. One important lesson students can learn from this experience: if you need anything, or desire to make plans off-campus, please let the staff know.
“Anyone in need of emotional support can attend the support group in the guidance office this evening at five p.m. Thank you.”
Evan swallowed the bile building in his throat as he stared at the speaker. Emma hated her family. She never talked to them. They never sent her letters anymore. The only times she referenced her dad was to remember him crashing his car drunk. Every time she dreamt about her mom, it was a nightmare. Dr. Richardson was lying.
Evan put his head down and walked to the C-School. If his timing was right, Neesha would be between Advanced Biometrics and her dorm. He walked the route three times, each trip expanding to include more variables—hallways, the labs, the libraries, the lounge, the girls’ bathroom. But Neesha wasn’t anywhere she was supposed to be.
Finally, he saw curly black hair, spilling out of a hood, facedown on a table in the library. Without saying anything to draw attention, he slid in across from her.
“Th-there’s no way she’s gone.”
The black curls didn’t move.
“The school is lying. She hates her family. They never talked. She wouldn’t go home.”
Still nothing.
“I’m serious,” he said. He dropped his voice another decibel. “She used to say—”
Without a word or even a look in his direction, Neesha took her head off the book she’d been resting it on and packed it into her bag below the table.
“Where are you going?”
She stood up, zipping her bag shut. He reached for her arm.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, peeling his hand off. “Ever.”
“But she’s not gone!”
Neesha ignored him.
“We still need to find her—”
Her bag was over her shoulder.
“Is something wrong with you?”
She spun and lurched back at him, hissing, “You. You are what is wrong with me.”
It felt like his stomach disappeared, leaving only empty space in his gut. “What?”
“They threatened to kick me out,” she whispered, but it sounded like she was accusing him. “They said there’s going to be a hearing because of this, and I could get expelled.”
“But she’s—”
“Evan.” She glared at him, so intensely that he felt like she was seeing some secret part of him that wasn’t there. Or something that was there but he didn’t know about. “They said she’s fine. She ran away, and she’s at home. It’s over.”
“But they’re lying—”
“I’m not going to keep ruining my life because you can’t control your imagination. I’ll talk to her when she feels like talking to me.”
“What about the fence?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s a fence. Probably for bears or whatever.”
“What about the drugs?”
“What drugs,” she mumbled, and walked away.
“She’s still missing!” Evan called after her. Several students at the tables around them turned, but he ignored them. “She hates her family, you have to trust me!”
Neesha stopped in her tracks. “I’m sorry,” she said to the students at the table next to them. “He hasn’t taken his meds yet today.” They laughed and went back to their books. Slowly, she sat back down across from him.
“I’m going to explain this to you. And then we are never going to speak again. Remember how you told me that you were close friends with Emma, and that you talked all the time, but you could never tell me anything you talked about?”
“I—I didn’t say we were friends—”
“Remember how I vouched for you? How I swore on my life that you actually knew her, beca
use you told me you did?”
“I n-never said specifically—”
“What were you doing in our dorm during mass, Evan? What aren’t you telling me?”
His mouth hung open. He lost control of his bottom lip, his hands, his heart. Systems started to crash in his head. Nothing about this was right. Nothing about it made sense. None of it was in Neesha’s pattern. The eight steps whirled into one, pieces of his necessary social machinery snapping off and skidding against each other. “I—I did—haven’t lied. I . . .” She let him sputter out. “I never lied.”
Neesha nodded. “Yeah. I got that. You avoided every question, so you could say you technically never lied. This might not compute in your fucked-up little computer brain, but that technically makes you an asshole. Making it seem like you were friends, when you probably never said a word to her? That’s a lie. Sneaking into my dorm and not telling me? That’s a lie.”
Evan swallowed.
“And I’m sure there’s more you’re not telling me, about Emma, about yourself.”
Evan swallowed. “N-nothing. Nothing.”
She stared at him for a long moment. “That’s a fucking lie.”
She stood up again to leave. “Wait,” he tried, but she didn’t. Without thinking, Evan reached into his bag and dropped the leather-bound book on the table in front of her.
TESTIMONIAL JOURNAL: EMMALYNN DONAHUE
Neesha slammed her backpack over it, staring at the spot where the text had just been.
It sat on the table between them for a full minute.
“Why would you do that?” she whispered, eyes darting doorway to doorway, her shoulders angled to shield the table from the lone camera behind her.
“That’s why I was in your dorm. I just wanted to read her—”
“I just told you,” she said, her body shaking, “I don’t want anything to do with this. Why would you show me this?”
Evan swallowed. “Read it. She’s not at home.”
Nothing happened for a full sixty seconds. Neesha didn’t move; the kids next to them didn’t stop whispering; the clock didn’t even turn.
Finally, Neesha shook her head, cradling her backpack in her arms. “Naw,” she said. “Naw, I’m good here. Good luck, Evan.” She walked off without looking back.
Evan watched her go, through the double doors, then all the way around the room, through the library’s glass windows. Neesha had exhausted her value. She’d told him everything she knew and given him every clue she had. She wasn’t going to be helpful in finding Emma, especially if she couldn’t understand that the school was lying. Still, it felt like he’d just lost something. His stomach ached. His heart hurt.
His eyes returned to the table. It was empty. Neesha had taken the journal.
Aiden.
ON TUESDAY NIGHT, the Redemption campus was drowning in basketball enthusiasm. They hung banners of their alumni, bussed in a four-piece orchestra from Salt Lake to play over the loudspeakers, and lit the ten-foot Redemption logo on the school’s front arches with purple and gold neon. An hour before the game, every student at the school had already loaded into the gym, passing liquor around in water bottles, filling the stands front to back. As Aiden stepped onto the floor for shootaround, he noticed a cap in the staff section—Dallas Mavericks.
The McDonald’s All Americans had been bussed in that morning, a team of superstars assembled from high schools across the country. Their raw talent was overwhelming, most impressive among them a sharp-shooting two guard from Florida named Justus McNeil. Aiden had played him twice in AAU; he could shoot with almost no load time, which meant Aiden had to deny every pass and get him rattled early. That was the recipe that held him to eight points the last time.
Before the game, Dr. Richardson took a microphone at the center of the court. “I’d like to take this moment to welcome the McDonald’s All American basketball stars to our temple of excellence. It’s a thrilling opportunity, to witness such an impressive level of talent and competition in our home gym. May the best team win, and may all of you be blessed.”
The gym was shaking as the starting fives stepped onto the court. The McDonald’s All Americans were in bright yellow jerseys with red trim and red arches on the top; Redemption wore their home purple, the school’s crest across their chests.
As usual, Dirk won the tip. He worked a right-side isolation, drawing the defense’s eyes, and Aiden saw an opportunity to cut along the baseline. He moved for the hoop, gathering a pass and attacking the rim in one fluid motion; he soared for the hoop, his arms outstretched—
A buzzer exploded in his ears, and his whole body twitched, an electric shock from above. He collapsed to the ground, covering his face to hide as the ball fell on top of him.
When he opened his eyes, Dirk was standing over him, offering a hand. “You good?” he shouted down. The referee was signaling toward the scorer’s table. Someone had accidentally triggered the buzzer.
“I’m good.” Aiden helped himself up.
They backed down the court on defense. “I got him,” Dirk said, pointing to Justus, but Aiden waved him off. “No way.” Aiden put his mouth guard in and blinked, the world going dark for a full second. When it came back, Justus was already into his first move, crossing right. Aiden compensated too hard, dropping a step and giving him a few feet of space. It was all Justus needed—step back, fluid stroke, good for three. The gym deflated.
Aiden’s body wasn’t right. It was like his muscles were trying to fight their way out, prickling against the inside of his skin, demanding his attention. His breathing wouldn’t go flat; it kept cresting and peaking, then falling again. He couldn’t get the feeling of eyeballs off his back; every time he looked up into the staff section—a sea of black suits—one of them was staring at him. By the middle of the second quarter, he heard his number from the bench. “Forty-five, you’re out! Let’s go!”
The game came down to the final two minutes, with Redemption down eight, trading threes for fouls to cut the deficit. When Justus missed two free throws with seven seconds left, Dirk came away with the rebound, down two with no time-outs. He dribbled straight to the corner, faking a drive, then a pass, and stepping back for a fadeaway three in the corner. He dropped it, effortlessly. Everyone in the stands charged the court, his teammates piling on top of him.
Aiden had sat the entire second half. Coach Bryant hadn’t looked at him once.
Aiden bolted to his locker as the gym celebrated. He loaded everything into his duffel and slid out the back door before any of his teammates made it off the court. There was a team meeting after the game, but the team meetings only mattered for the people who played. Which, as of tonight, wasn’t him.
He kept his head down on the way back to his dorm. Passing through the Human Lounge, he saw a phone booth in the corner and pulled a twenty from his pocket.
His dad was always excited to hear from him. “How’d the game go?”
“Good. Yeah, good. I mean—”
“Was the scout there? What’d he say?”
“Uh, no. Not yet, it just ended.” Aiden held his face stiff as he spoke.
“Should I be getting ready to buy some Dallas apparel? Are we Mavs fans now?”
“Yeah, we, uh—” He turned away as a few students entered the common room, talking loudly. “I didn’t get to talk to any of them.”
“How many’d you go for? Cool thirty? That McNeil kid can’t guard you for shit.”
“I don’t remember. I was just thinking . . . do you still have those offer letters? From the other high schools?”
“Um.” His dad took a long beat. “I don’t think so, why?”
“No, just—I know we had a bunch of offers. I wasn’t sure if there was maybe something that looked cool.”
He could hear his dad whispering to his mom, over the receiver. “No, buddy. It doesn’t really work like that.”
“Could we try to find something?”
“Am I missing something here? You’ve still got
five months left in the season, you can’t just leave now.”
“I know, it’s just . . .” Aiden watched as partying students, still revved up by Dirk’s amazing finish, spilled into the lounge, singing and drinking. “I just feel like this isn’t the right place for me anymore.”
“The right place for you? Are you saying you wanna quit?”
“I don’t know—”
“The world doesn’t work like that, Aiden. You committed to playing there. Our family committed to you playing there. You don’t get to upend your life when you ‘just feel’ like it’s not working out.”
“Do you think maybe I could just come home, then? Until we find something?”
“Aiden, we invested in this. The trainers, the coaches—that wasn’t a gift, that was an investment. This is supposed to be your season. I don’t understand, what happened?”
Aiden fought to keep his face in place, turning to stare at the wall. “It’s . . . fine. It’s nothing. Nothing happened. I’m good.”
He heard his father rustling off the phone, consulting his mom. He was pretty sure they were in the kitchen, but he could barely picture what their kitchen looked like anymore. When he moved out, they were in the process of remodeling everything, upgrading the whole bottom level. It was probably a different place now.
“I’m sorry, bud,” his dad said. “There’s nothing we can do. You gotta tough it out.”
Aiden put his hand in front of the receiver to block any sound from his mouth.
“Can I send you something? Maybe you’re just missing home-cooked food. We could have a driver bring you something from Chili’s?”
“No, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t even be able to find us out here anyway.”
“Okay. Well, we’re looking forward to reading about the game. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
He slammed the phone onto the cradle.
Back in his dorm, he dumped his bag out on the bed and snatched the bag of Apex as it fell. It was entirely his now. He poured a few pills out onto the desk, too many probably, but why would it matter?
His eyes shot around the room in search of a card but got stuck on the photos behind his desk. This was the record of his entire life—a dozen photos from a dozen teams, all of them placing him directly in the center. He was a winner. That was what his dad always said.
Redemption Prep Page 16
