by Dana Mele
Brie raises a shoulder and rests her chin on her hand. “She said she didn’t.”
“She stole her hard drive and made her turn in a paper late.”
“So what? You think Jessica’s behind this? When did you get this email?”
“I didn’t open it until today.”
“And it was anonymous.” She shudders. “That timing is unfortunate. Does Tai know?”
“If Jessica ever threatened her, Tai didn’t think it went beyond the two of them. She was completely caught off guard when I mentioned it. And she seemed surprised that I thought there was anything wrong with it. Although I guess I led her down that road.”
“Keep all that between us.” Brie rubs her forehead wearily. “Tai’s as good as gone,” she says in a soft voice. “I don’t think there’s any way around it. You’re right, though—it might be better if she’s the one to turn herself in. Maybe if I talk to her.” She turns back to me suddenly. “You didn’t tell anyone else?”
“Of course I didn’t.” Tai would flip if she found out Nola knew. Not that she’s ever going to forgive me anyway.
“Because Tricia and Cori will hound you. And especially Maddy.” She makes just the ghost of a face.
“Why don’t you like Maddy?”
She raises her eyebrows. “Don’t put words in my mouth.” She looks over my head and waves at a table of debate club members. They are the only people on campus who wear suits when out of uniform. It gives me a headache to look at them.
I hesitate. “Is it just me or does it feel a little like everyone is slightly anti-Maddy lately?”
She flicks her eyes back to me. “Anti?”
“It doesn’t seem like she appreciates her new nickname.”
Brie nods. “Maybe people will drop it now that Tai has bigger things to worry about.”
“But, like . . . Notorious? B.I.G. or what?”
Brie bursts out laughing. “More like R.B.G. I think. Maddy isn’t exactly a hip-hop enthusiast.”
“What’s Notorious R.B.G.?”
Her smile fades. “Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” she says hurriedly. “The Supreme Court justice.”
“What does that have to do with Maddy?”
“Ask Tai.” Brie sighs, sinking her heart-shaped face into her hand. “I hate her nicknames. Can we just drop Maddy?”
I don’t get Brie sometimes. She has zero enemies, and she rarely talks shit about anyone. But when she does, it’s always the last person I would ever guess, and in such a roundabout way that I can never figure out what exactly they did to piss her off. It’s like she’s nudging me to guess so she doesn’t have to dirty her hands. I’m not up to playing the game tonight. Luckily, I don’t have to.
“Have the police followed up with you yet?”
I blank for a moment. “I didn’t call the police.”
“Good. Because that would make you look really weird. Maybe guilty weird. Just play it cool.”
It occurs to me that she isn’t referring to the revenge website, but the detective from the crime scene.
“So you think she’ll follow up?”
Brie nods. “We were the only witnesses.” My expression must reflect exactly how I feel about facing the police, because she pushes her tray aside and looks into my eyes. “Repeat after me: I am not going to prison.”
I flick a balled-up paper straw wrapper at her. “You are not going to prison.”
“Every one of us has an alibi.”
“It’s not exactly an airtight alibi,” I point out. “We split up for a half hour between the dance and the lake. Tricia called her boyfriend, Tai went for more drinks, I went to change out of my sexy boots—”
Brie rolls her eyes. “Then we’d all be suspects. If there was a homicide. But there wasn’t.”
“Then why would they still be investigating?”
“Because it’s been less than twenty-four hours, Kay. If that detective calls us again, we just all say we were together the whole time. Problem solved.”
“Well, make sure everyone gets the memo, Brie.” I hesitate. “Didn’t it seem like that detective was kind of singling me out a little?”
“Paranoid. Anyway, I told you not to take this investigation too seriously.” She pushes her chair back and glances across the dining hall. “I’m going to go talk to Tai.”
I follow her gaze and see Nola lying down on a bench at the side of the room, laptop open on her chest. She raises a shoeless foot in an odd sort of wave, displaying black paisley stockings under her skirt.
Brie looks back at me quizzically.
I wave my fork at Nola and avoid Brie’s eyes. “Homework help.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
“You lack the requisite skills.” I grin flirtatiously.
“Is that so?” She shoots another glance at Nola. “Interesting.”
“She’s not that weird.”
“Since when?”
“You’re the one who said we should be nicer to people.”
“To Necro?” Brie whispers.
I glance around the dining hall to make sure Nola isn’t within earshot. “Tai came up with that nickname.”
“You used it.”
“You laughed.”
She drops her eyes. “It wasn’t funny.”
“It was also ages ago, and no one says it anymore. Except you, apparently. So, do you have a problem with me studying with Nola?”
Brie laughs suddenly and I feel better. I’m physically incapable of seeing her smile without smiling back. It’s biochemical. “God, no. I just feel bad. It’s completely self-serving on your part,” she points out.
“Not so,” I say. “We made a deal. I’m—” I pause. Brie wouldn’t approve of me persuading Coach to kick someone off the team to make room for Nola. “Giving her soccer lessons.”
She looks thoroughly unconvinced, but raises a glass of milk to clink mine. “Well played, Kay.” She takes a thoughtful sip. “But cross the hacker and it’s your funeral.”
At the next table, Abigail Hartford stops talking and glares at Brie for her poor choice of words, and then quickly looks down, blushing. People don’t glare at Brie. She’s too nice. But Brie looks mortified.
“You know what I mean,” she whispers. She stands. “Okay, I’m going back to the other table.”
“Yes. Speaking of which. Is Justine coming to the memorial tomorrow?”
Brie shakes her head. “I’m not subjecting her to that. It was bad enough just walking across campus this morning. Try cramming that festival of mourning into Irving Chapel.”
“Should be fun.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to ask her about an Easterly guy. He does theater. You wouldn’t know him, but she definitely does.”
“Try me, sexy.”
“Okay. His name is Greg. He’s tall, sleeve tattoos, annoying attitude, I think he might have known Jessica.”
She grins. “You are so in the dark, it’s adorable. Creepy Greg was Jessica’s boyfriend. Even I know that.”
“So you did know Jessica,” I say, annoyed at her tone. “More than the fact that she took trig.”
Brie’s cheeks flush slightly. “Only through Justine. Anything else you want to ask me?”
“Guess not.”
She leans across the table and plays with the friendship bracelet I always wear around my wrist. It’s one of the few relics I allow myself to wear from home, a simple suede band with a heart seared on the inside. Megan made it for me one summer at camp. “Don’t worry about Tai,” Brie says. “We’ve all been there.”
It always gives me emotional whiplash when she goes from talking about Justine to touching me. “What?”
“She isn’t very nice sometimes. I mean, in her heart she is. But the things she says aren’t. You can’t just slap the label of c
omedy on anything and expect people to be okay with it. I’ve cried over some of the things she’s said.”
“Like what?”
She shakes her head. “I’m not repeating them. Ever.”
“Why?”
She looks me straight in the eye. “Because if we fought, you’d know exactly what to say to destroy me. And if you said those things, our friendship would be dead with no chance of revival.”
“I can’t believe she hurt you that bad and you never said anything.”
She swallows as if her mouth has gone completely dry. “You’ve come dangerously close to crossing that line yourself, Kay.”
I break eye contact. I just can’t. “But you and Tai are still friends.”
She places her napkin on the corner of the table and begins to methodically smooth and fold it into smaller and smaller triangles. “That’s the way it is with Tai. We all just kind of go along with it. None of us is any better. Everyone has a dark side.”
I push my plate away, my stomach churning, panic beginning to rise as I wonder if my name could possibly be on the revenge blog. After all, Tai’s was, and we’re part of the same group. I’m guilty of some teasing and hazing, too, especially at the beginning of the year and tryout season, but I never do anything downright mean.
Almost never.
* * *
• • •
THAT NIGHT, I go for a run on the indoor track. I always prefer running the path around the lake, with the inviting scent of pines surrounding me, but tonight I’m too shaken to run out there alone. When I get back to my dorm, I grab my phone in the dark and dial Justine’s number. She picks up and I can hear Sia playing loudly in the background.
“Hold on!” she shouts into the phone. The music quiets down. “Hey, Kay.”
“Hi. I have a favor to ask.”
“Are you all right?” Her soft voice is tinged with concern.
“Powering through. Do you have Greg’s number?”
“Newman? Weiss? Vanderhorn?”
“Creepy Greg?” I cringe at the words.
“Lots of tattoos, lip ring, Dr. Glares-a-lot?”
“Yes! That’s him.”
She laughs. “You could have described him physically instead of throwing a random nickname at me.”
“Sorry. That’s what Brie called him. I assumed it was a thing. Can you give me his number?”
“Hold on. Let me grab the contact sheet.” I hear the sound of ruffling papers. “What do you need with Judgy McJudgerson?”
“I just want to ask him a few questions about Ms. Lane.”
Her voice softens again. “Oh, honey, do you need to talk?”
“No, I’m fine. I just want to jump-start things back to normal. Move the investigation along.”
“Here we go.” She reads the number to me.
“Muchas.” I hang up and dial Greg’s number. It rings five or six times and then goes to voice mail. I hang up and try again. This time he picks up on the first ring.
“Hello?” He sounds irritated and groggy.
“Hi. This is Kay Donovan looking for Greg . . .” I trail off, realizing I don’t have his last name.
“This is Greg Yeun. It’s not a very good time.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.”
“Wait. Kay Donovan?” He sounds annoyed. “How did you get my number?”
“From Justine Baker.”
He groans loudly. “What do you want?”
“I’ll call back.”
“I’m awake now.”
“It’s eight thirty on a Saturday night.”
“I’ve been up since four. You?”
I bite my tongue. “I’m so sorry to bother you. I’ve been thinking over how rude I was to you today. So I’m sorry for that.”
“Sure.”
“Also, I heard you were dating Jessica and I’m trying to learn a little more about her. I know this is the worst possible time, but—”
He sighs. “Are you a reporter for your school newspaper or something?”
“No. I’m conducting a personal investigation.”
He snorts. “So you’re a future detective.”
“Not exactly. I . . . care a lot about what happened to Jessica. That’s the truth. It may sound weird, but it’s personal for me, even though we weren’t friends.”
“We dated but it was over.”
The ex-boyfriend is always a suspect. Everyone but everyone knows that. “Can we meet by any chance?”
He pauses. “Now?”
I check my watch. “Sure.” I don’t have permission to leave campus, but I’m too amped up to care. Brie and I have slipped out to the street by the far side of the lake and hiked to town dozens of times. It’s okay as long as we keep a low profile.
“Fine,” he says. “Where do you want to meet?”
“Do you know the Cat Café?”
“Twenty minutes.”
5
I spend a few minutes digging through my closet before heading out to meet with Greg. Fashion gets a reputation for being frivolous, but it’s the one form of art I understand. It has the ability to transform bodies and environments, to conceal or seduce, to break hearts or make them sing. The first time I slipped into my school uniform, I almost cried. I locked myself in my mother’s room and spent an hour examining myself in her full-length mirror from every angle. I tried on a dozen different postures, hundreds of expressions, even tones and pitches and cadences of speech. It technically fit my body, but not me. And when I finally packed the fitted navy blazer and plaid skirt, the white shirt with a strip of ruffled fabric along the buttons that was softer than any sheets I’d ever slept in, and the scarlet tie in my suitcase, I felt like a different person.
Now, if I dress a little bit like Greg, I might have a shot at earning his trust. It’s a subtle subconscious thing. But it works. People trust people who are like them. Accordingly, I select a pair of black Alexander McQueen patchwork jeans, which Tricia is never going to get back, and a dark collared shirt. I pull my hair into a tight bun, which makes me look slightly older and a little like a detective from a police procedural. I throw a notebook into my backpack along with my laptop and grab my reading glasses for good measure. I don’t really need them, but they make me look studious. After a moment of consideration, I decide to wear my navy wool overcoat. I almost never wear it around campus, because it’s way too big, has been torn and mended in several places, and generally looks like a thrift store reject. But it’s warmer than the considerably more flattering Balenciaga bomber jacket Tai got me last Christmas, and I’m not planning on running into anyone who matters tonight. It also makes me feel safe somehow. It was my brother’s coat, and I feel weirdly close to him when I wear it.
At the sign-out desk downstairs I smile at the security guard and write library in the destination box, and then once I sign in to the library, I sneak out the back door and head for the lake.
It’s even colder tonight than it was last night, but I have the benefit of my warm wool coat now. The sky is clear and the moon and stars reflect sharply off the still water. I avoid the spot where Brie discovered Jessica’s body and hurry around the shore, making sure to keep under the cover of bushes so I’m not spotted. Now would not be a great time to get caught sneaking out.
The Cat Café has always been my favorite clandestine meeting spot. It’s within walking distance of campus, though not close enough to be frequented by many students or faculty. It’s tiny and serves only plain coffee, tea, and decaf. There are seven other cafés in town, so this one doesn’t get much traffic. It’s a great place to not get caught. Plus, it’s cheap. It is decorated top to bottom with kitschy paintings and figurines of cats, and old-timey big band music is always playing softly in the background. I push the door open and a recorded meow sounds. The air smells like coffee beans and incense, and Tiffany-style
lamps filter the light so that it’s warm and orange tinted. I glance around for Greg as a girl with jet-black hair in a pixie cut and dramatic eye makeup takes my order, but I don’t see him anywhere.
“Be safe, sweetie.” The clerk snaps her gum and hands me my coffee.
“Thanks.” I take it to the counter and load it with cream and sugar. As I’m stirring it with a plastic stick topped with a grinning cat, I hear the recorded meow and turn around. Greg walks through the door, dripping wet. I hadn’t realized it started raining.
He looks at me. “Fine night for a walk.”
“I guess I just missed the storm.”
“Maybe you’ll catch it on the way out.” He smiles unenthusiastically and finds a corner table without ordering.
I carry my coffee and backpack over and set up my laptop to take notes. He pulls a sandwich out of his own backpack and I eye him distastefully as he takes a bite.
“What?” he asks with his mouth open.
“You shouldn’t bring outside food into a restaurant,” I whisper with a surreptitious glance at the waitress, who’s leaning against the counter and reading a snowboarding magazine.
“Why not? They don’t serve food. I’m not competing with them.”
“So you’ve been here before. With Jessica?”
He nods. “Among others.”
I wonder who the others are. For some reason it surprises me that multiple Bates students would date him. He just doesn’t seem like the Bates type. I poise my fingers over the keyboard. “So. How did you and Jessica meet?”
“Tinder.” He watches me for a reaction, but I wave for him to continue. “I do a lot of volunteer work and I heard about her organization through a flyer at my church. I showed up at an event, and we got to talking.”
I type as he speaks. “And when was that?”
“About a year ago. We didn’t start dating until New Year’s.”
“Over the break?”
“We both live here year-round,” he reminds me.
“Oh yeah.” I pause. “What drew you to Jessica?”
He smiles slightly and brushes his hair away from his intense eyes. “Are you running an investigation or writing a romance novel?”
