Hysteria

by Megan Miranda

  “Just”—Reid said, his hands held out in front of him—“for a walk.”

  Mom spoke to Reid, like she thought she’d have more luck with him. “Stay where I can see you.”

  We left. I glanced once behind me and saw her shadow pass back and forth behind the green curtains. I wondered if this is what she always looked like from the outside.

  Reid didn’t touch me as we walked to the end of the strip of rooms, and I hoped it was because he thought Mom was watching from the window.

  “How’s everything at school?” I asked.

  “Mallory, there’s not any school. Not really. We had this meeting yesterday, and there will be classes, but just for show or normalcy or something. For something to do. Half of campus is gone anyway. Parents picked them up. The rest of us are just going through the motions.”

  Then we reached the end of the strip and there was nowhere really to go but into the woods, so we walked absently, still in view of the hotel, twigs cracking under our steps.

  There wasn’t anything left to say, really, after that. Except what I was thinking, which was, “I think it was either Taryn or Krista. Maybe Bree, but I don’t think so.”

  Reid looked surprised, like it hadn’t occurred to him that someone actually killed Jason, and that Jason didn’t just miraculously appear dead with knife wounds. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because they’re lying. They’re all covering for one of them.”

  Reid sunk onto a gray stone, twice his width, and I sat beside him. He rested his elbows on his legs and put his head in his hands. “It’s not Taryn,” he said.

  I felt this pang—jealousy, I guess. Because he was defending his ex or something. And then I worried that maybe he knew for certain it wasn’t Taryn, and I got this double pang. “How do you know?” I whispered, wanting and not wanting the answer.

  “It’s kind of a secret. So you can’t tell.”

  “Jesus, Reid. Seriously? Enough with the secrets already. I think we’re past that.”

  “I guess we are,” he said slowly. He took a deep breath and said, “Remember how I said that before me and Taryn had a . . . thing, she was with Jason?”

  “Yes.”

  “They were together a while. Over a year, maybe.”

  And now Jason hardly glanced at her, but they still hung out in the same circle. Awkward with a capital A.

  “Anyway,” he said, “last year, when Jason was my roommate. I got back from dinner and heard Taryn in the room, and I was going to leave because, well, that’s what you do when your roommate has a girl in the room.”

  I shifted uncomfortably, because I didn’t really want to hear about all of this. Of Reid and girls in his room and that there was this whole system because it happened so frequently, and Reid must’ve sensed it because he rested his hand on the small of my back. He continued, “But they were fighting. Jason was yelling. And I heard something. You know how you hear something and you know exactly what it is? Jason hit her. I’m sure of it. But when I got in the room, she was on the floor next to the desk, holding her chin, and she was bleeding. And Jason kept saying she fell, she fell, and Taryn was crying, but she wouldn’t look at me.”

  He found me looking at him. “I know what you’re thinking. Weird that I dated the girl my roommate hit, right? Hard to explain. It was like we had this connection. Because I knew, and she knew I knew, and she didn’t have to pretend around me. It was like we could skip all the small stuff, all the bullshit. It was all wrong, obviously. All the wrong reasons . . .” He trailed off. That was something I could definitely relate to.

  “She wouldn’t tell, though. I guess because of who Jason’s dad is. He said, she said, right? And then she and Krista were best friends all of a sudden and Taryn stopped hanging out with me, like she wasn’t allowed to or something.”

  “Reid,” I said. “What you’re saying is that Taryn had motive.”

  “No,” he said, taking my hand. “What I’m saying is that Taryn is weak.” He squeezed his hand around mine, and I knew that he meant that I wasn’t, and I hated it. I stood up and started pacing in front of the big rock.

  “So it had to be Krista.”

  “I don’t know, Mallory. I don’t get that. It doesn’t make any sense. She’s nothing without him.”

  “Reid,” I said, “she’s not even related to him.”

  “What? Of course she is.”

  “Where does she go in the summer? Does she stay with the Dorchesters?”

  “No, I think she goes to camp or something.”

  “Does she go there for holidays?”

  “I don’t know. I guess so. Maybe not. It’s not like we talk. Jason said she was his cousin.”

  And then I saw Jason as something else. Someone holding all the truths, all the secrets, that Krista had. If secrets were currency, Jason was the richest one of all. Turns out, the richer you are, the more people want you dead.

  Then I thought of Krista taking care of the Taryn situation for Jason, convincing her not to tell, because he held the secrets over her. And Krista having to pretend to befriend this preppy girl with a preppy name and a preppy satellite phone. And Bree coming along with the same preppy kind of name and attitude. And Bree telling me that Jason had kissed her under the bleachers, but she’d been trying to tell me something else. Krista had to fix that too. I remembered Jason holding Krista around the neck outside the bathroom, threatening her.

  Krista hated him.

  Krista hated them all.

  I didn’t tell Reid. Secrets weren’t a currency. They were a burden. A heavy, dangerous burden.

  “Okay,” I said. “But Reid, someone did it.”

  “I know, I know.” He stood up and walked toward me, like he was looking for a way to forget and I looked like the perfect way to do it.

  He kissed me like he wanted something from me, but not like how Brian wanted something from me, not that thing at all. But something. Definitely something. And I didn’t know what it was. But I didn’t stop him either because I felt myself sinking into him, wanting to be more than a way to forget.

  His hands were in my hair and then they were on my hips, and I flashed back to that day on the beach with Brian. And I knew Colleen had been right—he hadn’t been right for me, not even a little.

  I pulled away, glanced down the strip toward the hotel room, and cleared my throat.

  “They’re interviewing us all,” he said. And then he was whispering. “About that night. I can say something.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Like I snuck over to see you but you were already asleep. So they’d know there was no way you could’ve done it.”

  “You mean you could lie.”

  “But I could have. So easily. It doesn’t have to be a lie. I’ve snuck over to your place before. God, I should’ve done it.”

  “Don’t,” I said.

  “I don’t even have to lie. I can just start a rumor. About me and you that night. It’ll make its way around and this will all be done.”

  “It’ll make it worse,” I whispered.

  “It won’t,” he said, and now he was getting agitated.

  But I knew it would. It had happened before.

  Colleen had lied. Before she found me. The cops showed up at Brian’s house, looking for next of kin. Looking for his parents. But nobody knew that. They saw the cops show and they ran. Except Colleen. She never ran away. Besides, they all knew her by then.

  She could tell, I guess, that they weren’t there to break up the party, once they started asking for Brian’s parents. Once they took their hats off. And when it was obvious that his parents weren’t there, they asked if anyone had seen me. So Colleen said, “Yeah. You just missed her.”

  I had about twenty-seven missed calls from her that night. First she went to my house. Then to her own. And then she found me, under the boardwalk. And I know she meant well, because she did. But the cops wouldn’t listen to a word she said after the initial lie. So at first th
ey didn’t believe my story—the lawyer’s story—either.

  But eventually the cops stopped asking, because someone else confirmed the lawyer’s story.

  I never asked who. And I never found out.

  And now Reid was offering to lie for me. “Promise you won’t.”

  “I almost did,” he said. “I almost came to see you.” He was looking past me, like he was imagining it in his head. Like he was trying to make it real.

  Mom’s voice traveled down the strip. “Mallory?”

  “Right here,” I called back. “Promise, Reid.”

  “Promise,” he said. I couldn’t tell if he really meant it, but I wanted to trust him. I was choosing to believe him.

  “How was your walk?” Mom asked, extra emphasis on the k. Translation: I know you were making out with that boy, and that’s all he’s interested in, by the way. Also, you should know better.

  “You could’ve been nice.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Is that why I’m here? In New Hampshire? To be nice to the boys my daughter—”

  “Your daughter what?”

  She threw her hands up in the air and waved them around. “This stuff,” she said, like there was chaos everywhere, “that you are so fit to ignore, is important. A boy died, Mallory. A boy is dead. Dead. It’s serious stuff. Do you get that?”

  I stared at her and she stared back and I waited and she waited and finally I said, “Yes, Mother, I get that. I get that, and I’ll never not get that.” Then I took shallow, short breaths so I would not cry in front of her. Not now.

  “I need to call Colleen,” I said. And when Mom cocked her head to the side, I added, “She’ll be worried. I was supposed to call.”

  “You can’t. You can’t call anyone. They could be recording our conversations.”

  “I have nothing to hide. And besides, this isn’t one of your shows.”

  “Yes, Mallory, I get that. I don’t think I’ll ever not get that.”

  She couldn’t look at me. But that’s okay—I couldn’t look at her either. And while we were busy not looking at each other, she unplugged the phone and brought it to her room.

  I went to my room and turned on my cell. And even though there was no service, I sent Colleen a message. It would go through whenever we drove through a place with signal. If I was ever allowed out of here again.

  I typed: Something happened. Something bad. Will call when I can.

  And then I watched as the phone searched for signal, and searched some more, willing something to happen. But nothing did.

  The rain started after dinner. The sky turned dark too early, and we watched old episodes of shows we’d seen five years ago. But neither of us laughed or smiled at the right spots, so I’m pretty sure she wasn’t watching, just like me. She was keeping an eye on me.

  We stayed up late enough that sleep should’ve come fast, but the rain wouldn’t stop. And it wasn’t soothing, not for me. It reminded me of that night, when I ran, with blood on my knuckles, under my nails, on my arms. My chest. Everywhere. When I hid under the boardwalk pier and the rain fell through the cracks but didn’t do anything to wash off the blood.

  There was too much blood.

  The rain didn’t stop that night, and it didn’t stop this night either. Not until morning. The sky was still dark. Dark and heavy, the humidity filling up the living room. Pushing us tighter and tighter until Mom broke first and said, “Let’s get some lunch.”

  We drove to the diner that Reid had taken me to, just a mile down the road. It was packed. Cars were lined up in rows on the grass, and some were just parked on the side of the road, half on the pavement, half in the weeds. But they all had that red parking permit in the back window, for Monroe.

  I didn’t get out of the car. Mom seemed to sense something was a little off—or a lot off—and that maybe this wasn’t the right time for us to descend upon the diner on wheels. But she also didn’t turn around. She just sat, engine idling, chewing the inside of her mouth.

  Finally she said, “Stay here. I’ll go in.” She left without asking for my order.

  The inside was packed, but the outside was busy too. People holding candles, even though it wasn’t dark, or night. The candles were totally unnecessary. And this wasn’t where he had died either. I was guessing half the people here didn’t even like him. Maybe even more than half. It was more like everyone was just looking for something to do.

  My phone made a tiny chime from my bag, a notice that my text had been sent to Colleen. I wanted to grab my phone and write more, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the crowd. I searched for Reid, wondering if he was here. Mourning, maybe, or maybe just participating. Being part of something. Like this was an event to attend off campus. Something to do.

  Not the place for me to show up.

  I scanned the crowd, but didn’t see him. But I did see a finger pointing in my direction.

  I gripped the handle, thinking I should get out. Confront them. Defend myself. Say I didn’t do it. But the girl, I think her name was April, her teeth were clenched. And the boy holding her was staring as well. Same look. And then someone else looked. So I released my grip on the handle and stared out the front window. Very, very slowly, I moved my hand to the automatic buttons and pressed the Lock button.

  The noise seemed to echo.

  My heart sped up. I thought about mobs. This could so easily be a mob. One person yelling. One person telling others what to do. One idea, floating through the crowd. One call to action—something they’re looking for. They were looking for an outlet for their grief, or their fear maybe, and the candles didn’t seem like they were really cutting it.

  April and that boy moved closer. The third one did too. Somebody said something, loudly, something like there or maybe her.

  I closed my eyes and counted to one hundred, and I felt the air growing muggy, like it had the night with Brian, like the sky was about to break open.

  Which it did.

  Some people scattered—into cars, into the building—and the flames from the candles turned to tiny wisps of smoke. But some people stayed put, watching me through the rain. And then Mom was yanking at the handle repeatedly, trying to get inside.

  I unlocked the door and she slid into her seat. She passed me the bag of take-out food and pressed the lock on the door again. She acted calm, easing the car out of the spot, but I could see her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. She turned right, heading back toward our hotel, and something hit the back of the trunk with a thud. She jumped and pressed down on the gas, and the tires squealed under the pressure, under the rain.

  We ate in silence on the couch across from the dark television. She’d gotten me a grilled cheese, which actually wasn’t a bad call, except Reid had warned me the only thing worth getting was a hamburger. No cheese. I took a bite, and the cheese was thick, not gooey thick, fake thick. And anyway, I wasn’t really hungry.

  Mom picked at her sandwich, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of the taste or a lack of appetite. Eventually, she wrapped her food up and put it back in the white bag, then rolled it all up into a ball. She stood and walked to the window. “We need to talk to the administration at Monroe.”

  So she had sensed it too. The way the atmosphere had felt so charged, the air crackling with potential.

  “And say what?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “They’re not helping,” she said, staring out the closed blinds. Staring out the crack between them, into the rain. “And they need to help.” I wondered who was in charge, whether the fact that Jason’s dad was part of the administration had something to do with their lack of help. And maybe Mom knew it, too, which is why she picked up her purse. “But lock the door behind me.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. It was like something had clasped me around the middle so I couldn’t take a breath. I put my hands on top of my head, like I did when I was out of breath, only I tried to do it casually, so she wouldn’t be able to tell. I turned around and s
ucked in a deep breath. I only said one syllable, so she wouldn’t hear my voice waver. “Mom.”

  She gripped her purse with both hands and closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ll take care of this,” she said.

  Then she walked toward me, fumbled around in her bag, and pulled out a small container of pepper spray, just like Colleen used to carry around. Her hands were shaking as she pressed it into mine. She squeezed her hands over mine, and I could feel them shaking still. “Take it,” she said.

  When she pulled her hands back, mine were shaking too, and this time I couldn’t keep the waver out of my voice when I said, “Mom.”

  “You will be fine,” she said. “I know you will.” And then she was gone.

  And like she asked, I turned the lock behind her.

  Then I perched on the edge of the sofa and stared at the dark television screen, trying to steady my breath again. I heard her car come to life and fade into the distance. I turned the pepper spray over and over in my palm, wondering what Mom meant when she said she knew I’d be fine.

  And then I heard another car door. A gentle click, under the sound of the steady falling rain.

  I glanced toward the crack in the curtains, wondering if it was Reid coming to see me. I jumped up and faced the door, but then I heard the steps on the sidewalk. Familiar somehow. Not Reid.

  No, they were the footsteps following me home the night of the party. The way the heel dragged along the ground a second before the step. Scuff, step. Scuff, step. I took a step backward, but the footsteps got closer. I wanted to run to the door to check the lock, but I didn’t want to get any closer. And besides, would a lock stop something that wasn’t real?

  I saw a flash through the gap in the curtains. Blond hair. Lanky build. And the hairs on my arms each stood on end. And then I felt the buzzing in the room, like I used to feel in the kitchen at home.