The Girl in the Picture

by Alexandra Monir

  As if I didn’t already know.

  “Hello, Lana Rivera.” He flashes me a grin as he shakes my hand, and a dimple appears in each of his cheeks. “Yeah, I just transferred from St. John’s in DC. I’m Chace Porter.”

  “So, what made you leave DC? Running from something?” I joke.

  He laughs, his face flushing. I take a step closer, noticing the color of his eyes. They’re a bluer gray than they appeared from afar, a shock of brightness against his olive skin and brown hair.

  “I’m here because of soccer, actually,” he replies. “Your school recruited me.”

  Knew that already. I bite my lip, considering whether to go for the blatant flirting or keep it coy. I go for the flirting.

  “Well. It looks like our school got lucky.”

  My efforts are rewarded. Chace breaks into another smile, bigger than the first, and it gives me a bubbling feeling in my stomach, a sensation I can’t remember experiencing since I was a kid ready to rip open a present on Christmas morning.

  “Looks like I got pretty lucky myself, meeting a total knockout on my first day.”

  His eyes twinkle, and there go those dimples again. I suck in my breath. This is happening.

  “You’ve got some good karma working for you,” I say, aiming for a breezy tone. “Especially since I was just about to offer to show you the ropes around here.”

  “Really? That sounds much better than getting the tour from Mrs. Braymore.”

  Chace brushes his hand against my arm, and it’s so quick and casual that I can’t tell if it’s on purpose or by accident. I look at Stephanie and the other girls, hoping they saw. Of course they did. The word will spread quickly now. The new guy may be the most intriguing prospect to set foot on Oyster Bay grounds since we all arrived as freshmen, but just like that, he’s off-limits. I got to him first.

  “Come on,” I say, giving him a gentle nudge. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”

  We leave the oak tree and join my friends, just in time for the end of Headmaster Higgins’s speech and the beginning of the barbecue. As we cross the South Lawn, I envision the rest of the afternoon. Chace and I will wait in line for food together, then we’ll sit next to each other at the picnic tables, laughing as barbecue sauce drips onto our fingers and our knees touch beneath the table.

  If I play my cards right, it’ll only be a matter of time before he’s mine.

  He keeps a polite space between us as I lead him through the trail of cherry trees, over the little wooden bridge, and down toward the quadrangle of redbrick campus buildings.

  “Let me see your class schedule. I’ll let you know if you got screwed or not.”

  Chace hands me a folded paper from his back pocket, and I give it a quick scan.

  “AP English, damn. So you’re an athlete and a smarty?” I raise an eyebrow at him over the top of the paper.

  His face flushes again, and I feel a small burst of triumph at the realization that he’s nervous around me. Or shy. Or something.

  “Latin III with Ms. Garcia,” I continue reading. “That’s one class we have in common. I’ve got to warn you, it’s a pain in the ass.”

  “Noted,” Chace says with a nod, the dimples reappearing in his cheeks. “So, everything is in this building here, right?” He nods up at Academics Hall.

  “All your typical classes are, but music and arts are in Joyce Hall, where the theater is,” I explain. “And of course, PE is either on the field or at the pool, depending on whether you have swimming or field sports.”

  “Yeah, I noticed a Choral Music class on my schedule,” Chace says with a grimace. “Is that, like, mandatory here?”

  I roll my eyes. I feel his pain.

  “Until senior year, it is. Oyster Bay goes after musicians and artsy types the same way it recruits athletes like you. They’re basically fishing for maximum celebrity alumni. Only a few get into the Virtuoso Program, but they still force even the most untalented to take at least one performing arts class through junior year, I guess on the off chance they might discover someone.” I shrug. “Come on, let me show you how to get to your classes. Academics Hall is kind of a labyrinth.”

  He closes the space between us by a hair as we walk through the mahogany double doors. A high-ceilinged foyer welcomes us, its walls lined with banners and trophy cases dating back to the last century, pointing the way toward the first cluster of classrooms. Only the nerdiest among us could be found studying on our day off, before term has even started, but of course there are a few stragglers in the building, eyes sunken from reviewing who-knows-what all morning.

  As I give Chace the grand tour, I feel oddly like I’m on a stage, all too aware of everything I’m saying, of the inflections of my voice. I’m only talking about teachers, classes, and the best shortcut from Algebra III to Physics II; it’s hardly high-stakes stuff. This should be easy. I can flirt with my eyes closed. But something about the way this new guy looks at me, as though there’s only good to be found, makes my temperature rise. And I want to be done with this tour charade. I want more.

  My phone vibrates in my purse, and I pull it out while Chace is busy peering at all the high-tech equipment in the science lab. It’s a text from Mom.

  Met him yet?

  I quickly hit delete. I’m not doing this for her. I’m doing this for me.

  “Hey, Chace?” I call out. “Let’s go to Joyce Hall. I know you’re not into the artsy-fartsy stuff either, but trust me, you’ll want to see the theater.”

  “Sounds good.” Chace falls into step beside me, and we head out of Academics Hall and back into the quad. The sun is setting, casting a golden-pink hue across the grass. Oyster Bay Prep has never looked more perfect, like a movie set, and for a moment I feel like the leading lady with something thrilling on the horizon. I can’t help it—I break into a run and turn a cartwheel across the lawn.

  Chace applauds as he catches up to me. “I give that a ten out of ten, Lana Rivera.”

  I dip into a playful curtsy. We’re in front of Joyce Hall now, which would be indistinguishable from Academics if not for the four marble columns flanking its front steps. The grandeur of those columns seems to lord power over the other buildings, as if saying this is the special place, this is where the real treasure is found.

  “Wow,” Chace remarks as we step inside, our shoes practically sinking into the plush red carpeting. “It’s easy to see which department Oyster Bay prizes most.”

  “They definitely classed it up in here,” I agree. “But just wait till you see the theater. That’s clearly where all the alumni bribe-money must have gone.”

  Chace laughs, a warm, infectious sound that makes me want to keep the joke going. Of course, we both know I wasn’t joking. There’s something about having parents in politics that exposes you to the truth early on in life, and alumni bribes? That’s reality. It’s the reason—if we’re being brutally honest—why I got into this school.

  We’re nearing the theater now, but as we reach the doors, the sound of a violin emanates from behind them. I turn to Chace with a disappointed shrug.

  “I guess there’s a rehearsal or something going on in there.”

  Chace steps closer, pressing his ear against the door.

  “I know that song. Let’s go in and watch.”

  “Um…okay.”

  Now it’s my turn to follow as he pushes open the theater doors and strides down the aisle until we’re shuffling into the second row of seats, looking up at a girl on the stage who doesn’t even know we’re there.

  I glance at Chace. He doesn’t seem to notice the magnificence of the theater; he isn’t making the typical awed remarks about the chandeliered ceiling and gilded stage. He’s not even looking. His eyes are almost closed as he listens to the music, a half smile forming on his face, as if remembering something. A twinge of irritation flashes through me.

  I study the girl currently capturing Chace’s attention. She might be talented, but thankfully she’s not hot. Her sandy blond
hair is in desperate need of frizz control, and I’m slightly horrified to see that she’s wearing denim overalls. Overalls. I know some people would like to think they’re coming back in style, but—no.

  The song must be over now, because Chace has leaped to his feet clapping, and the girl is blinking her eyes open, her cheeks turning tomato-red with surprise when she sees us.

  “Oh God. I—I thought I was alone in here,” she stammers. “So embarrassing—”

  I roll my eyes. Please.

  “Are you kidding? That was amazing,” Chace raves. “Was that—were you playing the song from The Godfather II?”

  I cough to disguise my snort of laughter. So we weren’t even listening to real classical music?

  Violin Chick smiles, and it’s the wide, showing-all-her-teeth kind of smile that lets me know she has not learned the art of seduction.

  “Yes!” she exclaims. “By Nino Rota. It’s ‘The Immigrant Theme’ from the movie. How did you know?”

  “I watched all the Godfather movies with my dad when I was little. I was probably way too young,” Chace says with a chuckle. “But anyway, they’re still my favorites.”

  “Those movies have the best music,” Violin Chick says, still beaming. “Film scores are kind of my thing.”

  Okay, enough already. I stand up, reasserting my place next to Chace.

  “I’m Lana Rivera, and this is—”

  “Lana Rivera?” Violin Chick interrupts, her smile growing even wider. Who knew that was possible.

  “Yep, that’s me. And this is Chace Porter. Are you a transfer?”

  “No.” She lets out an awkward giggle. “I’m Nicole Morgan. We had a couple classes together freshman year.”

  “Oh yeah. I remember,” I lie.

  “But anyway, this is such a coincidence, because I was hoping to see you before,” she continues.

  “See me before what?” I ask. I’m really getting wary of this weirdo.

  “Before move-in.” When my expression remains blank, Nicole adds, “I’m your new dormmate!”

  Wrong. I force a polite expression onto my face.

  “You must be mistaken. I’m rooming with Stephanie Sparks, just like last year.”

  “Headmaster Higgins switched up the room assignments for this year. Didn’t you see it in the welcome packet? She wrote something about ‘injecting new life into our social cliques.’ ”

  I grit my teeth. This can’t be happening. I’m not being separated from my best friend and forced to share a bedroom with a socially inept music nerd.

  “That’s awesome,” Chace says, grinning at me. “You’ll get your own private concert whenever you want.”

  Yeah. Awesome, all right. But I can’t let Chace see how pissed off I am.

  “Good point.” I fix a smile on my face. “I can’t wait.”

  “What the future has in store,

  No one ever knows before.”

  “Hold on one moment, miss. No one’s leaving just yet.”

  I glance up at the figure blocking my escape, and my stomach seizes. He’s wearing the telltale dark blue uniform and matching peaked cap, ammunition slung like a warning in his patrol belt. The sight of a police officer at the front of the classroom only amplifies this nightmare, and I look desperately to the door, aching to be alone, to scream and sob and try to make sense of all of this in private.

  The cop does a double take when he looks at me. It’s my scar, of course. That’s the only reason anyone ever looks twice in my direction now. But I don’t care anymore. The one person I wanted to look pretty for is gone. Let me be a hideous monster for the rest of my life—if it would only bring him back.

  Mr. Isaacs steps in front of me, extending his hand to the cop.

  “Morning, Officer,” he says, with a grim shake of his head. “Unthinkable, isn’t it?”

  The room starts to spin, pins and needles pricking at my insides, and for a moment I don’t know where I am. Then I hear fragments of the cop’s words.

  “A terrible loss…We’re doing everything we can….need to speak to your students about the case.”

  Mr. Isaacs finally notices me standing alongside them, my foot tapping against the linoleum floor like a soundtrack to my panic.

  “Nicole, I need you back in your seat.”

  But I can’t move. Brianne appears at my arm, looking at me strangely as she leads me back to our desks.

  “Are you okay, Nicole? You look like you’re going to faint.”

  Before I can answer, Mr. Isaacs turns to address the class.

  “Everyone, I’m going to have to ask that you all please take a seat and give Officer Ladge your undivided attention.”

  A nervous hush comes over the room, the kind only a police officer can inspire. Everyone makes their way back to their desks except Lana, who remains crumpled in a ball, sobbing, Stephanie and Kara at her side. The old instinct of friendship kicks in and I turn around in my seat to meet her eyes—but just as quickly, I remember, and turn back to the front of the room.

  Officer Ladge steps forward.

  “Let me begin by saying how deeply sorry I am for the loss of your classmate and friend. I know Chace Porter was a beloved member of the community here, and his loss will be tremendously felt. To that end, we’ve arranged for grief counselors to be on-site all week. Please take the time to speak with them. It will help.” The officer clears his throat. “But I’m afraid there’s more. The specifics of how Mr. Porter was found, and in what condition, lead us to believe foul play was involved.”

  Foul play? The words swim in my head, making no sense.

  “Do you mean…like, it wasn’t an accident? He was killed?” a petrified voice I recognize as Grace Levin’s calls out.

  The officer pauses for a split second.

  “Yes. Based on the evidence and the state of the body, we can confirm that this was a murder.”

  My heart slips out of my chest as he speaks. I can practically see it flopping about pathetically on the classroom floor, ready to be stomped on and torn apart by all the feet in this room. The officer’s voice seems distorted as he resumes his speech, like a hideous recording played in slow motion.

  “Our findings show that Chace was last seen alive during the early-morning hours yesterday at the off-campus party thrown by Tyler Hemming. Mr. Hemming is cooperating with us and putting together a list of everyone who attended. We’ll need to interview each of you who was there.”

  I wasn’t supposed to be at the party. I wasn’t invited. But when I got the text, I couldn’t hold myself back. And now my mind can’t stop replaying the argument and the kiss, memories that are like shots to the gut now that I know they were our last. There are gaps, too—pockets of haze and time-jumps within the night that I know are the result of gulping down Tyler’s signature drink when it was handed to me. I didn’t feel the effects until later, when it was too late.

  “We’ll need to speak with those closest to Mr. Porter first. Nicole Morgan, if you can please come with me—”

  His words set off a bomb. A collective shock ripples through the room, with audible gasps and a smattering of nervous laughter culminating in a flurry of outraged voices as my classmates talk over one another, all of them rushing to clear up Officer Ladge’s blunder. I know what they’re thinking. How could he think she, of all people, was closest to Chace? Brianne stares at me, confusion written across her face.

  One prickly voice cuts above the others, like a knife.

  “I was his girlfriend. He barely even knew her.”

  Officer Ladge looks taken aback, frowning as he glances from me to Lana and back again. I hold my breath. This isn’t happening.

  “I apologize, Miss…?”

  “Lana Rivera,” Mr. Isaacs murmurs to the officer.

  “Miss Rivera. If you’ll come with me, we can speak in private, and I’ll be glad to arrange any help you might need during this difficult time.” The officer’s eyes flick to me again and I shift in my seat, wondering how he knew my name,
how he could have guessed about me and Chace.

  “I can’t.” Lana’s voice breaks. “I can’t do this, I can’t believe this.”

  The officer, clearly trained for horrendous moments such as these, swoops to her side, helping her to her feet. I watch along with the rest of the class as he places a comforting hand on her back and steers her to the door, muttering something to Mr. Isaacs out of the corner of his mouth just before they leave.

  “All of you who attended the party this weekend, I expect you to cooperate with the authorities and answer any questions they might have.” Mr. Isaacs wrings his hands, looking hopelessly out of his depth in these murky waters. “In the meantime, please take the day to…to comfort and be good to each other. Grief counselors will be on the premises for the rest of the week, so please do take advantage—”

  I feel the bile rising in my throat. Sweat drenches my brow and I know I’m on the verge of being sick, or having a panic attack—or both. I push out of my chair, ignoring Brianne calling after me, and make for the door. But this time it’s Mr. Isaacs blocking my path.

  “I’m sorry, Nicole. The officer does still need to talk to you. He asked me to…” My teacher swallows uncomfortably. “To not let you leave.”

  The classroom has thinned out, and now it’s down to me and Mr. Isaacs. The other students all received his permission to go back to their dorms, to call their parents, to visit the grief counselors. Only I was forced to stay.

  “You sure you don’t want to come with me?” Brianne had asked, before leaving.

  I shook my head, telling her I wanted to be alone. That was true enough. It was the other part I hoped to keep hidden—what the officer must know. What he thinks I know. During the hour waiting for him, I caught my mind descending into thoughts of self-preservation, and they sent a flush of shame to my cheeks, that I even cared about my own stupid life and reputation when Chace was…No. I won’t let myself believe the word dead.

  “Miss Morgan.”

  My head jerks forward. Officer Ladge is back, but this time he’s joined by a beady-eyed woman in a gray pantsuit, her hair pulled back in a stiff bun.