“There was a song Chace loved. I’ll never hear it again without thinking of him. You’ll know it as ‘Lovesong’ by the Cure. If you listen carefully, you just might hear it.”
And then, from outside the closed church doors, I hear the faint strains of a violin. The congregation turns around in their seats, the Porters standing up at the sound. I wait, rage rising up inside me, willing the reverend or someone else to run outside and tell Nicole to shut up, to tell her she’s ruining the service. But no one does. Everyone listens in rapt silence, just like that night at our New Year’s party. Congressman Porter holds his clasped hands up to his chest, while Mrs. Porter hugs Teddy close, the two of them gulping back tears. Looking around, I can’t see a dry eye in the room. And then, as her violin hits a swooping, piercing note, I feel something crack inside me. I give in to my own tears, head in my hands.
Even as I hate her, she can still make me cry.
Dear Chace,
It was the train that brought us together, wasn’t it? Before we found ourselves on the same Long Island Rail Road heading west, all you were to me was Lana’s sweet boyfriend and I’m sure I was nothing more to you than her violin-playing roommate. But the train exposed everything, diving beneath the layers of those roles to who we really are. Do you regret it now, taking the same train as me? Sometimes I do. Only because I never meant to hurt anyone. And because now I know what it means to truly hurt, myself.
I love you still,
Nicole
MARCH 12, 2016
JUNIOR YEAR
Midway into my train ride from Long Island to Manhattan, I spot a familiar flash of golden-brown hair, just visible above the top of the seat three rows ahead of me. It doesn’t occur to me that Chace could be trying to avoid any notice, or that he might want privacy. He’s a friendly face, so of course I get up from my seat, lugging my violin case behind me to join his row.
“Hi, Chace.”
His head jerks up at my approach. His cheeks fill with color, but he doesn’t look nearly as surprised to see me as I am to see him.
“Lana didn’t mention you were going into the city, too.” I slide in beside him. “We could have shared a cab to the train station.”
“She doesn’t know,” he says quietly. “She thinks I’m at practice.”
He doesn’t say it, but I can tell by the look in his eyes what he’s asking. He doesn’t want me to tell.
“Why?” I ask. “Are you planning a surprise for her or something?” That seems like the kind of thing guys would do for a girl like Lana.
“Yeah.” He nods.
“Say no more.” I smile at him. “My lips are sealed.”
“What about you?” He glances down at my violin case. “Doing something music-related?”
“It’s my first day of rehearsals for the Philharmonic showcase,” I tell him, unable to keep from beaming. He grins back.
“Oh, right. That’s crazy awesome. What are you playing? Any chance it’s the song from New Year’s Eve?”
“ ‘Summertime’? That’s the song I auditioned with, so maybe. I guess I’ll find out today.” I stretch my arms over my head, giddy with a combination of excitement and nerves. He watches me and chuckles.
“It’s cool how you don’t hide it.”
“Don’t hide what?” I ask.
“How much this means to you,” Chace says, turning in his seat to face me. “I’m used to people downplaying everything.”
A piece of advice Lana recently gave me flashes in my mind. “You shouldn’t be so obvious, Nicole.”
“Yeah, I’m not the queen of subtle,” I agree.
“Don’t change.” He touches my arm for the briefest second before turning back to the window. And I could swear he has the same look on his face that he had the night of the meteor shower—the expression that made me feel like he saw too much when he looked at me, that made me want to push him in Lana’s direction instead.
We sit in a companionable silence for the rest of the ride, my earbuds in as I mentally prepare for my first rehearsal. When it’s time to change trains at Jamaica Station, we step off the platform together and find two seats next to each other in the second car. But when the train stops at Atlantic Terminal, I’m surprised to see Chace get up.
“That’s my stop.”
“I thought you were going into the city. Wouldn’t that be Penn Station, like me?”
“I’m actually going to Brooklyn.” He pauses. “Maybe we can take the train back together, though. Which one are you taking?”
“Probably the six o’clock,” I reply. “Rehearsal is four hours.”
“Cool. I’ll already be on the train when you get here,” he tells me. “I’ll see you then.”
“See you.”
I watch as he jumps over the gap onto the platform, disappearing into a mass of commuters. And for some reason I don’t yet understand, the thought of meeting him again on the train makes my pulse quicken with anticipation.
A smile spreads across my face as I skip out of the subway station and emerge in front of Lincoln Center. I can’t help laughing with joy as I race up the steps to the grand plaza, taking in the buildings I’ve long dreamed about seeing in person. The Metropolitan Opera House faces me straight ahead, its marquee announcing a performance of La Bohème starring Renée Fleming herself, while Koch Theater, home of the New York City Ballet, stands to its left. Opposite is my wished-for home, Dand Geffen Hall, theater of the New York Philharmonic. Tears spring to my eyes, and I race toward it.
“Whoa!” A cute boy about my age, with dark skin and short black hair, holds up his arms before I nearly plow into his cello. “Watch it!”
“Sorry, sorry!” My cheeks flush with embarrassment. Great first impression, Nicole!
“It’s okay,” he says with a grin. “You’re clearly in more of a rush to get to rehearsal than I am. I’m Damien Bell, by the way.”
So this is the player who took the cellist spot Brianne auditioned for. Maybe I should give him the cold shoulder out of respect for my friend—but I’m too jubilant to pull it off.
“Hi.” I reach out my hand to shake his. “I’m Nicole Morgan. Tell me, should I be more nervous?”
He laughs.
“Only if you mind teachers who work you to death.”
“Well, that I’m used to,” I tell him. “Have you heard of Oyster Bay Prep?”
“Oh yeah.” He opens the door for me and we walk through. “I’ve heard it’s almost as rough there as where I go, LaGuardia.”
I stop as we enter the building, my mouth falling open at the gilded lobby.
“This is where we’re going to rehearse?” I marvel.
“Wait’ll you see the theater. You’re never going to want to leave.” He gives me a deadpan look. “Just remember, not everyone gets asked back the following year. So if you want to keep your place in the showcase, you’d better own it and be at least as good as me.”
For a minute I think he’s actually that pompous, but then he bursts out laughing.
“I kid, I kid! Don’t worry, the vibe here is surprisingly much more Friends than Black Swan.”
“Good to know,” I say with a giggle.
We walk into the theater still chuckling—and I know I’m going to love it here.
Chace is waiting for me in the same row we sat in earlier when I board the Long Island Rail Road, just like he said he would be. Still, I can’t help feeling a flicker of surprise at the sight of him. I guess there’s something surreal about seeing him apart from Lana, when the two of them have coexisted in my mind since the day I met them in the auditorium.
“Looks like rehearsal went well,” he says as I slide in beside him.
“How can you tell?” I ask, touching my flushed cheeks.
He studies me, a teasing glint in his eye.
“I sense a definite spring in your step.”
“It was incredible. To be with the best young players in the country, rehearsing in one of the most legendary theaters in th
e world, with Franz Lindgren himself conducting us…” I pinch my arm. “Yup. Not a dream! And I made a friend, this really great guy, Damien. It’s just awesome to meet people passionate about the same things as me, you know?”
Chace’s expression changes, but he keeps smiling.
“That’s awesome, Nicole.”
“Anyway, sorry to gush so much. But you probably know what I mean, what with your soccer.”
“Don’t apologize. I do know what you mean,” he says. “There’s something really special about knowing what you’re supposed to do, and finding your tribe.”
“Exactly,” I agree.
Chace pats my arm gently.
“I’m glad everything is working out for you, Nicole. You deserve it.”
“Thanks. That’s nice of you.”
His eyes remain on mine. I feel an unexpected jolt in my chest, my cheeks growing inexplicably warm. I quickly change the subject.
“How did it go for you today?” I wiggle my eyebrows. “You know, Lana’s surprise?”
He smiles and looks away.
“All went smoothly. I’ll tell you more…when I can.”
I remember exactly when my boyfriend started acting differently. What burns the most is how, out of all my friends, Nicole is the one I chose to confide in about it. I remember how she brushed off my concerns, told me she was sure it was nothing, that everything was as great as ever between us. And all along, it was her.
I’m lying in my dorm room in the dark, even though it’s the middle of the day and I’m technically supposed to be in Political Science right now. But I can’t bring myself to sit through another pointless class. This whole school week has been all screwed up, anyway, with some classes canceled altogether and others half empty. How are you supposed to deal with the sudden death—murder—of a student? Is there any right way?
My phone buzzes with a text, and I roll over to retrieve it. The message is from Mom, who, amazingly, still hasn’t returned to DC yet. She must be really worried about me.
I’m coming to your room. Are you alone?
Yes, I type back.
No less than ten minutes later, she’s bursting into my dorm, her couture pantsuit looking ridiculously out of place in these surroundings.
“They found the weapon,” she says as soon as she enters, her brow covered in sweat.
I freeze.
“What? Where?”
“Under the bleachers of the soccer field,” Mom says. “It’s all over the news.”
“But…” I swallow hard. “Why wouldn’t the cops have found it the first time they looked, if it was there all along?”
“I don’t know, mija. But they’re going to be fingerprinting everyone in the school, even the teachers, to see if they can find a match on the knife. That’s why I’m here.” She takes a deep breath. “Are you going to be okay getting your prints taken?”
I stare at her, the realization dawning on me.
“Why wouldn’t I be? What are you afraid of ?” She doesn’t answer, and I press on. “Do you think I did it, Mom? Do you actually think that?”
“Shh!” Mom clamps her hand over my mouth, her eyes flashing with panic. “You can’t say things like that out loud. What if someone overhears and gets the wrong idea?”
“Okay, sorry!”
She lets go of me and starts pacing my dorm room.
“I imagine they’ll start taking fingerprints as soon as possible. I wanted to prepare you.”
“Thanks,” I say dully.
“Your father is taking the train back to DC late tonight,” she says, switching the topic abruptly. “Why don’t you join us for dinner at the hotel before he leaves? It’ll probably be good for you to get out of this environment.”
“Fine. Hey, Mom?”
She pauses.
“Yes?”
“Do you still think they’re going to arrest Nicole?”
She gives me a contemplative look.
“Yes, mija. I’d be surprised if they have their eye on anyone else, and if the fingerprints match, well…then her goose is cooked.”
The words are so confident, yet the look in her eyes betrays her fear. I wonder, as I lean my head back and try to remember that night, if I should be afraid, too.
As it turns out, I’m not free to go to dinner with my parents, or to set foot anywhere outside of campus tonight. A couple hours after my mom comes bearing her warning, there’s a rough knock on my door. I open it and find one of the school’s new security guards, handing me a typewritten sheet of paper.
“Everyone’s required in the dining hall tonight,” he tells me, before moving on to the next door.
Stephanie, who’s back from class and busily texting Ben Forrester, glances up from her phone.
“What’s going on?”
Instead of replying, I just hand her the paper. She sits up straighter, reading it aloud.
“Due to new key evidence found in the Chace Porter case, we require every student and teacher to be present at dinner tonight. You will be taken in groups of twenty to have your fingerprints scanned, after which time you will be free to return to your meals. We’ve enlisted security guards to retrieve and escort any student or teacher who fails to show up, so please do us the courtesy of arriving on time.
Thank you, Headmaster Higgins”
Steph stares at me, her eyes wide.
“This sounds serious. If what everyone’s saying is true, then this is going to be the final nail in Nicole’s coffin, huh?”
I bite my fingernail, a childhood habit that’s resurfaced this week.
“Let’s hope so.”
Stepping into the dining hall that night, Stephanie and I are met by a sea of panicky faces. Apparently, the headmaster’s letter scared most of our classmates into not just showing up, but showing up early.
The whole space is reconfigured, with the two long dining tables in the back serving as fingerprinting stations manned by uniformed cops, while the rest of the dining hall retains its usual purpose. But of course, the trays of food go untouched.
“What were they thinking, combining this with dinner?” Stephanie mutters in my ear.
A young woman swoops down on us, dressed in plainclothes and a badge around her neck that reads OFFICER SIMONE.
“Hello, girls. Please sign in here.” She holds out a clipboard, and Stephanie scribbles our names. “You’ll be in group six, straight ahead. When I call your number, your group will get fingerprinted, and then you can go back to your table for dinner.”
Yeah, right. Fat chance of me eating at a time like this.
I follow the direction Officer Simone is pointing in, and a block of ice sets in my stomach. She is there, her scarred face even paler than usual. Nicole is sitting between Brianne and a woman I recognize as her mom from the framed picture she used to keep on her side of the nightstand.
Catching my expression, Stephanie gives the officer a pleading look.
“Isn’t there another group—?”
“This isn’t social time, ladies,” she snaps. “Go on now.”
I watch Officer Simone saunter off, feeling my face heat up with rage. The woman clearly doesn’t know who I am.
“There’s Kara.” Stephanie links her arm with mine, gently steering us to the opposite end of the table from Nicole. I can feel all eyes on us, our classmates watching with bated breath as Nicole and I are forced to share the same table. Kara slides down the bench to make room as we approach.
“How are you holding up, Lan?” She gives me a tight hug. “God, can you believe this?”
I shake my head. “No.”
We watch in silence as the two cops manning the fingerprinting tables go down the line of students, each of our classmates placing their index finger on a silicon surface. A smattering of teachers are mixed in among them, and it’s weird to see how frightened everyone looks, young and old alike. It’s as though every one of us harbors a secret fear that we could be found guilty.
“Group six!” Offic
er Simone barks into a microphone.
I hang back with Stephanie and Kara as everyone in our group makes their reluctant way to the fingerprinting table. This is one occasion where I definitely don’t want to be first in line.
As we move up, I find myself studying Nicole, who’s toward the front, clutching Brianne’s hand. She looks like she hasn’t eaten in days, her figure weak enough to snap. Is the weight loss from grief or guilt? Or both?
It’s her turn. I watch her attempt to take a breath, and then place her finger on the scanner. And as I watch, a memory flashes in my mind.
I slap my note onto the tree, jabbing it in place with a thumbtack. I stand back, surveying my handiwork.
DID YOU REALLY THINK I’D EVER FORGIVE YOU? WHAT A JOKE! HOPE YOU’RE NOT STILL SCARED OF THE WOODS, BECAUSE NO ONE IS COMING FOR YOU. YOU’RE ALL ALONE, JUST LIKE YOU DESERVE TO BE.
I kick my shoe into the dirt, sending up a spray of soil as the anger floods me anew. I turn on my heel, breaking into a run as I leave the woods behind.
I blink rapidly, trying to shut out the image in my mind, but another is quick to follow.
She walks through the classroom door, and I can barely breathe at the sight. It’s worse than I imagined. A long, jagged mark runs down the length of her cheek, surrounded by puffy, purple-bruised skin. For a moment she meets my eyes, and panic bubbles in my chest. If anyone were to ever find out the truth about that night…I can’t even think about it, I’d be in such deep shit. But she looks away, and then I know. My secret is safe.
Besides, she has to realize—it’s all her own fault.
A wave of nausea washes over me as the memory passes, along with another feeling I didn’t expect.
“I need to get out of here,” I blurt out to Kara and Stephanie.
“We’re up next,” Kara tells me. “It’ll be over in a second.”
“Lana, you’re all sweaty.” Stephanie hands me a tissue, just as Kara gives me a gentle nudge forward. And suddenly I’m face-to-face with a police officer.
The Girl in the Picture Page 11
