by Cyn Balog
Chapter 30
Who do you think took the hydrochloric acid?
No one.
Someone had to have stolen it.
I understand that. But this is a small school. Everyone knew everyone else, since kindergarten. No one would do something like that.
But you didn’t know Z. He was new to the school, correct?
Yeah. Still, I don’t get it. Why would he do that? And to poison another classmate? I can’t believe he’d have anything to do with that. There wasn’t a vengeful or hurtful bone in his body.
So you never caught him doing anything dangerous or illegal?
You mean drugs, right? No. He didn’t touch that stuff. He was a pretty serious athlete. And he was friends with everyone, from the popular kids to the losers. Hell, sometimes he’d play tic-tac-toe with a first-grader in the hallway during recess. He was friends with everyone.
And Victoria?
Who?
Victoria Zell.
The mouse. She was new to the school too. I don’t think I’ve heard her say more than two words.
What do you know about her?
Nothing. I mean, she’d be cute—hot, even—if she weren’t so uptight. Suspicious, you know? Everyone wanted to meet her when she first arrived. But a few of us tried talking to her and it was like…she was a fortress, you know? She didn’t even throw us a bone. So eventually we gave up.
Were Z and Victoria friends?
Z? Hell, yeah. Like I said, he was friends with everyone. He was good, man. He came in, guns blazing, and infiltrated her fortress. And he was proud of that.
Proud?
Yeah. He had access to her the rest of us had been denied.
Do you think he may have taken that access a little too far?
No. I mean, who can say? But my gut tells me no. He liked to joke around, yeah, but not in a cruel way. If he found a way to break down her walls, it wasn’t with the intention of hurting her.
—Police interview with James Burney, junior at St. Ann’s
Obsession is strange. One moment, you think you have control. And by the time you realize that you’ve lost your free will, you don’t even care. You are happily lost in oblivion.
Until your obsession gets taken away from you.
Then you’ll do anything to get it back. Anything.
At that point, my schoolwork went to pot. Sleep only happened in an Ativan-induced haze. I kept myself sequestered in my bedroom, staring at all the old texts he’d sent me. Nothing mattered if it didn’t involve Z.
St. Ann’s isn’t exactly a hotbed for drama, but there was a curious incident during that time. Even that failed to interest me. Someone had stolen a vial of hydrochloric acid from the chemistry lab. Normally calm Mr. Lincoln went on a serious warpath. First he told us that if the responsible party returned it, there would be no questions asked. When thirty sets of eyes stared blankly back at him, he told us all that the “perpetrator”—whoever it was had been elevated to “criminal” status—would be swiftly expelled from school if he or she was caught.
Sure, nutty James Burney had a penchant for trying to take up-skirt pictures of the girls, and Parker Cole and Rachel Watson offended the dress code daily, but that was the limit to our criminality. The juniors had grown into a dysfunctional family. Everyone knew everyone else’s quirks and their potential, having been in class together since kindergarten. And nobody in the class had ever done anything so bold as to steal from the school.
So it should have been obvious who the responsible party was.
And yet, it wasn’t. Everyone looked equally mystified.
Z was so smooth under pressure. He looked as relaxed as ever. I stared at him, waiting for him to show his guilt, but he didn’t. He turned to me and raised his eyebrows, like, What do you want from me?
Parker had gone back to ignoring me. That much I could accept. But Z? He knew how to push the knife in and twist it until you screamed for mercy, as if he’d been practicing the move since the day he was born. That morning, when he’d sat down beside me, he smiled cordially at me and said, “Hey, Vic.”
That was it. No Precious.
He offered a few friendly, inconsequential niceties, as if we had never been a thing. By the time we’d separated for lunch, a lump the size of Nebraska had formed in my throat.
I’d been reduced to being one of his casual acquaintances.
In other words, overnight, I’d become nobody again.
When we met up in science, I’d almost wished he’d completely ignore me or totally lose his cool. At least then I’d know that what’d happened between us had mattered. But he’d let my betrayal roll off his back too easily.
Someone as cold as that could have easily stolen the hydrochloric acid.
That fact became clear to me as I sat there in science class that afternoon. Like a veil had been lifted from my eyes. Z was so secretive. He’d stolen my locker combination. He’d stolen my notes. Of course he’d stolen the vial from the chemistry lab. And yet no one could see past his charming facade.
Except…
As Lincoln expressed his disappointment in all of us, his gaze swept the classroom. When he said, “If any of you have information, I urge you to come forward at once. At. Once,” he focused on Z.
Lincoln’s stare was so intense that I think other people noticed it because a few heads turned to follow his line of sight. Z cleared his throat and looked down at the lab bench.
At that moment, discomfort flashed on his face. It was a blink and you miss it moment, something only I likely noticed, but it spoke volumes. Guilty as charged.
After Lincoln’s speech, Z’s shoulders relaxed. It was back to normal. A person with a cold, dead heart wouldn’t let anything worry him for long.
During lab, we were all business. He did the work and I took the notes. The worst part though was that Parker kept looking at him and smiling flirtatiously. Z would always smile back. Every once in a while, he’d stop and call over to them, “How are you ladies faring?” or “Can I interest you ladies in a sodium-chloride milk shake?” It was always “you ladies,” and it was always met with a fit of giggles. That and the chemical smell were making my stomach queasy.
While I observed and noted the results of our experiment, Z meandered over to Parker and Rachel’s lab bench. It took me a moment to realize that Lincoln had left the room. Obviously Z had been waiting for his chance. I watched Parker and Z flirting out of the corner of my eye.
And then I saw it.
He put his hand on hers.
Z was a touchy-feely person. Every time he talked to a girl, he’d put a finger on her arm or smooth a stray hair. But this time, he left his hand there long enough to cross the line from casual to meaningful.
Seven one-thousand, eight one-thousand, nine one-thousand… It was still there.
He was taking her to the dance, I knew. Fine. But were they going out now too?
My queasy stomach turned into a rumbling volcano, threatening to spew. I had to stop this.
“Zachary Zimmerman.”
Every face turned to the door. Lincoln stood on the threshold, arms crossed. Z cringed.
“Back to your station. I’m sure you’ll have time for advancing your love life later.”
The class erupted in laughter. Laughter usually followed Z. But this was the first time others were laughing at him, not with him. Z wordlessly slid onto his stool, looking as close to having his tail between his legs as I’d ever seen him.
Good, I thought.
I continued to scribble observations in my notebook, but I wasn’t observing the experiment so much as him. He perched on the stool, rigid, like a scarecrow in a field. I could see the muscles of his arms tensing in his short-sleeve polo. He always wore short sleeves, despite the near-frigid weather. It was almost frightening, the intense way he was staring at L
incoln.
“You want to record the next phase?” I asked him.
He didn’t answer. His stare hadn’t softened. If anything, it had grown harder.
I wanted to strike at him, to wound him more. He was not going to flirt openly with Parker, take her to the dance, and then use me for my science genius. Not happening. See? You don’t own everyone. You think you do, but you’re wrong. You don’t own Lincoln, and you don’t own me.
I gathered my courage, then waved a hand in front of his face. “Don’t think you’re going to copy my lab report.”
He blinked, then scowled at me. But only for a second. Then he smiled. “Got it all under control, Vic.”
I gnashed my teeth as I hunched over my notebook, wishing just once someone or something could send his world spinning. I didn’t know when I’d gone from adoring him to reveling in his humiliation, to wanting his suffering, but it happened in a heartbeat. It’s a hair-thin line between love and hate, Andrew. But you already knew that, didn’t you?
Chapter 31
Did Victoria ever talk to you about an Andrew Quinn?
No…no. I don’t know anybody by that name.
She never mentioned that she was taking him to the dance?
No, that doesn’t ring a bell. Sorry.
Did you observe anything out of the ordinary at the dance?
Z was upset at one point.
Over…?
No clue. I mean, Z wasn’t there for most of the dance. He left with Parker for a while. When he came back, he was…not quite pissed. More like shell-shocked. I remember thinking it was odd because he’s usually more together than that. Something really had him freaked out.
—Police interview with Rachel Watson, junior at St. Ann’s
Unfortunately, Z did have it all under control. I stopped leaving my lab reports in my locker so I’d be sure he wouldn’t “borrow” them. I desperately wanted him to come to me on his hands and knees, begging for help. But he didn’t. Maybe Parker let him copy her labs. Regardless, he didn’t need me.
Not the way I needed him.
I couldn’t breathe without him. It wasn’t the intimacy as much as the friendship, his mere presence in my life. He all but ignored me at rehearsals, so I’d go home afterward, pop more Ativan, and just lie in bed, writhing, physically spent, and wishing I could wake up from this nightmare.
You showed up that night in a rented tuxedo. You had flowers, pink carnations, my favorite. When I opened the door, you were holding them out in front of you, and your face was distorted, fighting back a sneeze. You’re allergic to carnations, but you still got them for me.
When you saw that I was still in my sweats, you startled and the sneeze erupted from your face. “Ready to go?” you asked, your voice so fragile.
I just stared at you, dazed. “What?”
“To see Perahia. We planned months ago…” Your voice trailed off, and your eyes filled with disappointment. “You forgot?”
It was your birthday. I always made a big deal of your birthday. Remember the year I’d bought you a giant piano-shaped cake from Shaw’s? It was gluten- and sugar-free because of your allergies and diabetes, and was horrible, worse than those cardboard cookies your mom makes. But we had the best food fight in my backyard, grabbing chunks of it off the platter and throwing them at each other.
But this year, you received no Happy Birthday, no cake, no card…nothing.
Sweet Andrew, I am so sorry. My mind was so muddled that I’d forgotten what day it was. November 13 had always been Your Day. But I’d gone the whole day and not made the connection once. Things I knew by heart were lost to me because my heart was diseased.
My diseased heart could not bring itself to care about your disappointment. My own was so deep that it drowned me. I had these images in my mind of Z, of all the good times we’d shared. And somehow they had all just crumbled. The absence of our friendship was nothing to him. But I had lost my heart. And it wasn’t fair. I wanted him to miss me, and I wanted to destroy something the way I’d been destroyed.
So I lashed out at the person closest to me: you.
“If you get changed real quick, we can make it,” you said. “My mom’s warming up the—”
I cut you off. “I’m not going.”
You swallowed. “Um. What? Are you OK?”
I was so angry at you. In that moment, I hated you. Hated you for not being more like him. “I don’t want to go on a date with your mom because you don’t have the guts to drive us yourself,” I snapped.
“But I—”
“You screw up everything, Andrew—tonight, your life, all of it. You could’ve been great—really great—and what did you do? You wasted your talent, your whole life, because you’re afraid. Because you wouldn’t grow a pair. You’re pathetic!”
By this time, I was screaming. Screaming and crying and acting utterly insane.
But the worst part was that you did nothing.
You stood there, clutching the stems of my flowers, and let my words sink in.
I didn’t mean what I said—don’t you see that? You were already great. I let you down first. I was the one dragging you down. “Victoria?”
I turned, chest heaving. My mom was staring at me. Disappointment and shock leaked from the corners of her eyes. “Leave me alone!” I screamed at her, vising my head in my hands. “Go away. Just…all of you…go away!”
Then I slammed the front door and ran to my room, satisfied that I’d ripped a hole in someone’s heart that was at least as big as the one Z had ripped in mine.
Chapter 32
You went to high school with Victoria Zell when she attended Duchess High, yes?
We went to school together from kindergarten to freshman year.
What kind of person was she?
She was nice. We didn’t hang out or anything, but she seemed smart. Not the most popular student, but not the most unpopular either. She was kind of quiet and secretive, didn’t like talking much about herself. She was a little nervous that last year. We all figured it was the pressure of adjusting to high school. I mean, we were all stressed out.
Did she ever behave erratically?
I once saw her in the ladies’ room after she’d had a good cry, but heck, we all had moments like that.
And…
You mean the geometry legend? I was in that class, so I know the truth. We had our big final exam. She didn’t freak out like the rumors said. She just stood up in the middle of the test and walked out. She was completely calm and under control. There was no tantrum, no hysterics. It was actually kind of awesome the way she just got up and left. She never came back to school after that.
So that didn’t seem like a nervous breakdown to you?
Nervous? No, she’d been nervous before. It was like she’d made peace in the war going on in her head. A surrender. Like, “Hey, stress? Screw you. I’m done here.”
—Interview with Alison Dunham, junior at Duchess High School
I didn’t talk to you for nearly a week after that, Andrew.
I should have felt bad, especially since what happened the night of Perahia had been simmering for weeks before. You were the only consistently good thing in my life. Being your girlfriend fed my sanity, made me whole, and I couldn’t see it.
I see it now.
Too little, too late, right?
I know you can’t forgive me now. But you forgave me then, didn’t you? You always forgave—your mom, your stepdad, everyone. If only people were as gentle with you as you were with us. None of this would have happened. I probably wouldn’t be in this ditch right now, wondering if I still have all my brain matter. I’m thinking of that picture of us on my phone. That confidence you had with your arm securely over my shoulder… That could have been you all the time.
You could have been great, Andrew.
I know i
t’s not all your fault.
But some of it is your fault.
“What is going on with you, Miss Zell?” Reese asked me for the third time during the dress rehearsal. I stood center stage in a heavy velvet gown, with Rachel kneeling in front of me, scowling. Everyone seemed to scowl at me now. Reese had begun to soften during our rehearsals, but in recent days, some of the demonic Reese had returned. And today I’d tripped over my lines, forgotten stage direction a dozen times, and omitted an entire soliloquy. “You had this down last week.”
I nodded. “I’m sorry. It must be…allergies.”
It was the best excuse I could come up with. I cleared my throat and sniffled for effect. My dutiful lady-in-waiting grimaced and snapped, “You’re going to ruin the play.”
I swallowed. “No, I won’t.”
She stood up and whispered, “You suck. You should just call in sick and let your understudy do the part.”
I turned on my heel, then hurried offstage for my water bottle. Tears stung my eyes. The theater spun around me. One more day and the gymnasium would be packed, and I’d be onstage with Z as my husband.
After what I’d said to you about growing a pair, there I was, scared to death, Andrew. I’d never wanted this. I was never an actress. The only reason I’d auditioned was so Parker wouldn’t be up there with—
In the quiet of backstage, I heard someone giggle. Whispers came from behind a giant foam background. That was where Z and I had frequently gotten comfortable. I inched my way over and peered between the curtains. Z was wearing his velvet Macbeth cape. He’d pinned Parker against the brick wall, something he used to do to me. Her face tilted up toward the dull amber stage light, eyes closed in bliss as he buried his face in her neck.
I stumbled back, then over to the ledge where we kept our water bottles. Reese had gotten them for the entire cast. They were red and said “St. Ann’s Future Stars!” on them. I found the one that had the masking tape on it with my name, then pulled it open and started to take a sip.
