“Do you think it’s possible someone pushed Taylor out the window?” I asked.
Tricia regarded me sadly.
“I…no. Nobody could have, I don’t think. Everyone was asleep. No one came into the dorm from the outside.”
“We all know that it’s easy to get from Barton to Dearborn. It’s not like breaking in from the outside.”
“Yes…” I saw Tricia’s jaw tighten. What I was saying was scaring her. It took me a moment to realize that she thought I was maybe confessing something.
“I just mean if Jayla really thought she heard screaming,” I hurried to say. “I’m just thinking about that part.”
The bell on the door of the shop jangled, and two college-age guys walked in.
“I wonder if we should continue this discussion another time?” Tricia asked.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I shouldn’t talk about it, really, but thanks.”
I plopped Friendship Is Magic on the counter.
“Just this, please,” I said.
* * *
All the way home, I thought about Taylor’s window. She had quieted the daily opening and closing of her window. Which maybe meant that on the night she’d filmed herself in her room with the whispers—it wasn’t her window closing I’d heard at the end, as she came out of the bathroom. It was probably someone else’s window. Someone nearby. Jayla’s or Lily’s?
And in all likelihood: Lily. But why? Had it something to do with Ms. Fleming and her secret scholarship? Had Taylor maybe found something out about Lily, or about the scholarship itself, that put Lily’s access to it in jeopardy? With that kind of money on the line, could Lily have threatened Taylor? Even pushed her out the window?
I was considering this question—and nervously gnawing my nails off—when I walked into Dearborn and saw Anna was sitting at the front check-in desk instead of the usual part-time desk aide. My hand dropped and my heart sank at the sight of her. I knew she was there waiting for me. This was serious.
It felt so natural, like something I’d dreamt a hundred times but only now remembered. Like this had been waiting for me all along, really. Since the day I’d arrived here at Windham-Farnswood, pretending I could somehow be one of these shiny-penny prep school girls.
Anna stood up when she saw me pushing through the front doors.
“I need to talk to you, Haley,” she said. “Dean Ivins would like a word with you in her office in the administrative building, and I told her I’d escort you there.”
I had no choice but to do a 180 and walk straight back out of Dearborn with Anna, back into the bitter winter air from which I’d just come.
* * *
Within ten minutes I was shuffled into a conference room with tall arched windows and a long, glossy wooden table. This room was so beautiful I wondered what usually happened here. Could this really be the room they used to tell kids they were kicked out? It felt cruel and excessive. Why not do it somewhere humble, like the dank student lounge below the mail room? Or did the dean not even know of the existence of such places on campus?
Following behind Dr. Ivins was Ms. Holland-Stone. I was surprised to see her but kept my mouth closed, my face as neutral and focused as I could make it. I was relieved, at least, that my mom’s friend Michelle wouldn’t be here on a Saturday.
“Hello, Haley,” Dr. Ivins said, sitting at the head of the table, studying me for a moment.
I’d always been an admirer of Dr. Ivins’s rather severe style—thick glasses, boxy clothes, a streak of gray hair at her temple that she didn’t bother to dye. But I had never had to look her straight in the eye before. I’d only ever encountered her in a group. She surely hadn’t known my name until today.
I looked away from her and at Ms. Holland-Stone. She nodded, placing a blue folder before her as she sat, then straightening her silky maroon cardigan around her collar.
“Hello,” I replied, letting my gaze bounce between them.
“Thanks for coming in,” Dr. Ivins added, as if I had a choice. “Have a seat.”
I shrugged my coat off automatically and sat down.
“You’re probably wondering why we’ve called you in, and I imagine you’ve guessed it’s related to the vandalism on your dormitory floor….I understand you and Anna have already discussed that briefly. The vandalism on the vacant room door as well as your own.”
I nodded.
“Today we’ve heard some additional concerns, related to that, and wanted to ask you in here to give you a chance to clarify matters.”
“Okay,” I murmured, refusing to break eye contact with her.
“The issue now is not only that a fellow student says she saw you carving something on your own door…but also there is the issue of the specific content of the vandalism.”
I waited, holding my breath.
“As I imagine you know, the words were I made her jump,” Dr. Ivins said. “And then subsequently the letters IMHJ.”
All three women stared at me, waiting for my reaction.
“Yes,” I said softly. “I know.”
“Now, Anna has reported to me that you say you’re not responsible for the vandalism. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” I said carefully. “That’s correct. I didn’t do it.”
Dr. Ivins nodded and scribbled something down.
“Okay,” Dr. Ivins said. “With that out of the way, I wanted to switch gears for a few minutes. Do you mind if we talk a little about the night of your friend Taylor’s tragedy?”
Her tragedy. As if Taylor had written a play.
“Okay.”
“I know it’s probably a difficult subject, so I appreciate your willingness.”
I nodded again.
“There was the question of there being some screaming or arguing right before Taylor jumped. We wondered if you had any information about that.”
I took a breath. “All I know about it is what Jayla and Lily have told me. They say different things about it.”
Dr. Ivins and Ms. Holland-Stone glanced at each other.
“The question isn’t about what those young women have to say about it so much as your direct experience of it. What did you witness or experience that night with Taylor?” Dr. Ivins asked.
I took a breath. I was really starting to wonder what Ms. Holland-Stone was doing here at all, if she wasn’t going to say anything.
“I didn’t live in Dearborn last year,” I reminded them. “I wasn’t with Taylor that night.”
“Yes, but of course we all know that students can move freely through the dining hall from Barton to Dearborn and vice versa, even after curfew.”
“But I didn’t then.”
Dr. Ivins sighed and put her hands on the table, stretching her fingers out flat. They looked elegant on the shiny wood. She had a thick platinum wedding ring and sapphire engagement ring surrounded by tiny diamonds. I wondered what kind of shoes she was wearing, but it would be weird to look under the table right now.
“We have a witness for the vandalism, Haley. And our questioning about the vandalism has led to some other information, concerning the night Taylor died. Someone who was present that night, who was previously reluctant to come forward earlier, has come forward in light of all of this.”
Someone. Someone else now? More than one girl hated me that much? I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. It took me a moment to recover my voice.
“Who?” I gasped.
“That’s not the question at hand. The question is…were you present, in or near Taylor’s room, on the night she died?”
“No. We weren’t even friends anymore by then. Taylor and me.”
“Why weren’t you friends?” Dr. Ivins asked softly.
“We’d just grown apart.” I shifted in my chair. “It’s a long story.”
“We
have time. We’d like to hear the story.”
I tried hard not to roll my eyes. Sure you would, I thought.
“Were you two angry with each other?” Dr. Ivins persisted. “Had you been fighting?”
Fighting? Fighting wasn’t the right word.
“Look, can we skip over the preliminaries?” I blurted. “What exactly is it that you’re trying to get me to say here?”
Dr. Ivins looked startled by my words and tone. She bit her lip and then nodded at Ms. Holland-Stone, who opened her blue folder.
I could just make out the typed page on top. It was the first page of my Western Civ paper. Ms. Holland-Stone was one of the teachers who made us print our pages out of Google docs to save her eyes from too much screen reading.
Ms. Holland-Stone flipped to the final page of the paper. I’d written a pretty awkward conclusion, but I didn’t see how that would be relevant here. Shoddy work did not equal guilt.
Ms. Holland-Stone folded back the front pages of the paper and pushed the final page onto the middle of the table. At the bottom of the page someone had scribbled in black marker: I MADE HER JUMP.
I felt my mouth drop open. Then I closed it.
“I was concerned,” Ms. Holland-Stone said softly, “when I saw this on your paper.”
“I didn’t write that,” I breathed.
“Then who did? Did someone have your paper before you handed it in? Did someone else write your paper?”
“No,” I snapped.
I pulled the paper toward me.
“It’s not even my handwriting,” I said.
I stared at the words. The capital M had rounded humps instead of pointy peaks—like a lowercase m. Which is how I do my capital M’s. But the rest of the letters didn’t feel like my handwriting at all. And somehow I couldn’t find my next words.
We all sat there in silence for a minute. I could blame Star, but I didn’t want to if I wasn’t absolutely certain. Or I could blame Lily Bruno, but that would sound crazy since she was in college now, in a different state.
“In my experience,” Dr. Ivins said gently, “sometimes students do things like this when they want some help. We’re here to help you, Haley. We know things have probably been rough this past year.”
All eyes were on me.
“If you knew that, then why is this the first we’re talking about it?” I mumbled.
“Is that a yes?” Dr. Ivins asked. “Yes, you’re asking for help?”
Then I closed my eyes. And pictured Taylor. Taylor, when we were still friends. Not broken, but whole. Taylor. Equal parts nasty and sparkle.
“Haley?”
What would that Taylor say to all of this?
“No,” I whispered. “No.”
I opened my eyes to all three women watching me, waiting for more.
I pushed the paper away. I really didn’t know how to explain it. Either someone very clever was out to get me or I was going crazy. Neither felt like possibilities I should mention.
“And I’m not going to answer any more of these questions without a lawyer,” I snarled. I was so startled to hear my own words, I half expected my head to spin, maybe some cinematic green vomit to fly out of my nostrils. Like in my dad’s old horror movies.
Forget my ticket home, there was no way my family could afford a lawyer for a school dispute. I’d learned at a young age how much lawyers cost.
“This isn’t a police investigation,” Dr. Ivins said evenly. “It’s just a clarification.”
A clarification. I tried not to laugh at the euphemism. We were officially trying to achieve “clarification of the tragedy,” and nothing more.
“It doesn’t feel like it,” I snapped.
I was trying to remember now if I had handed in my Western Civ paper before Star had disappeared into the infirmary.
We were all silent for a moment. I decided I wanted to be the next to speak.
“I’ve said multiple times that I didn’t carve those words in the door, and I wasn’t in Dearborn at all the night she died last year,” I said sharply. “What other questions do you have for me? Because I’ve answered those questions.”
Dr. Ivins glanced at Ms. Holland-Stone, who raised her eyebrows.
“That’s all for now,” Dr. Ivins said, then paused for a moment. “But I’m making a special appointment for you to speak to one of the health center counselors tomorrow morning, and then I think we should regroup on Monday. Given tomorrow’s sensitive date, can we agree to that?”
“Okay,” I murmured.
I tried not to let my face react to this vague verdict. They had clearly not come into this conversation with a plan. They’d expected me to cave—to admit to everything, to admit I wanted “help.” Indeed, I probably did need help. But not from them.
“I’m going to ask that you stay in your dorm this evening. Anna mentioned that you occasionally dine at Farnswood, which is fine. But we’d like you to be in Dearborn tonight in case anything comes up.”
I nodded.
“We’d also like to bring your parents into the conversation. I’m planning to do that tomorrow. I figure that will give you a chance to talk to them first, this evening. On your own terms. And then perhaps we can all come together tomorrow.”
“Awesome,” I said. “Thanks.”
After Dr. Ivins let me go, I ran downstairs so I wouldn’t have to walk out of the building with Anna. And tears of rage were streaming down my face by the time I got outside.
* * *
I headed to the infirmary instead of back to Dearborn. I was going to see Star now because I wasn’t sure about the visiting rules at the infirmary in the evening. The nurse let me in to see Star because she was “mostly recovered.”
Star had a tiny bedroom to herself. When the nurse opened its door, Star was sprawled on the bed, reading a biology textbook. The room had a light blue–checkered bedspread and curtains that reminded me of Dorothy’s dress in The Wizard of Oz.
“Where’ve you been?” I demanded when the nurse had gone back to her desk.
“Well…right here.” Star shrugged. “I thought Anna was going to tell you.”
“I know you’re here…I mean, but…why?”
“I wasn’t feeling great. Not the flu for sure, but I had a fever. So that was my ticket in.”
“Oh,” I said. We both knew that students usually endured minor illnesses in the dorm.
“Was that the only reason?” I asked.
“Well…” Star looked down at the gingham bedspread. “There was definitely a mental health aspect to it, I guess.”
“Why mental health?”
“Oh, you know how it is….” Star blushed a little as she smoothed a wrinkle in the bedspread.
“Have you spoken to Anna, or to Ms. Holland-Stone, about me recently, by any chance?” I asked icily.
Star looked up. “I haven’t really spoken to Anna about anything significant, ever.”
“But Ms. Holland-Stone?” I pressed.
Star’s mouth opened slightly, but she didn’t say anything.
“Did you write something on my Western Civ paper?” I asked. “Did you try to make it look like my handwriting?”
“What? No. What are you talking about?”
“But Ms. Holland-Stone…you’ve been talking to Ms. Holland-Stone.”
“I talk to her almost every day.” Star bit her lip. “She’s my senior project advisor.”
“And has the subject of me ever come up?” I demanded.
“Yes. Yes, um, since you joined me at the archives, she’s asked about you sometimes.”
Star glanced out the window at the darkening sky.
“And what did you say?”
“Not much. Just a little about your interest in the ghost, and…well, stuff related to that.”
“Did she ever ask you if it was me who carved the words in Taylor’s door?”
“What? No!”
If Star was feigning confusion, she was doing a pretty good job.
“No,” she repeated. “She mostly has said that I’m not being a good friend to you, feeding the ghost thing when you talk about it.”
“Really?” I said.
If Ms. Holland-Stone had really been concerned that I was going too deep into the ghost business, why had she not brought it up at the meeting? On the other hand, maybe she didn’t feel the need to pile on. The Western Civ paper on which I’d supposedly scribbled those incriminating words—she probably considered that damaging and disturbing enough.
“Because of Taylor.” Star sighed. “Because my ‘encouraging’ you to ask these dark questions about the dorm—and Taylor’s room in particular—is disruptive of your grieving process.”
“Were those her exact words?” I asked.
Star pulled up her knees. It was odd to see her in plain black yoga pants and an olive hoodie—rather than her usual jolly animal prints.
“Close,” she muttered. “I don’t remember for sure.”
I didn’t know what to say to this. I hadn’t sensed that level of concern from Ms. Holland-Stone in the conference room. In fact, Dr. Ivins had seemed more sympathetic. Ms. Holland-Stone had been rather blank as she simply presented evidence.
“Did you at any point tell Anna…or anyone…that you saw me carving up our door? Or Taylor’s old door?” I demanded.
Star’s face contorted in confusion. “No.”
“Did you do it?”
“Of course not. What the fuck, Haley?”
“That’s not why you’re here?”
“No. I’m here because I felt shitty, first of all. And…there is something I should tell you. If we’re going to live together. I mean, I think maybe someone already told you.”
When All the Girls Are Sleeping Page 30
