Get over yourselves, Parker wanted to shout—though she didn’t, because that would seem crazy, even for her. She looked around the corridor. A gaggle of girls in their tennis skirts congregated around a locker mirror, diligently applying lip gloss to their already impeccably made-up faces. A few feet away, a guy in a button-down shirt handed out flyers for the student government elections, his smile blindingly white. Two girls came out of the auditorium and brushed past Parker, one of them saying, “I really hope you get the part if I don’t. You’re just so talented!”
Parker rolled her eyes. Don’t you realize none of this matters? Everyone was striving for something or clawing their way to the top . . . and for what? A better chance at the perfect scholarship? A better opportunity to score that perfect internship? Perfect, perfect, perfect, brag, brag, brag. Of course, Parker used to be like that. Not long ago, Parker had been popular, smart, and driven. She had a zillion friends on Facebook and Instagram. She made up complicated polls that everyone participated in, and if she showed up at a party, she made the event. She was invited to everything, asked to be part of every club. Guys would escort her to class and beg her for dates.
But then It happened, and the Parker who rose from the ashes a year ago wore the same hoodie every day to hide the scars that marred her once beautiful face. She never went to parties. She hadn’t looked at Facebook in months, couldn’t imagine dating, had no interest in clubs. Not a single soul glanced at her as she stomped down the hall. If she did get a look, it was one of apprehension and caution. Don’t talk to her. She’s damaged. She’s what could happen if you aren’t perfect.
She was about to walk into the film studies classroom when someone caught her arm. “Parker. Did you forget?”
Her best—and only—friend, Julie Redding, stood behind her. She looked perfectly polished in a crisp white blouse, her reddish-brown hair gleaming and her eyes round with worry.
“Forget what?” Parker grumbled, pulling her hoodie tighter over her face.
“The assembly today. It’s mandatory.”
Parker stared at her friend. Like she cared about mandatory anything.
“Come on.” Julie led her down the hall, and Parker reluctantly followed. “So where have you been, anyway?” Julie whispered. “I’ve been texting you for two days. Were you sick?”
Parker scoffed. “Sick of life.” She’d bagged class for most of this week. She simply hadn’t felt like going. What she’d done with her time, she couldn’t quite recall—her short-term memory was a tricky thing these days. “It’s contagious, so you might want to keep your distance.”
Julie wrinkled her nose. “And were you smoking again? You smell disgusting.”
Parker rolled her eyes. Her friend was in what Parker had always called Mama Bear Mode, fierce and protective. Parker had to keep remembering that it was endearing, especially because no one else cared whether she lived or died. Julie was the only remaining vestige of Parker’s old life, and now that Parker was shrouded in shadow, Julie was Beacon’s new It Girl. Not that Parker begrudged her the title. Julie had her own demons to battle; she just wore her scars on the inside.
They swept down the hall, passing by Randy, the hippie janitor, who was working his hardest to keep the school squeaky-clean at all times. The auditorium was ahead, and Julie pushed open the heavy wooden door. The large room was filled with kids, yet it felt eerily quiet. A lot of people were sniffling. More shook their heads. A knot of girls hugged. As soon as Parker saw the big picture of Nolan on the stage, her blood pressure dropped. The letters RIP were spelled out in flowers beneath his photo.
She looked at Julie, feeling tricked. She’d hoped the Nolan memorial had already happened on one of the days she’d ditched. “I’m outta here,” she whispered, backing up.
Julie grabbed her arm. “Please,” she insisted. “If you don’t stay . . . well, you know. It might look strange.”
Parker bit her lip. It was true. After what happened at Nolan’s party, they couldn’t afford to call attention to themselves.
She gazed out into the seats. Mackenzie Wright and Caitlin Martell-Lewis sat a few rows ahead. Ava Jalali was on the other side of the aisle, sitting stiffly next to her boyfriend. They looked over and exchanged looks with Julie and Parker. Although they were all trying to hold it together, everyone looked spooked. It was strange. Parker still barely knew them, yet she felt connected to them for life.
How would you do it? If you were going to kill him, I mean?