Normalcy. With her grandmother. In the middle of nowhere.
At least, that’s how Makani told the story to her friends. And, much like a rumor, it did contain a kernel of truth. It was just missing the rest of the cob.
Her parents had never paid much attention to her, even in the best of times, and they’d only recently separated when the incident at the beach occurred. After that . . . they couldn’t look at her at all anymore. She didn’t like looking at herself, either.
She deserved this exile.
Now it was mid-October, and Makani had been in Osborne for almost a year. She was a senior, and so were Darby and Alex. Their mutual interest was counting down the days until graduation. Makani wasn’t sure where she’d go next, but she certainly wasn’t staying here.
“Can we return to the important subject?” Darby asked. “Haley is dead. And no one knows who killed her, and that freaks my shit out.”
“I thought you didn’t like Haley,” Alex said, pulling her dyed-black hair into a complicated twist that required a large number of chunky plastic barrettes. She was the closest thing their school had to a Goth, if you didn’t count Ollie.
Makani didn’t.
Their exteriors were both comprised of black clothing and thin, pointy body parts, but Alex was hard and aggressive. She demanded to be noticed. While Ollie was as soft and silent as the night sky.
“I didn’t dislike Haley.” Darby tucked his thumbs under his suspenders, which he wore every day along with a plaid shirt and sensible trousers. He was short and stocky, and he dressed like a dapper old man.
Darby had been assigned female at birth, and though his legal name was still Justine Darby, he’d socially transitioned during his freshman year. If their school didn’t like a boy with pink hair, Makani could only imagine how long it’d taken for them to get used to the “girl” who was actually a boy. They mostly left him alone now, though there were still side-glances. Narrowed eyes and pinched mouths.
“I didn’t know her,” Darby continued. “She seemed nice enough.”
Alex snapped in a barrette that resembled an evil Hello Kitty. “Isn’t it weird how the moment someone dies everyone becomes her bestest friend?”
Darby scowled. “I didn’t say that. Jeez.”
Makani let them bicker it out before stepping in. She always did. “Do you think one of her parents did it? I’ve heard in cases like this, it’s usually a family member.”
“Or a boyfriend,” Darby said. “Was she dating anyone?”
Makani and Alex shrugged.
All three stared at their passing classmates and fell into an unusual silence. “It’s sad,” Darby finally said. “It’s just . . . terrible.”
Makani and Alex nodded. It was.
“I mean, what kind of person would do something like that?” he asked.
A sickening wave of shame rolled throughout Makani’s body. It’s not the same, she reminded herself. I’m not that kind of person. But when the warning bell rang—three sterile chimes—she bolted from the cramped hatchback as if there were an actual emergency. Darby and Alex groaned as they extricated themselves, too caught up in their own gloom to register her odd behavior. Makani exhaled and readjusted her clothing to make sure that she was decent. Unlike her friends, she did have curves.
“Maybe it was a serial killer,” Alex said as they headed toward first period. “A long-haul trucker on his way through town! These days, serial killers are always truck drivers.”
Makani felt the welcome return of skepticism. “Says who?”
“The FBI.”
“My dad is a truck driver,” Darby said.
Alex grinned.
“Stop smiling.” Darby glowered at her. “Or people will think you did it.”
By lunchtime, Alex’s tasteless joke about the source of Ollie’s hair dye had spread. Makani had heard more than one student whispering about his possible guilt. It infuriated her. Ollie was an anomaly, sure. But that didn’t make him a killer. Furthermore, she’d never seen him talk to, or even look at, Haley Whitehall.
And Makani had studied him a lot.
She was upset, despite understanding that the rumors were exactly that—fabrications created to distract them from the unknown. The unknown was too frightening. Makani had also overheard a group of academic overachievers gossiping about Zachary Loup, the school’s resident burnout. She didn’t think he was guilty, either, but at least he was a better suspect. Zachary was an asshole. He wasn’t even nice to his friends.
Most students, however, were agreed on the real suspects: Haley’s family. Maybe a boyfriend. No one knew of a boyfriend, but perhaps she’d had one in secret.
Girls often had secrets.
The thought churned inside Makani’s stomach like a rotten apple. As Darby and Alex speculated, she pushed away her paper boat of French fries and glanced around.
Nearly all of the 342 students were here in the nucleus of the campus, completely surrounded by brown-brick buildings. The quad was plain. Dreary. There were no tables or benches, only a few stunted trees scattered about, so students sat on the concrete ground. Unwind a spool of barbed wire, and it could have been a prison yard, but even prisoners were given tables and benches. A dry fountain filled with dead leaves—no one could remember ever having seen the stone lion shoot a stream of water from its open mouth—rested in the center like a mausoleum.
This time of year, the weather was unpredictable. Some days were warm, but most were cold. Today was almost warm, so the quad was crowded and the cafeteria was empty. Makani zipped up her hoodie, shivering. Her school in Kailua-Kona was always warm. The air had smelled like flowers and coffee and fruit, and it had tasted as salty as the Pacific, which glistened beside the parking lots and football fields.
Osborne smelled like diesel, tasted like despair, and was surrounded by an ocean of corn. Stupid corn. So much corn.
Alex grabbed a handful of Makani’s uneaten fries. “What about someone in show choir? Or drama club?”
Darby scoffed. “What, like, Haley’s understudy?”
“Isn’t that the person the Masterpiece detective would investigate?” Alex asked.
“The what-now?”
“Sherlock, Morse, Poirot. Wallander. Tennison.”
“I only know one of those names.” Darby dipped his pizza into a glob of ranch dressing. “Why don’t you watch normal television?”
“I’m just saying, let’s not rule anyone out yet.”
Makani was still staring at the fountain. “I hope it’s not a student.”
“It’s not,” Darby said.
“Please,” Alex said. “Angry teenagers do shit like this all the time.”
“Yeah,” he said, “but they show up at school with an arsenal of automatic weapons. They don’t go after people in their homes. With knives.”