“Do you?” I ask. “Why does it feels like I’m the only who cares about this?”
“I care. But I haven’t seen that video,” he says. “And I don’t want to. I have to play on Friday and Saturday. I have to show the scouts what I can do.” He brings my hand to his lips and kisses it. “I have to get out of here.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
thirty-five
THE HAWK IN the trees at the edge of the back parking lot is standing sentinel on Thursday morning as I walk back to Dad’s truck after first period. I’m hoping my French workbook fell out of my bag behind the seat this morning and isn’t still lying on my desk at home. My homework is folded up inside it.
The bird above me screeches in the direction of the news vans still clogging the drive. Sloane Keating has been reporting nightly, hounding the police and the prosecutor for details. Last night it was news about John Doone’s text messages with Stacey the day after the party—no specifics, but apparently he was trying to get her to keep quiet.
The hawk takes off, and I wish I could follow her up into the blue. Is it just my imagination, or is everyone giving me side-eye in the hallways?
Is there a monster behind that bush, or do I just think there’s a monster behind that bush?
Either way, the answer to this question seems to be yes. Whether it’s real or all in my head, I feel like everyone is looking at me differently. Ben and Lindsey are the only people who know I talked to Ms. Speck about the video. I’m sure neither of them would tell anyone else.
Would they?
I find my book wedged against the floor behind the seat. I close the door and turn to see Ms. Speck walking across the parking lot with a cardboard box. I wave when she sees me, and hold up my French book. “See you inside,” I say.
“Not today, I’m afraid.” She stops as she says this and waits as I walk over to her. I can see more clearly that her box is full of binders and folders. A couple of picture frames and a purple quartz from her desk are nestled on top.
“Oh . . . are we having a substitute?” I ask.
She smiles grimly. “I’m not sure,” she replies. “I don’t work here anymore.”
The ground is shifting again. My insides start to slide in different directions. “But . . . why?”
“I filed a report with Principal Hargrove after we chatted yesterday. This morning, he was waiting in my office, and when I refused to give him your name as my source, he dismissed me.”
“But . . . can he do that?”
She gives me a rueful smile and shifts the box onto her hip. “Well, he did. Because I can’t show him the video you saw, he’s convinced the report is all hearsay.”
“It was there. I saw it. It exists.” I feel numb all over. Is this really happening?
Ms. Speck looks over my shoulder, and sighs. “As if on cue . . .”
I glance the same direction and see Sloane Keating marching toward us. “Walk with me,” says Ms. Speck.
I follow her to a car as sleek and black as her high heels. She opens the trunk and deposits the box inside, then opens the driver-side door and turns to me. “Wendall Hargrove is an ass. What you did is important. You’re the first student to come forward with actual names.”
She slides behind the wheel and rolls down the window, swinging the door closed. “Don’t back down, Kate.”
“What about you?” I ask. “What will you do?”
She slides on dark sunglasses. “My mother is gone. It’s high time I got back to New York. I’ll be fine.” She smiles and reaches through the window, laying a hand on my arm. “And so will you, Kate. I know it may not feel like it now, but you’ll come through this. I promise.”
“Leaving early today?” Sloane Keating’s voice is right behind me. She steps up to the car just as Ms. Speck’s hand comes back through the window, a thick white business card extended between two fingers.
“Not in the parking lot, Sloane. Happy to meet you for a drink later.” Sloane takes the card as the grating tone sounds to start second period. Ms. Speck smiles at me. “Goddamn, I won’t miss that stupid bell.”
I smile in spite of the situation. “Guess I’m late.”
“Guarantee no one will notice.” Ms. Speck turns on the car and addresses Sloane Keating over my shoulder. “Call me. And leave Kate alone.”
As the black sedan drives away, Sloane raises her hand to me in farewell and heads back across the parking lot. “See you around,” she says.
I hear another screech from the hawk above our heads, and turn in time to see her soar out of sight on the other side of the trees. I stare up at the place where the green reaches the sky.