Wait. What?
The camera zooms in on Mikhail, and he is pissed. I sit up straighter as he stares into the camera and says, “Things in Bayview, California, turned ugly this week when a closeted student involved in the investigation was outed after a round of police questioning, causing a media firestorm that should concern every American who cares about privacy rights.”
And then I remember. Mikhail Powers is gay. He came out when I was in junior high and it was a big deal because it happened after some photos of him kissing a guy circulated online. It wasn’t his choice. And from the way he’s covering the story now, he’s still bitter.
Because suddenly the Bayview Police are the bad guys. They have no evidence, they’ve disrupted our lives, and they’ve violated Cooper’s constitutional rights. They’re on the defensive as a police spokesperson claims they were careful in their questioning and no leaks came from the department. But the ACLU wants to get involved now. And there’s Eli Kleinfelter from Until Proven again, talking about how poorly this case has been handled from the beginning, with the four of us made into scapegoats while nobody even asks who else might’ve wanted Simon Kelleher dead.
“Has everybody forgotten about the teacher?” he asks, leaning forward from behind an overflowing desk. “He’s the only person who was in that room who’s being treated as a witness instead of a suspect, even though he had more opportunity than anyone. That can’t be discounted.”
Maeve leans her head next to mine and whispers, “You should be working for Until Proven, Bronwyn.”
Mikhail switches to the next segment: Will the real Simon Kelleher please stand up? Simon’s class picture flashes across the screen as people reminisce about his good grades and nice family and all the clubs he belonged to. Then Leah Jackson pops up on-screen, standing on Bayview High’s front lawn. I turn to Maeve, eyes wide, and she looks equally shocked.
“She did it,” she murmurs. “She actually did it.”
Leah’s interview is followed by segments with other kids hurt by Simon’s gossip, including Aiden Wu and a girl whose parents kicked her out when news spread about her being pregnant. Maeve’s hand finds mine as Mikhail drops his last bombshell—a screen capture of the 4chan discussion threads, with Simon’s worst posts about the Orange County school shooting highlighted:
Look, I support the notion of violently disrupting schools in theory, but this kid showed a depressing lack of imagination. I mean, it was fine, I guess. It got the job done. But it was so prosaic. Haven’t we seen this a hundred times now? Kid shoots up school, shoots up self, film at eleven. Raise the stakes, for God’s sake. Do something original.
A grenade, maybe. Samurai swords? Surprise me when you take out a bunch of asshole lemmings. That’s all I’m asking.
I think back to Maeve texting away that day Janae got so upset with her at lunch. “So you really did send that to the show?” I whisper.
“I really did,” she whispers back. “I didn’t know they’d use them, though. Nobody ever got back to me.”
By the time the broadcast finishes, the Bayview Police are the real villains, followed closely by Simon. Addy, Nate, and I are innocent bystanders caught in a cross fire we don’t deserve, and Cooper’s a saint. The whole thing’s a stunning reversal.
I’m not sure you could call it journalism, but Mikhail Powers Investigates definitely has an impact over the next few days. Somebody starts a Change.org petition to drop the investigation that collects almost twenty thousand signatures. The MLB and local colleges get heat about whether they discriminate against gay players. The tone of the media coverage shifts, with more questions being raised about the police’s handling of the case than about us. And when I return to school on Monday, people actually talk to me again. Even Evan Neiman, who’s been acting like we’ve never met, sidles up to me at the last bell and asks if I’m going to Mathlete practice.
Maybe my life won’t ever be fully normal again, but by the end of the week I start to hope it’ll be less criminal.
Friday night I’m on the phone with Nate as usual, reading him the latest Tumblr post. Even that seems like it’s about to give up:
Being accused of murder is turning into a monumental drag. I mean, sure, the TV coverage is interesting. And it makes me feel good that the smoke screen I put in place is working—people still have no clue who’s responsible for killing Simon.
Nate cuts me off after the first paragraph. “Sorry, but we have more important things to discuss. Answer this honestly: If I’m no longer a murder suspect, will you still find me attractive?”
“You’ll still be on probation for drug dealing,” I point out. “That’s pretty hot.”
“Ah, but that’s up in December,” Nate replies. “By the new year I could be a model citizen. Your parents might even let me take you out on an actual date. If you wanted to go.”
If I wanted to go. “Nate, I’ve been waiting to go on a date with you since fifth grade,” I tell him. I like that he wonders what we’ll be like outside this weird bubble. Maybe if we’re both thinking about it, there’s a possibility we’ll figure it out.
He tells me about his latest visit with his mother, who really seems to be trying. We watch a movie together—his choice, unfortunately—and I fall asleep to his voice criticizing the shoddy camerawork. When I wake up Saturday morning, I notice my phone has only a few minutes left. I’ll have to ask him for another one. Which will be phone number four, I think.
Maybe we can use our actual phones one of these days.
I stay in bed a little later than usual, right up till the time I need to get moving if Maeve and I are going to do our usual running-slash-library routine. I’ve just finished lacing up my sneakers and am rooting around in my dresser for my Nano when a tentative knock sounds on my bedroom door.
“Come in,” I say, unearthing a small blue device from a pile of headbands. “Is that you, Maeve? Are you the reason this is only ten percent charged?” I turn around to see my sister so white-faced and trembling that I almost drop my Nano. Anytime Maeve looks sick, I’m seized with the horrible fear she’s had a relapse. “Do you feel all right?” I ask anxiously.
“I’m fine.” The words come out as a gasp. “But you need to see something. Come downstairs, okay?”
“What’s going on?”
“Just … come.” Maeve’s voice is so brittle that my heart thumps painfully. She clutches the banister all the way downstairs. I’m about to ask if something’s wrong with Mom or Dad when she leads me into the living room and points mutely at the television.
Where I see Nate in handcuffs, being led away from his house, with the words Arrest in the Simon Kelleher Murder Case scrolling on the bottom of the screen.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bronwyn
Saturday, November 3, 10:17 a.m.
This time I do drop my Nano.
It slips from my hand and thuds softly onto our rug as I watch one of the police officers flanking Nate open the cruiser door and push him, not very gently, into the backseat. The scene cuts to a reporter standing outdoors, brushing windswept dark hair out of her face. “Bayview Police refused to comment, other than to say that new evidence provides probable cause to charge Nate Macauley, the only one of the Bayview Four with a criminal record, with Simon Kelleher’s murder. We’ll continue to provide updates as the story unfolds. I’m Liz Rosen, reporting for Channel Seven News.”
Maeve stands next to me, the remote in her hand. I pluck at her sleeve. “Can you rewind to the beginning, please?”