“Say ‘cheese’!” Arjuna says and takes a picture of me.
I walk off in a daze. Weekend? Huh. Yeah, of course. It’s Saturday. My phone beeps. A DD notification. It’s the picture Arjuna just took of me, with my face blurred out. Underneath that is the caption: When you literally have nothing good to wear, so you resort to wearing your uniform on Saturday. #sosad #parasite
Already there are replies.
Reply from @TrackQueen:
That is literally the saddest. Someone please take that thing to Goodwill already.
The post and its comments should bother me, but they don’t. Not even in the least. Compared to what happened yesterday, troll posts on DD seem so trivial. It is trivial, you teens are nothing if not trivial, Mr. Werner’s voice whispers. I run back into my room and slam the door.
I really, really need to get my shit together. I shrug off my school blazer and fling it across the room. Start pacing. Okay. Get shit together. Okay.
Except I don’t know how to do that, exactly. My mind keeps swinging wildly from thinking up the most inappropriate, irreverent jokes to sudden violent images to wanting to sob uncontrollably. Everything is a mess. Everything.
Make a list. Right, okay. Yeah, doing lists helps me. I sit down at my desk and take out my notebook. Here we go.
HOW TO GET SHIT TOGETHER AFTER KILLING SOMEBODY.
1. Do not write lists where you basically admit to killing somebody.
Now I totally realize, of course, that I need to burn this piece of paper right away. I don’t have a lighter, so I tear the written part out and shove it in my mouth.
And that’s how I find myself literally eating paper on this fine Saturday morning.
But never mind that. Moving on. New list.
HOW TO GET SHIT TOGETHER.
Good title. Generic. Could refer to just about anything. Okay.
1. Make sure there’s no
I almost write evidence when I realize that’ll also mean I’d have to eat this piece of paper as well.
1. …thingy.
I sit back, biting the end of my pencil, and consider everything that might be evidence. I’ve cleaned up his car as best as I can. I’m going to wash yesterday’s clothes as soon as possible. I’ve told everyone I spent yesterday in my room with stomach flu, and nobody saw me leaving and coming back to campus, so I think I’m okay. Phew.
2. Motive?
This one’s a problem. Anyone with half a brain will know that I have a motive for wanting to get rid of Mr. Werner. But Mr. Werner was shady AF, and surely that means he made lots of enemies. Like Sophie, for example. I think about the way she died for the millionth time, alone and vulnerable and scared. He did that. Well, not directly, but he caused it to happen, and all for what? To earn more money so he could take his own kids away from their mother. For the first time, I get this feeling—not glad, exactly, I’m not a monster—but sort of vindication for killing Mr. Werner.
The moment I think that, I’m almost overcome by a wave of revulsion toward myself. How could I think that? What kind of monster am I? But it was self-defense! I mentally shriek at that horrible, guilty part of myself. Self-defense. And you know what? He was an authority figure. He was supposed to be looking out for us, his students, instead of taking advantage of us, no matter how wealthy everyone else is and how badly he needed the money. He tried to ruin my life, then he tried to kill me, all while being driven by Danny’s racist parents. It. Was. Self-defense. And it was justified.
By the time I’m done mentally arguing with myself, I’m a little out of breath.
I need to get my shit together. Okay, focus on this. Point two. There are others who have motive. His ex-wife. His ex-students who couldn’t afford to pay for their grades. And then there’s SiliconBrains, who, for whatever reason, wanted to help me in their own way.
SiliconBrains.
Realization hits like an asteroid. My skin bursts into gooseflesh. I grab my phone, scroll through the list of registered students, and make a call.
“Meet me at the Narnia hole,” I say. “Now.”
***
Halfway to the Eastern Gardens, I get a text: What’s the Narnia hole?
Argh, right. I forgot that I came up with that name and not everyone calls it that.
The hole in the hedge. In the Eastern Gardens. The one everyone uses to sneak out of campus.
There’s no answer. I walk on anyway. Just keep walking, just keep walking. Act normal. By the time I crawl through the Narnia hole, I’m so sure no one would come that I half wonder what I’m still doing here. I stand under a willow tree and scroll through the posts on DD. The one that Arjuna posted of me has a whole string of replies by now. Wonder which poor sod this school used to pick on before I came along.
A rustling makes me look up. I stuff my phone in my pocket and approach slowly, cautiously. I don’t know why; it’s not like I’m expecting a honey badger to climb out or anything.
Stacey peers out and glowers at me. “I hate this goddamn hole.”
“Thanks for coming,” I say, helping her up. “SiliconBrains.”
Stacey takes her time brushing leaves off her jeans. Finally, she says, “Took you long enough to figure it out.”
“Yeah, well. I was somewhat distracted after finding, you know. Sophie.” It still hurts to say her name out loud, like I’m betraying her somehow. But I’ve avenged her, in a way, haven’t I?
Stacey looks down at her jeans, still refusing to meet my eyes. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “That was…god, poor Sophie.” She takes a sudden, deep breath then raises her gaze to meet mine. She looks tired and sad. “Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“Um, well.” I gesture vaguely. “About you being SiliconBrains, obviously!”
“What about it?”
“Why were you doing it? Why did you message me? Why did you help me? Why everything!”
Stacey frowns at me. “Isn’t it obvious? Because I don’t like bullies.”
A mirthless laugh bursts out of me. I can’t help it. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
The frown on Stacey’s face deepens. “What’re you talking about?”
“You’ve been bullying me since like, the first day we met!”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have.” My voice comes out angrier than I expected. It’s all just too much. Everything that’s happened, Mr. Werner, Sophie, and all the girls who submitted those false claims about me harassing them. And now she’s denying it like none of it ever happened. “At least have the backbone to own up to it,” I sneer.
“No I—” She stops herself. Takes a breath. “Okay, how have I been bullying you, exactly?”
I flap my arms. “Uh, let’s see. When we first met, you were questioning me really aggressively.”
“What?” she cries. “When we first met, I was really friendly! I even joked around with you!”
“How were you joking around with me? By saying, ‘Oooh, we have a drug test every two weeks, you got anything to hide, you trashy meth head?’”
“I didn’t call you a trashy meth head!”
“You might as well have!”