Mrs. Rabinowitz stepped off the riser. Next to him she looked tiny, like a little round teddy bear in her fuzzy brown cardigan. “What can we do for you?”
“I’m Detective Peters. This is my partner, Detective McMinnamin. We’re trying to gather some information about what happened at the party the other night. Can we take a few minutes of your class’s time?”
Mrs. Rabinowitz gestured for him to take over, but McMinnamin stepped forward instead. He was a skinny, pale man with rabbity front teeth, and he held a stack of four-by-six index cards in his hand. He looked around the room, his eyes narrowed.
“I’m going to pass out these cards, and I want all of you to write the alphabet on one side and your names on the other.” His voice was brisk and no-nonsense. “Uppercase letters, please. Print, not cursive.”
Kenleigh Robbins, who played viola, raised her hand. “Do I have to?”
“Of course not,” McMinnamin said almost automatically. “But we will take note of anyone who doesn’t participate.”
He started handing out the cards. Mackenzie stiffened as he passed by her music stand, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before he moved on.
She knew what was going on. They needed a handwriting sample. Her mind scattered, and she tried to remember exactly what she’d written on Nolan’s body that Friday night. She’d started a frowny face with heavy eyebrows, then written LIAR in all caps.
Slowly, she lowered her cello to its stand and grabbed her sheet-music folder to write on. With trembling hands, she printed out the letters one by one, trying to make them slightly more slanted than the block lettering she’d used on Nolan’s skin.
When everyone was finished, McMinnamin picked up the index cards. Peters took a dry-erase marker and scrawled a phone number and his name on the whiteboard. “I know how these parties go,” he said affably, a trace of a smile playing around his lips. “No one wants to admit they were there, because it’ll get everyone in trouble.” Then his affect changed, his mouth turning downward, his eyes serious. “But something bad happened to one of your own.” He paused to let that sink in. “We want to know what happened. And we need your help for that. I am asking anyone who was at the party that night—whether you saw Nolan or not—to give me a call at this number. You might know details that will help us get a sense of the timeline. Everything you tell me will be completely confidential.”
Mackenzie swallowed hard. Then she felt someone’s hand in hers. Claire’s fingers held tight. Her lips were trembling.
Mac gawked at her, surprised. “Are you okay?”
Claire shook her head. “We were at that party. It means we’ll have to talk to them. I’ll have to talk to them.”
So? Mac wanted to say. What did Claire have to feel guilty about? They’d gone to Nolan’s party together, but Claire had disappeared the minute she caught sight of Blake.
Detective Peters gave their teacher a pleasant nod. “Thanks so much for your time.” He exchanged a meaningful glance with Detective McMinnamin, and they both slipped out into the hallway.
Mac peeked at Claire again. Her knees were jumpy, and she was biting her thumbnail to the quick. “Hey,” Mac said softly, touching Claire’s hand. “If you’re worried about talking to the cops, don’t be. I’m sure it will be fine. They’re going to be nice. You didn’t do anything.” But I did, a voice in her head said.
Claire’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Thanks,” she said shakily. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.” She squeezed Mac’s hand again and took a few deep breaths.
Mackenzie’s phone beeped. She peeked into her bag at the screen. New text from Blake, it read.
Her heart started to pound. She whipped it out and read it, hiding it from Claire’s view.
Hey, Blake wrote. Need to work on new sets. Extra practice this week? My house, tomorrow night at 7?
Mac held the phone between her hands, deliberating. She didn’t understand what had happened between them that night at Cupcake Kingdom. The only time she’d seen him since the kiss was at Matt Hill’s party, where Claire had led Blake toward the big cushion-filled den, leaving Mackenzie alone by the snack table, holding both their beers. Reminding her that yes, Blake had kissed her, but he was with Claire, and Claire was her best friend.
Her gaze fell to the bag of gummy violins on the ground. She looked at Claire next, her face so vulnerable and open. From this day forward, Mac would be a different person. A better person. Which meant she’d never kiss Blake again.
I guess so, but it’ll have to be quick. Audition’s looming, she typed, and sent off the text. There. Hopefully that sounded clinical. Uninterested. Like she was just another member of his band.
Then she deleted his text, wishing she could erase the memory of their kiss just as easily.
CHAPTER EIGHT