Isabel picked up the room key on the table next to the door. “The boys’ room. We can dump him there.”
“What?” This had suddenly become more than just getting rid of the problem—it was now making it someone else’s problem.
The Ruperts’ problem.
Our Ruperts.
“You want to make them take the fall for Rupert P.’s death?”
“It’s us versus them, and I always gotta look out for my girls,” Isabel said. “I’m like a feminist. I’m like Beyoncé.”
I would have laughed if she wasn’t being completely serious. “It’s only us versus them because you’re making it that way.”
Isabel shrugged. “Maybe they wouldn’t get in trouble. Maybe they’ll call the police right away and the police will see that Rupert P. died accidentally and the matter will be put to death—rest.”
“Or maybe not,” I said. “Guys, think about this. This could seriously fuck up The Ruperts’ whole careers. We love those boys.”
I looked around the room. The truth was, we all had a reason to want Rupert P. dead. Motivation that, if TV and movies had taught me anything, would hold up in court. Erin had a mission. She wanted to “kill the boy band.” Isabel had her site—her need for chaos—a story that would break the Internet, with her holding the sledgehammer. Apple had been put down in the cruelest way by the one person she loved most.
And me? What did I have?
“Everyone’s word against yours,” Isabel said.
I gaped at her. Yeah, exactly like Beyoncé. “If I don’t agree to this you’ll all pin his death on me?”
I looked at Erin’s face, but she turned away. These were the girls I had thought were my best friends. And they were going to turn on me.
I didn’t have a choice.
I really believed that.
And you have to believe me.
“Fine,” I said.
Isabel smiled. “You finally decided to level up,” she said. “Let’s move him.”
Moving a body is a lot harder than it sounds. Especially when that body belonged to someone as wretched as Rupert P. Mayherestinpeace.
Apple tried Googling our best options, but results varied, and we didn’t have most of the materials mentioned (barrels, coffins) on hand.
We went through all of the possible scenarios. The obvious way to go would’ve been the Weekend at Bernie’s route. It’s this movie where these two guys pretend that this dead guy, Bernie, is still alive by putting him in sunglasses and walking him around with them and stuff. Pretty fucked up if you think about it, but it was nice to know that some movies were still relatable. All we would have to do was find some sunglasses. It’d look like he was just stumbling around drunk, which wouldn’t cause any alarm because that was what Rupert P. looked like most of the time anyway.
But then we realized we didn’t have sunglasses, and it would look pretty unconvincing if someone stared at him for too long, like if we were stuck in an elevator with other people or something. He had this permanently shocked look on his face that really wasn’t helping things either.
Then we thought about Apple giving him a piggyback ride. She could probably do it, and it wouldn’t look too suspicious (instead of a stumbling, shocked drunk, Rupert P. could look like a peacefully sleeping child), but that idea was forgotten when Erin thought up an even better plan.
*
The four of us looked down at Rupert P., halfway inside of Apple’s gigantic neon-orange rolling duffel bag and halfway out. (We would’ve preferred to hide him in something that wasn’t quite so ostentatious, but Apple was the only one among us who’d brought a big enough bag.) After emptying it of every last kernel of corn, Rupert P. still didn’t fit.
“He doesn’t fit,” I said.
“We’ll make him fit,” Isabel said.
That did not sound good to me. Actually, it sounded really bad, and I started to imagine her pulling out a machete from behind her back, but luckily all Isabel did was kneel on the ground and start bending his knees and contorting the rest of him to see how we could better squeeze him into the case. “Are any of you going to help me?”
We all got down on our knees and did what we could. But if I’m being honest, I only touched him when I was sure someone was looking at me. I didn’t want to touch him at all. I think Erin felt the same way. Her face remained pinched the whole time as she blindly pressed her fingers against whatever part of him was closest to her. I think her strategy was more to push him away from her rather that to push him inside the luggage. It was a good strategy. I copied her. Apple was the least helpful. Who knew all it would take for her to stop touching Rupert P. was him being dead? Thankfully, we had Isabel. She was all business, like this wasn’t her first rodeo.