The pain in his voice makes me lower my gaze, guilty for letting my mind get carried away. I’ll put him on my list, but that doesn’t have to mean anything yet. “Thanks.”
When I look up again, he’s disappearing down the sidewalk. I pull the door shut, lock it, and buckle my seat belt, but I can’t seem to secure enough barriers between me and the rest of the world. Aisha pulls the Jeep out onto First Avenue and almost collides with Shelly Robson in her black-and-white patrol car.
“Oh God, sorry!” Aisha mouths through the windshield.
Shelly waves us on, looking flustered.
Aisha stops at one of the few traffic lights in town, chattering nervously about not getting a ticket. I look away, my attention drawn back to the edge of the park, to the gap in the trees where the trail leads toward the falls. The surrounding leaves are so green and alive—but there’s a branch snapped, hanging limp and dead by the road. I close my eyes at the memory of scrambling up that trail, clothes torn, hands raw. And the moment I glimpsed the diner—I thought I’d never see it again.
When I open my eyes, I see a shadow moving among the trees. I lean against the glass for a closer look and there’s a person in a hood standing at the head of the trail. He steps forward, raises his head to look at me, and my heart stops.
Marcus Perez.
FOUR
HURLBURT HIGH IS TUCKED INTO a picturesque green hillside just beyond the business district. Directly next door, the ground is torn open where the skeletal frame of a new community center rises from the earth. It’s been the most exciting thing to happen in Hidden Falls for half a decade. The plans include an indoor pool and track, fitness area and senior center, along with an array of classes and activities available to the public. They just broke ground on it two months ago, and the construction site usually buzzes with activity by this hour, but today the bright yellow equipment sits as still as the air. The project is funded by Gretchen’s parents, Carlton and Marcia Meyer.
Judging by the cluster of news vans and reporters gathered at the edge of campus, the school grounds have been deemed off-limits to the media. I guess this ought to be a relief, but even with our windows rolled tightly up, we pull into the parking lot through an onslaught of cameras and people shouting Gretchen’s name.
“Ask you a few questions—”
“Take a minute of your time—”
“Did you know Gretchen Meyer—”
My stomach turns. Maybe this was a mistake. I could’ve waited to come back, made my mother happy, laid low for a couple of days. I notice the toothy reporter from the diner and my skin crawls at the idea of people exploiting Gretchen’s death for a news story. If she’d wanted to be a headline, she would’ve found a more fantastic, glamorous way to do it—hosting a celebrity tennis tournament, or even skydiving for charity. I imagine her posing for cameras, stylish in a tennis skirt or a jumpsuit, and I can’t help smiling. But as Aisha and I climb out of the Jeep and walk toward the low-slung building, I realize if I’d stayed home, the crowd of gossip-hungry reporters would be my only lines of information. If I want to figure out who could’ve attacked me and murdered Gretchen, there’s no replacement for being inside the walls of the school—surrounded by potential killers.
“Hey.” Aisha touches my arm. “You okay?”
I nod quickly, pull out my phone, and text my mom.
Went to school. Got here safe. Love you.
I turn the phone off.
Conversations fade to whispers as we approach the building, just as they did at the diner yesterday. Some kids stare, some offer condolences about Gretchen, but the unasked questions are in their eyes and the anxious hum of their voices.
“Do you think she saw him push—”
“—haven’t slept since Friday.”
“My dad bought a gun.”
“Good idea, the killer could come after you!”
“Fuck off, that isn’t funny.”
My mouth is like sandpaper. If Gretchen were here, I’d know exactly what I should be doing, thinking, saying. Like after the bus crash that hospitalized half the lacrosse team. She reached out immediately to the victims’ families and friends and started a fund-raiser, and I stepped in to help her get organized. She never told me what to say, but she set the tone and I adjusted accordingly. Without her, I feel adrift. I hover at Aisha’s side, but she doesn’t seem to know what to do or say either. I think we’re both relieved when Haley spots us and swoops in.
“You look awful. Why are you even here?”
I give a nervous shrug. “Same as everyone else. I want to know what’s going on.”
“Nobody knows anything.” She sighs, tightening her ponytail and brushing her spiky bangs out of her eyes. “I’ve heard everything from Marcus stalking Gretchen to her dad having a disgruntled employee to it actually being suicide to her sister killing her.”
“Kirsten?” I shake my head immediately. Gretchen might have disliked her little sister, but it was completely one-sided.