He was still thinking about it when they got into their unmarked car, a gray Buick, too new for the taxes in Mt. Oanoke, with doors so heavy they hardly made a sound as they thunked shut. The engine barely hummed as it turned over. Nate was still thinking about it as they pulled away from the curb and he put his hand up in a wave, like a simple idiot.
Only after they made a right, the taillights winking out of sight, did it occur to him that maybe he just really fucked everything up.
CHAPTER 27
Bridget, Monday, May 11, 2015
“You know they found something on Friday,” Dale said, his pale fishlike skin shining, spittle at the corners of his mouth.
“How do you know?” Bridget asked. She hadn’t told anyone she’d gone to the search and rescue. Even thinking about it made her eyebrows sweat. She hadn’t called Nate, told him what they found; she’d been too afraid of what he’d say, that he’d lie to her. She followed Alecia home, both of them shaky and scared. Alecia said very little except, tell me how it could mean nothing, tell me. And Bridget said, he called the police that he saw her. He must have tried to follow her. He’s a good person, Alecia. He tried to do the right thing. Bridget mostly believed it. She left Alecia with Gabe, making dinner, because being alone was preferable to being together, although if pressed, neither could have articulated why.
“This is Mt. Oanoke.” He shrugged like this explained everything. “They found Nate’s coach hat in the woods where Lucia ran. Do you think he went after her? Have you talked to him? Did he go after her?” Dale was practically panting, his breath hot and warm, the odor of cafeteria gravy. Bridget stepped back, turned her head away, and took a breath.
“I don’t know, Dale. I really don’t know anything.”
“Then where is she, Bridget? Where?” Dale’s eyes blinked, rapid-fire, his lips twitching.
“I don’t know, Dale. No one does.” Bridget shook herself, moved away from him, under the guise of talking to a student, holding her index finger up like she’d be right back, which of course they both knew was a lie.
The cafeteria at Mt. Oanoke operated like a social command center, but not in the typical way, Bridget didn’t think. There were cliques, sure, but less so maybe than other schools. There was bullying, sure, but less so than other schools. Bridget had always really believed this, defended it even when Nate had called her a Pollyanna. He was further inside than her, the wolf watching the henhouse, and now Bridget wondered if he was right.
Josh, Riana, Porter, Andrew, and Kelsey sat at the center table, holding court. Taylor sat on the end across from Kelsey. Bridget watched them from the vending machines, laughing, throwing napkins at each other, a single unified, ew, Josh, you’re disgusting, from Kelsey and Riana. Taylor was quiet, smiling na?vely and head bobbing, in a haphazard and random way. She was mostly ignored except for a periodic whisper from Kelsey. Riana paid her no attention. Andrew held the middle, the king on his throne, tall and lanky, and remained a bit dazed, would chime in once every few minutes and the table would laugh, riotously, overacting, like no one had ever said something so new, so funny before. Kelsey picked at a salad and reapplied lip gloss. Riana ate a cheeseburger, fast, with both hands, while Kelsey watched, her mouth hanging open, her cheeks candy pinked like conversation hearts.
Bridget had never really watched them before, the way they interacted, how different they were from each other. She remembered knowing her previous students so much better than this bunch, all their nuances and kindnesses, cruelties and insecurities. But this crew confounded her. Their allegiances seemed to change with the wind. Maybe it was just her energy level this year. But it was May, the year almost over, the students sliding past her almost liquidly, her only knowledge of them what they wrote in their notebooks and turned in, half-truths and scribbled confessions. She hardly ever knew what to believe, and she’d been skimming more than reading.
Bridget walked past their table, saw their heads bent together, whispering. Suddenly, Kelsey’s voice, high and shaky, “Witches get hanged.” And then Riana broke up laughing, followed by Josh. Andrew looked around like he lost the thread, a dopey smile stretched between his cheeks. Taylor got up and threw her trash away, left the cafeteria.
Right before the bell, Bridget went to the bathroom. In the stall, she caught her breath, her cheeks pressed between her knees, heels balancing on the lid of the toilet, her skirt lifted up to her thighs and tucked, gathered, between her legs as she drew big, lung-expanding breaths. This had been happening a lot lately, this light-headedness, like she could just drift off to sleep and never wake up.
The doors burst open and Bridget kept her feet up, held her breath. Two giggling girls, loud, swearing, fucking Jesus, what the fuck was that shit?
Kelsey and Riana.
“God, Josh’s been pissing me off lately. I’m gonna dump him before next year”: Kelsey.
“You’ve been saying that since tenth”: Riana. Then, “Dude, Andrew needs to erase that shit before he gets in trouble.”
“He’s such a whore. Did you see his face?”
“No, I can’t look at his face, that big-ass nose.” Laughter. Deeper voice, mimicking. “Uh, what?”
“I meant in the video. Like he’s gonna jizz by just looking at her.” Kelsey giggled, high and honking.
“It’s his dream come true.” They both laughed. Then Riana: “Don’t let T hear that.”
“Oh, like I care? She don’t belong with us.”
“Watch yourself. I like her”: Riana.
“Oh, now don’t go lightin’ me on fire.” Kelsey’s voice went high, singsong, and there was a smack, hand against the bare skin. Bridget held her breath, waiting. Then a laugh.
“Come on, you know Andrew wrote that note. That was some kind of joke.”
“Nah, he’s too thick for that. I don’t know who did it, but it was someone smarter than Evans,” Kelsey said. Then, “But you lit it up, right? She did not do that shit with her eyes.”
The click of a purse, the smack of lips. Bridget leaned forward, almost touching the metal beige door. Everything you touch.
Then, Riana. “Cat or scope?”
“Scope, I think.” There was a rustling, and the garbled sound of a video, then a deep, slow voice, dreamlike. Say you want it, honey. Say yes. Look here and say it. Male laughing, several of them. A garbled hoot.
“Shhh!” Kelsey said, cutting off the video. “I heard something. Is someone in here?”
“The bell’s about to ring, just go. I’ll catch you later. If you see him, tell him to take that shit down.” Riana, the boss.
“I don’t know if you can. It’s streamed. I don’t have the app, I wouldn’t touch that shit with a ten-foot pole. People are crazy.” Kelsey, giggling again.