I stare at the headline, rereading it until the words swim together, turning into gibberish. And then I click the link, pressing play on the video.
The screen reveals Nicole, her scar ghastlier than ever against the paleness of her skin. She shuffles between two cops, who push her up the steps of the Centre Island Police Station. Her arms are locked behind her back, just like mine were in my dream. At the edge of the frame are Nicole’s mom and a grim-faced man, the two of them following close behind her. Mrs. Morgan’s eyes are watery with tears.
The din of shouting, hungry reporters accompanies the video, and suddenly Nicole stops still, turning toward the camera to face them.
“I didn’t do it,” she says in that quietly determined voice of hers. “I could never have done it. I’m being set up. And I know exactly who—”
My heart is in my throat, waiting for her to finish her sentence, when the man accompanying them jumps in front of her.
“My client has nothing further to say.”
So that’s her lawyer. I watch as the cops shove Nicole through the doors and she disappears inside, trailed by her mom and the attorney. A wide-eyed NBC News reporter fills the screen.
“For those of you just tuning in, Nicole Morgan, the student who became infamous on social media this past week as The Girl in the Picture, has been arrested in connection with the murder of Chace Porter. While much was made of the murder weapon being tested for fingerprints on Friday, no match was found on the knife itself. However, an anonymous tip revealed a sweater from the night of Mr. Porter’s death, stained with his blood and carrying hairs belonging to Miss Morgan.”
I recoil, covering my mouth with my hand.
“Omigod.” Stephanie is wide awake now, bolting out of bed to my side. “So she really did it, then? This is insane….Are you okay, Lan?”
I wanted her gone, and now I’m getting my wish. The universe is repaying me for all the hurt she caused, for turning me into this person I no longer recognize. I shouldn’t just feel okay. I should feel triumphant.
But instead, I run to the bathroom and vomit into the sink.
It’s all anyone can talk about in the morning, not just at Oyster Bay Prep, but everywhere. “Girl in the Picture” is trending on Twitter, while Nicole’s scarred face fills my entire Facebook feed, as practically everyone I know feels the need to post an article about the arrest. Even my mother comments publicly, telling the Washington Herald:
“My daughter took Nicole Morgan in as a friend. We even brought her into our home last year for the holidays. It’s been truly terrible for my family to learn that she appears to be responsible for this horrific crime. None of us could have imagined it.”
Except you, Mom. You imagined it, all right.
I keep waiting for relief to kick in, but instead all I feel are the walls of my dorm closing in on me, and the fear of another vision from Chace. He’ll want me to pay for this. And finally I can’t stand it anymore. I pick up the phone.
“Mija.” She answers on the first ring. “It’s over now.”
“Because of you.” My voice shakes. “I can’t believe you went that far.”
She pauses, and then lets out an indignant sputter as she realizes what I meant.
“You think I turned in the sweater?”
“Well, who else had it?”
Mom lowers her voice.
“You honestly think I would risk turning in anything of yours? That sweater was Nicole’s, and if you don’t believe me, come have a look in my closet.”
I stare at the phone, more confused than ever.
“She’s obviously guilty, and you need to accept it,” Mom says crisply. “Honestly, I thought you’d be glad.”
She’s right, I should be—maybe not glad exactly, but at the very least relieved. So why can’t I shake the feeling that something seriously shady is going on?
My phone vibrates soon after we hang up, and I’m tempted to chuck it. But it’s not my mom. The name flashing on my screen is Ryan Wyatt.
This is so insane. I’m freaking out. I never would have believed it about Nicole. How are you holding up?
That’s a surprise. I thought Ryan couldn’t care less how I’m doing, but he’s also asked when we’re out on public display, saying what he thinks he should say to me. Like everyone else. Maybe he feels guilty now, for always being Team Nicole.
I’m handling it about the same as you.
Shit. Want to go somewhere and talk? Just feel like I need to be around someone who was close with Chace too.
I pause, contemplating his offer. I don’t particularly want to be around Ryan, or to talk about this with anyone. Then again, is holing up in my dorm and listening to Stephanie’s incessant chatter on the topic any better?
Sure.