But Alex straightened as she recalled a favorite theory. “They think the killer was angry because Haley could sing? That it was someone who was jealous of her talent?”
“Or,” Ollie said, “maybe she said something that she shouldn’t have said.”
“Drugs.” Darby bounced as he turned toward the backseat. “It’s always drugs. Maybe she stumbled across someone’s meth lab and was going to rat them out!” And then he immediately looked appalled with himself for encouraging the conversation.
These same opposing energies—guilt and curiosity—were also twisting inside Makani, but Ollie only shrugged. “They don’t know much of anything yet. And there wasn’t any evidence left behind. At least, none that they’ve found so far.”
Curiosity won. “Was she . . . was Haley . . . violated?”
“No,” Ollie said.
“Thank God.” Makani and Darby said it together. Makani was relieved that Haley hadn’t suffered through that, too.
“She was found in bed, but it doesn’t look like the killer physically touched any part of her,” Ollie said. “Or that she touched him. The police aren’t even sure if the person was male. She didn’t have any bruises, and there wasn’t anything under her fingernails—no skin or fibers snagged from scratching or fighting.”
Makani considered this. “So, Haley was taken by surprise.” “
Maybe. Or maybe she knew her killer.”
“Or maybe both,” Alex said, and they all nodded like sages. She crossed her arms, triumphant and smug. “I knew you’d have insider information.”
The wrinkles deepened in Ollie’s brow. “That’s all I know. Seriously. And you’re aware that you can’t tell anyone any of this, correct?”
“Please.” Alex brushed him off. “The only people I’d tell are already in this car.”
Darby reached into the backseat and squeezed Alex’s chipped-black, nail-polished hands. “I love you, too.”
Something else was bothering Makani. “How do you know all this if your brother doesn’t discuss his work with you?”
Ollie shrugged. “Overheard conversations.” But when she didn’t look convinced, he added sheepishly. “And . . . I read his files when he’s asleep.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise.
Alex scooted back toward him. “Does Haley’s dad have an alibi?”
“I have no idea,” he said.
“Sure you do.”
“I told you that’s all I know.”
“Okay, so find out.”
Ollie finally laughed, glancing at Makani. “Yeah. Sure.”
Laughter was the best response whenever Alex was this relentless. Makani dared to feel a cinder of hope. Through the windshield, two fragile-looking girls passed by carrying a bundle of white balloons. Tears streamed down their cheeks.
“Are they in the musical?” Makani asked.
“I don’t think so,” Darby said.
Makani’s heartbeat stumbled with an uncomfortable realization. “Did any of you guys bring something?”
Ollie and Alex shook their heads as Darby removed a sheet of cardstock folded in half from his backpack. He’d drawn a heart on the front of it with a glittery red pen. “I made this last night, but I left room for your names, if you want.”
Always reliable, Darby had remembered. Alex fished out a ballpoint and scribbled her name beside his. She offered the card and pen to Ollie. Taken aback—perhaps even touched—he printed his name at the bottom in small capital letters.
Ollie held out the card and pen to Makani.
As she stared at the glittery heart, guilt oozed through her brain’s every fold and crevice. She’d never spoken to Haley when she was alive. Makani hated gossip, yet she’d been speculating about the girl’s life and dissecting her death as if they were seated at the table of one of those murder-mystery dinner parties. She didn’t deserve to sign the card, because it had never occurred to her that Haley might need a card.
“Makani?” Ollie sounded concerned.
Her vision swam as she accepted the card and pen. She signed because her friends were watching. The signature felt fraudulent.
They abandoned the car and joined the crowd. As Darby placed their card atop the mound of depressing tokens, Makani wondered who would collect these gifts, and when. Would Haley’s parents feel pressured to bring everything home, or would it all stay here so long that the cards and posters and teddy bears became weather battered, only suitable for the landfill?
Students from every social group paid their respects: the drama and choir geeks, of course, but also the athletes and academics, the gamers and techies, the FFA and rodeo kids. Multiple youth groups prayed together as a single unit. The student-council president handed out flyers for a candlelight vigil, while the burnouts hovered along the edges, stoned and uncomfortable, but needing to mourn with the rest of their community.
Meanwhile, Makani pretended to be upset for the same reasons as her classmates. She pretended that the local news van, parked near the flag at half-mast, hadn’t broken her into a sweat. She pretended that she was cold when she put up the hood of her hoodie and angled her face away from the cameras. She pretended to belong.
Despite unbelieving glances from the student body, Ollie rejoined them at lunch. Makani had invited him, but she was still astonished when he sat down, cross-legged, beside her. He was making an effort. It lifted her mood, even though the ensuing conversation was awkward. Ollie ate his sandwich in silence. Makani could only hope that her friends would be as patient with him as they’d been with her.
At least his presence released her from being the third wheel. Darby and Alex had never purposefully treated Makani like a charity case, but she was still the intruder on their decade-long best friendship. It didn’t matter that this new fourth wheel was shaky. Makani felt steadier with Ollie there, because he was there for her.
He didn’t stay. With ten minutes left in the period, he mumbled an excuse and took off for the library. His exit was so hasty that Makani didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye. She shot an apologetic look to her friends and then chased after him.
“Hey. Hey.” Makani grabbed his sleeve. “Are you okay?”
Ollie searched for an excuse. “Yeah. I just . . .”
“No worries. I get it.” And Makani was pretty sure that she did. Sometimes the pressure of a situation was too much, and you just had to run.
Ollie fidgeted with the zipper of his black hoodie. He glanced at the mostly male group of gamers and techies sitting nearby on the ground—staring at them, whispering—and narrowed his gaze. They stopped talking. He turned back to Makani and nodded.
She rolled her eyes.
He smiled.
Her confidence resurged. The anxious fog slipped away. She smoothed down his sleeve where she’d grabbed it and looked up at him through her dark lashes. “So, what are you doing after school today?”
His eyebrows lifted. “Giving you a ride home?”
Makani flashed another smile as she strutted away. “Good answer,” she called out. It was the perfect parting line. Until the jerks beside them had to ruin it. “Good answer,” one of them mimicked, and the others laughed.