Zachary Loup, asshole burnout and the other frequently rumored suspect, had been smart. He’d stayed at home.
“I spent the afternoon watching the news with my grandma,” Makani said. She slid her fries toward Ollie and hoped that he’d take some. His apple, Ziploc of Cheetos, and peanut-butter sandwich seemed especially sad today. “It was depressing. All of those parents and siblings and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins. All of them being shouted at. ‘How does it feel to know that your son’s killer is still at large?’” She shook her head. “And yet, there we were. Waiting to judge and analyze their responses.”
Ollie dipped a French fry in ketchup. “Thanks.”
She felt an urgent need to engage him in conversation, aware of the eyes that judged them. They needed to look normal. Or, at least as normal as was possible today. Ollie’s usual demeanor might appear suspiciously calm. Though, if he seemed happy, that would look inappropriate, too. Makani hated that she had to worry about what other people thought of him.
“What about you?” she asked. “Were you at the station again?”
“Yeah, but Chris didn’t make me work. He wasn’t even there. He had to drive to Tecumseh, so I hung out with Ken.”
“Ken?”
“The dispatcher.”
“Oh. Is he . . . cool?” The question felt dumb, but Makani wanted to know more about Ollie’s life. Truthfully, she wanted to know everything. They’d exchanged a few texts yesterday, enough for her to know that he’d be coming to school today. Perhaps, if she were still being honest, it was the main reason why she’d wanted to come, too.
Ollie’s mouth twitched with a smile. “He’s a fifty-something, thrice-married divorcé who owns two ATVs. His favorite show is infomercials.”
Makani laughed.
His smile turned into a grin.
“So, what’s in Tecumseh? Was Chris interviewing a suspect?” She paused. “And where’s Tecumseh?”
“About two and a half hours away, past Lincoln. It’s the site of the state’s only maximum-security prison. He was called out for something unrelated. Unexciting.”
“Your whole day sounds—”
“Unexciting,” Ollie repeated.
She laughed again. “You know, the next time we have a day off, you’re welcome to stay at my house instead.” It was both a practical suggestion and a flirtatious offer, but Makani quickly realized what else she’d implied. Why they would have another day off. Her expression collapsed. “I didn’t mean . . . I hope another person doesn’t . . .”
Ollie nodded. He understood.
“Ugh.” Makani thumped her head dramatically against the table. “Everything is the worst.” She turned her head, cheek against tabletop, to look at him.
And then he did the best thing.
He laid his head against the tabletop, too.
They stared at each other—cheeks squashed, noses inhaling the funk of an old cleaning sponge. She wished that she could reach under the table and take his hand, but they’d never shown a public display of affection. That was for boyfriends and girlfriends. She still wasn’t sure what this was, she only hoped it would continue. It would feel good to be close to someone again. It would feel good to be close to him.
Her phone dinged. Makani swore as they lifted their heads, and she checked the screen. “Grandma. Just making sure everything’s okay.”
An odd look appeared on Ollie’s face.
“What is it?”
He shook his head. “Something my brother said.”
She waited for him to elaborate, and he glanced around before lowering his voice. “Chris told me that they worked in silence at Rodrigo’s house, because they were still in shock. The only sound was Rodrigo’s phone. It was blowing up with friends who’d heard the rumors and were trying to check in.” Ollie shuddered. “Chris said that was the worst part, the part that kept them all on edge. The sound of those unanswered calls and texts.”
“Oh, man,” Makani said softly. “That’s bleak.”
“If we could have your attention . . .”
Caleb Greeley and someone else from the religious crowd, a tall, mousy girl that Makani recognized as a junior, were standing on the cafeteria’s modest platform stage. Caleb spoke into a microphone. Makani knew what was coming next.
“. . . we’d like to lead you in a short prayer for Haley, Matt, and Rodrigo.”
Yep. Makani couldn’t think of a single instance of prayer during school back in Hawaii, but it happened all the time here. And everyone was expected to participate. That was the part that bothered her. Makani genuinely hoped that others, including her grandmother, found peace and strength through prayer. But she wasn’t religious herself, and it made her uncomfortable whenever it was forced upon her.
She bowed her head and listened to Caleb and the girl not so much pray as preach. They recited many, many Bible verses. Her annoyance at Caleb rose. First, there was the prayer at the flagpole. Then, the interview on television. Now this. Was he getting something out of the attention? Was he enjoying the spotlight a little too—
Makani stopped herself. She was doing to him what everyone else was doing to Ollie. Anyone could look sinister when viewed through the lens of fear—even an overly zealous, deeply sincere boy like Caleb. She pushed her suspicions aside. But as another minute dragged by, Makani realized that she could appreciate his goodwill while simultaneously wishing that he would also suggest something they could actually do to help support the victims’ families or catch the killer. Prayer alone wasn’t action.
Underneath the table, someone took her right hand from her lap.
Her eyes jolted open.
Ollie stared back. She glanced around, but everyone else, even the cafeteria ladies, had their eyes closed. Ollie laced his fingers through hers. She tightened the grip and leaned in.
They kissed.
Heat and electricity and life spread throughout her body. They opened their mouths and kissed deeper, without sound, surrounded by the prayers of the frightened. When Caleb said, “Amen,” their lips pulled away, and they smiled quietly. No one any wiser to their indiscretion.
Near the end of the last period, Principal Stanton returned to the loudspeakers to thank everyone for coming today, to remind them that the school would still be open tomorrow, and to announce a small piece of good news: Rosemarie Holt won the barrel race last weekend at the Sloane County Championship Rodeo.
Makani didn’t give a damn about the rodeo, and Rosemarie was a junior in none of her classes, but she cheered along with the rest of her Spanish class. Their universal joy was significantly overheightened. They felt grateful for any good news.
“Watch out, Rosemarie,” Ollie said darkly.
The joke rang too true, and the happiness died in Makani’s throat.
“The killer likes them talented,” he said.
“Don’t.”