How We Fall Apart

by Katie Zhao

  I WILL END YOU, JAMIE RUAN.

  MARK MY WORDS.

  And then, it turned out, the world would grant me my secret wish.

  Not long after, Mr. Ruan was arrested for embezzlement. And Jamie’s American dream shattered in a spectacular explosion.

  Jamie was stripped of everything. Friend after friend abandoned her, many of them gleeful about it, as though they’d been waiting for this to happen.

  I wish I could say that I would change things if I went back in time. That I’d be the bigger person, stay by Jamie’s side as her world fell apart around her.

  But in all honesty? I wouldn’t change a damn thing.

  The flames burning down Jamie’s world were far too grand a sight.

  CONFESSION SIX

  Student teacher P.S. is so dreamy. Damn, I miss the days when the Golden Trio ruled Sinclair Prep . . . —Anon

  *****

  Since my first day attending Sinclair Prep, I’d attracted whispers and stares. Instead of carrying designer backpacks and Gucci purses, I used a plain blue backpack that Mama had bought from a street vendor. Instead of wearing Doc Martens, I sported a pair of old, cheap boots.

  It was impossible for me to fit in here. Impossible to catch up to my classmates when my starting point was miles behind.

  Now, the eyes of the student body followed me more closely than ever. The other students watched all four of us with a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity in their eyes. They watched us as though we were the ones who’d killed Jamie.

  We gathered around a table in a study room inside the school library, nestled behind towering shelves of books in the test prep section. Normally it was next to impossible to snag a room in the middle of exam season, but after taking one look at us, the group of mousy freshmen practically bolted out of their seats. I guess that was one perk of being accused of murder by anonymous people on an app.

  “Is the door shut?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” said Krystal, who was the last one to come in.

  “Good. We have a lot to talk about.”

  It’d been a while since the four of us had hung out like this. Guilt, at dropping Jamie, had wrenched us apart. Guilt, hanging thick in the air, mingling with the dust in this ancient library, even now.

  And Jamie was here, too. Even though she was dead, her presence lingered. Hovering over us, suffocating us.

  Walking these halls, whispering from behind the bookshelves, following the living students around. I believed those stories now. Believed Jamie was still watching.

  “We need to be careful. More careful than usual.” I paced the short length of the floor, and the others watched me go back and forth, back and forth. “People are going to be scrutinizing us now. If you have secrets that you think this person somehow knows, I think it’s possible they’re really going to come out.”

  Akil’s eyes tracked me. In his intense stare, there was a burning question. I stared back defiantly.

  “Nancy’s right. I don’t know which of those multiple choices applies to you all. I’m not sure what’s true, and I’m not going to ask. But we have to stick together. And we can’t doubt each other, guys. I don’t believe any of us is behind Jamie’s death,” Alexander said. He looked us all square in the eyes—first me, then Krystal, then Akil. His eyes were black and lifeless, surrounded by dark shadows that told me he hadn’t slept well in a while. “We have to work together. It’s the only way we’ll be able to clear our names and catch the true killer.”

  “Don’t worry. There’s no way we’ll let the Proctor blame their schtick on any of us,” Krystal said.

  Akil said nothing, arms crossed over his chest, eyes still narrowed at me. Finally, he looked away and ran his hands through his thick, curly brown hair. “Thing is, we shouldn’t even have to clear our names. We already gave Bates our alibis. Jamie really did ask us to meet her in the park.”

  “Unfortunately, there’s no proof of us being there,” I said.

  “Maybe not, but still, it’s not like there’s hard evidence tying us to the crime. There wouldn’t be, since we didn’t do it!”

  “But everyone, even Principal Bates, knew we used to be close to Jamie,” Krystal pointed out. “And we got called down to the office right after that Tip Tap post went up. No matter how you look at it, things look bad for us.”

  “So who the hell did it and wants to frame us?” Akil snapped his fingers. “I’ll bet you anything it was Sharon Siu. She was pissed when Jamie knocked her out of the Volunteer of the Month spot a few weeks ago, remember?”

  “If we’re suspecting everyone Jamie has ever pissed off at Sinclair Prep, we’re going to have more suspects than there are residents in the entire Upper West Side,” Alexander said.

  “And how are we even going to find the time to catch a killer with exams going on, anyway?” Krystal sighed. “It’s hopeless.”

  “We need a lot more time,” Akil agreed.

  I shook my head. “No, we don’t need more time. We need more manpower. People who’re good at sticking their noses where they don’t belong—” As I was speaking, an idea struck me. “Wait. People who stick their noses where they don’t belong. The newspaper club!”

  Krystal’s eyebrows shot up. “You want to get the newspaper club involved in a murder investigation?”

  “Don’t you think that’s more interesting than another article ranking the cafeteria food? Plus, I’m sure they’ve got resources we could use, like camera equipment—”

  “—and coffee,” Akil put in eagerly.

  “What does coffee have to do with anything?” I asked.

  “My body runs on it. I drink three cups before noon.”

  “Oh, so that’s where you get all your energy from,” snickered Krystal. “Maybe you should cut back. You’re always trembling.”

  The whole room seemed to take a breath. Soft laughter, coming from Akil, coming from within these walls. I stared at Akil, but he avoided everyone’s eyes.

  Krystal wasn’t wrong. Akil was often trembling. But not for the reason she thought.

  “How’re you sure the newspaper club will agree to this?” Krystal asked.

  I shrugged. “Every writer is looking for a juicy story.” And then, dodging further questions, I said, “So—Krystal and I will lead the charge on investigating Jamie’s death with the newspaper club. Akil and Alexander, you’re our tech guys. You think you can trace the Proctor’s IP address from those Tip Tap posts?”

  “You’re looking at the youngest two-time champion of NYU’s Hack-a-Thon,” Akil said, puffing out his chest. “If I can’t track that sucker’s IP address, I’ll eat my own computer.”

  “Please don’t do that.” I glanced at Alexander, who was studying me with a small smile on his lips. “Alexander?”

  He nodded. “You can count on us.”

  We had a plan. We would be fine.

  As the others trickled out of the study room, one person remained behind. I’d expected this confrontation. Knew who it was, even before he spoke.

  “Nancy, you—” started Akil. Then he cast a glance around the room, around these walls. Nobody here, and yet the sense that someone, or something, was listening in. “You didn’t tell anyone about my . . . my thing. Did you?”

  I shook my head. “No. I swear I didn’t.”

  “But nobody else knew besides—besides you and Jamie.”

  “Jamie knew?” But it wasn’t a surprise. Jamie seemed to always know everything.

  Akil’s face drained of color. “I don’t know who you told my secret to—”

  “Akil, I swear I never told a soul—”

  “This’ll ruin my life if it gets out. I’ll lose everything.” The word came out raspy and hoarse, like the hiss of death. “You know that, right?”

  That wild gleam in Akil’s eyes, the harsh lines of his set jaw. I’d only seen him make such an expression once before. “I know.”

  For a year now, I’d known.

  For a year now, Akil’s secret, burning a ho
le in my chest.

  APRIL, SOPHOMORE YEAR

  In inceptum finis est.

  Richard Sinclair’s motto was fixed on a plaque that was mounted on a wall high above my head. I was sitting way in the back of the library—my usual seat, because it was closer to the stacks of books. Tall, dusty, endless shelves of books.

  Back here, I could get lost among the books and never find my way out. Avoid everyone for as long as I wanted. There was only one other student sitting here, at the next table over—Kiara William, a girl with short black hair and brown skin, who I recognized from a few of my classes. We hadn’t talked much, but we both frequented this spot in the library so often, I liked to think we’d developed a kinship.

  I was working on a speech about climate change for the upcoming debate tournament. As the team’s newly appointed secretary, I had to make a good showing. Being secretary of the school’s debate team wouldn’t mean much if I didn’t bring home trophies.

  I was so engrossed in my writing that I was surprised when someone sat across from me, and I was even more surprised to see it was Akil. He lowered himself into the armchair across from me and put his athletic bag onto the table.

  “You’re studying?” I blurted out.

  “Why the tone of surprise?”

  “Oh, I, um . . . I meant—”

  “I’m kidding, Nancy. Relax.” Akil cracked a grin. “I know I should study harder. That’s why I’m here. Ready to study.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” I said, staring pointedly at my open textbook.

  “What?”

  “Your books, genius.”

  Akil sighed and then leaned in, casting a look around as if he were afraid to be overheard, even though we were the only ones, minus Kiara. “Okay, fine. If you have to know, I’m . . . ​ I’m hiding from my parents. I can’t go home. They’re suffocating me. Telling me to be extra careful, that horrible accidents can happen to students. They’ve always been super strict, but now they’ve activated, like, Extreme Helicopter Parenting mode. It’s been that way since . . .”

  His voice trailed off, but I could fill in the blanks. Since the funeral. Since the Incident.

  “Anyway, there was something else I wanted to do here,” Akil admitted. “I, uh . . . ​wanted to see something.”

  I followed his gaze. He looked away quickly, but not before I realized what—or, rather, who—he was looking at.

  “Is that ‘something’ sitting over there, studying?” I snickered. “Named ‘Kiara William’?”

  Akil’s cheeks turned bright pink. “Don’t—Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he blustered. He shot out of his seat, causing the old chair to clatter. A few heads turned our way, including Kiara’s. “A-Anyway, I gotta get going. Track practice in fifteen.”

  Akil was always rushing to track practice. He had aspirations to become a recruited athlete, and with his talent, he was well on his way. I knew that even though his parents could afford to send him to college, Akil was determined to get there on his own, without paying a cent. Desperate to use his talent to run all the way to the top.

  He turned to leave—without his track bag. “You forgot something kinda important.” I picked up the bag, but it was open, and the contents spilled all over the table.

  Akil’s neon green running shoes, a travel-size tube of sunscreen, a deodorant stick, and—a tiny transparent baggie, filled with white-and-orange Adderall pills.

  I froze. I knew some students used them illegally, but they were the last thing I expected to see in my friend’s bag, right here, right now.

  “I got it,” Akil said hastily when I moved to help him pick up. After he’d finished putting everything back in, he studied me with a strange, frantic expression I’d never seen before. “Did you see?”

  I should lie. I couldn’t. “Yeah . . . ​Akil—”

  “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Swear it, Nancy.”

  I raised my right hand because that was what I’d seen people do in movies. “I swear.”

  He gave me a long, hard look. Then, finally, a nod. “Good. Nothing happened here.”

  “Nothing happened,” I agreed.

  “And—Nancy. You know, if you ever need . . . ​ anything . . . ​ extra”—he paused, choosing his words carefully—“you can come to me.”

  Akil’s offer, laid out on the table between us. I’d seen drugs and what they did to people in movies. But maybe. Maybe, by our senior year.

  I smiled. “Thanks, Akil.”

  This was how Akil Patel did it all, I discovered that day. Maintaining a near-perfect GPA. Being the star of the varsity track team. Staying at the top of Sinclair Prep, year after year. Finding out his secret—his hidden flaw—was almost relieving, in a twisted way.

  Now I knew Akil wasn’t perfect. Now I knew he wasn’t unbeatable.

  I kept my word. Another secret to add into the mix. Another secret to bury in the darkest corner of my mind.

  But there were always eyes watching at Sinclair Prep. Ghosts hovering unseen, whispering to each other, to the students, passing on our secrets.

  Waiting for us to shatter. Waiting for us to join them.

  CONFESSION SEVEN

  A kid at our school died, and my parents’ biggest concern is my calc grade. Smh —Anon

  *****

  Every writer is looking for a juicy story.

  That was the explanation I’d given Krystal earlier. But there was one more reason that I knew we’d have the newspaper club under our thumb.

  Akil left the study room, looking queasy but less suspicious of me. I hung behind and shot off a quick text.

  Nancy: Hey, when’s the next newspaper club meeting? I’ve got a story ur students will def wanna cover.

  Peter: 4:30 PM on Thursday. We’re meeting on the school field to cover the track meet

  Nancy: Cool, Krystal and I will come by then

  Peter: When am I gonna see you alone tho?

  Nancy: Omg, I came over the other day. I’ve got too much going on with exams atm. And aren’t u worried about us getting caught?

  Peter: Have I ever gotten in trouble for anything, Nancy?

  Nancy: You got kicked out of Stanford for dealing drugs . . .

  Peter: No, I’m taking a gap year

  Nancy: “Taking a gap year”

  Peter: You’re obnoxious. I’ll be back at Stanford next year, don’t worry

  Nancy: If we get found out, ur parents will donate a bajillion dollars to the school to cover everything up. It’s different for me tho. If I get caught, it’s all over for me

  Peter: . . . ​and when has that ever stopped you before?

  Nancy: I hate you

  Peter: No you don’t

  Nancy:

  Peter: Come by the chem room tomorrow at 4. I’ve got something I wanna talk to you about too, about Jamie

  Nancy: Ok

  At the beginning of freshman year, I’d made a promise. To be a good girl. To be the best. But, I’d soon learned, here at Sinclair Prep, the rules were different. Here, being a good girl and being the best were often mutually exclusive.

  And between the two, I chose being the best.

  I chose Peter, twisting him around my pinkie, breaking all the rules.

  It was hours later, after studying in the library and trying to brainstorm leads on the Proctor’s identity, when I stumbled through the doorway of my apartment, exhausted and famished. Mama was cooking, on a rare evening off from the restaurant. The air smelled like comfort and a cheap, easy-to-make dish that we hadn’t eaten in a while. Not since Baba had left.

  “Is that—tomato and egg soup?”

  “Yes. Are you hungry?” Mama called from the kitchen.

  Tomato and egg soup, the dish my father used to make all the time. This dish, simmering with memories.

  Ghosts at my school, and also ghosts at home.

  My family couldn’t have been more diff
erent from all those families at Junior Honors Night. My parents and I, we lived in a different world. A world where Baba had, for years, worked as a manager at New China Supermarket. Where Mama cleaned the Ruans’ house, scrubbing away at the walls and floors until they gleamed, and worked at the Lucky Jade Kitchen too. A world where they both struggled to make ends meet to send me to the best school possible, sometimes fighting so loudly that their voices shook the flimsy floor beneath my feet.

  And my already tiny family, my world, had broken when Baba packed up his bags and left us to return to China almost five years ago.

  As I sat at the table, Mama slid a bowl in front of me. I picked up my spoon, dipped it inside the steaming soup. Countless times I’d sat at this table. Countless times I’d gone through these motions. In the past, there would be a third person sitting at this table.

  Baba, smiling. Baba, drinking his coffee. Baba, digging into a warm bowl of soup. Now, only the shade of his memory remained, and even that was fast vanishing.

  My appetite disappeared, though I’d been ravenous moments ago. My stomach heavy, not with food. With loss.

  I laid the spoon down. “When’s Baba going to come back from China?”

  Mama’s expression closed off like a door slamming shut. “Eat your food,” she said tiredly.

  “You know, if there’s one thing the past few days have taught me, it’s that life is short.” These words, locked away for too long. Spilling out of me. “Too short to not talk to your own family.”

  “Where is this coming from?” Mama’s eyes narrowed. “Is this about . . . ?”

  I knew what she couldn’t bring herself to say. Is this about Jamie?

  Guess we couldn’t talk about Jamie in this household anymore, either. “Forget it.” I stood up and headed toward my room.

  “Le-Le,” Mama shouted after me, “if you don’t eat now, don’t think there will be food for you later!”

  Shutting my bedroom door, I collapsed onto my desk. I was exhausted enough to turn in for the night. But I had a killer to catch. And I hadn’t even finished studying. Sighing, I hauled my folders out of my full-to-bursting backpack.