by Katie Zhao
“Nancy, stop scrunching up your face like that,” Krystal said, snapping me back to the present. We were at her penthouse in the Upper East Side on Fifth Avenue. It was a luxurious space with wood-paneled rooms that were spotlessly neat, decorated with gleaming white and black furniture that made it the perfect spot for taking aesthetic Instagram photos. And it was empty, with Krystal’s parents away on their vacation in Bora Bora.
But then again, Krystal’s place was always empty.
Krystal tackled my face using a thick, round brush, and spread a bunch of white powder on it.
I coughed when some of the powder went up my nose and into my mouth. “I—I think that’s enough, Krystal.”
Krystal made a tsk-ing noise. Then she shook her head and let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, that’s about the best I can do. Tell me if you like it.” She held up a hand mirror, and I took it from her.
At first, I didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror. Mascara gave the illusion that my eyelashes were longer, and eyeliner made my eyes appear rounder. Krystal’s expertly applied natural eyeshadow had a hint of gold glitter. My cheeks, rosy with blush. My long black hair, tumbling down my back in big, elegant curls. I wore a light purple Kate Spade clover eyelet dress, borrowed from Krystal’s closet.
I looked prettier, older, richer. I looked like one of the girls Peter would be seen with in public.
“Wow, Krystal, I . . . you’re amazing. You could be a beautician, for real. Like, this is magic.”
Krystal beamed at me and dusted off the sleeves of her maroon Calvin Klein blouse. She kept up with the latest trends in beauty and fashion, and it was thanks to her, really, that I knew anything about fashion at all. Krystal’s secret dream was to study fashion, but she wouldn’t be able to, her strict Korean parents having their own ideas for their daughter’s future—becoming either a doctor, lawyer, or engineer.
Still, it didn’t hurt to keep this secret dream. As long as it remained secret, tucked into the corner of her heart.
“Don’t you think this is going overboard, though?” I asked. “I know we’re going to a fancy birthday dinner and all, but still . . .” It was way more makeup than I usually wore—which, admittedly, was some eyeliner and a simple coat of lip gloss, and that was if I bothered at all.
“Whoa, Nancy,” came Akil’s gasp from behind. I turned around and found him gaping at me, a Dorito raised to his mouth from the bag of chips he held in his arms. He was dressed in a navy blue Vince blazer. “You look . . .”
“Stunning, right?” Krystal supplied, with a proud glance at me.
“I was gonna say, you look . . . old. Also pretty, though,” Akil added hastily when Krystal pinned him with her glare. “Anyway, when’re the others coming? I’m starving already.” He flopped down on the floor, stuffing another Dorito into his mouth.
“Our reservation at Sushi Maido isn’t for another three hours.” Krystal’s face crinkled with disapproval as she glanced at Akil, who was going to town on the chips. “Alexander hasn’t replied to my text yet, but Jamie said she’d be here any second.” Her cheeks turned rosy.
Jamie and Krystal had begun dating—in secret—over Thanksgiving break. The two were practically inseparable in private. Everything was still so new to them.
I was happy for my best friends. But sometimes it did get a bit lonely third-wheeling around them. Good thing Akil and Alexander were here today, too.
“Where’s Alexander? It’s his birthday dinner, and the dude’s not even here,” Akil grumbled.
The doorbell rang moments later.
“Coming, Jamie!” Krystal rushed to open the door.
But it was Alexander who’d arrived first, not Jamie. He wore a dark brown sports jacket, and he’d managed to tame his messy black hair so it stayed flat for once. “’Sup?” He nodded at Krystal.
“Happy birthday!” Krystal shouted, throwing her arms around Alexander, who seemed caught off guard. He returned the gesture by patting her awkwardly on the back.
Next it was Akil’s turn to wish Alexander happy birthday, but instead of hugging Alexander he bumped his fist.
Then, my turn. I was more conscious than ever of how different I looked. “Happy birthday,” I said.
Alexander turned his gaze to me. His eyes widened. His mouth parted, and he stared for a few beats too long. Krystal looked between us, a small smile on her lips.
The heat of a blush flooded my cheeks. In an attempt to dispel the awkwardness, I joked, “I know I look different, but I’m Nancy. You might remember me. We’ve talked once or twice.”
“You—you look—”
“She looks beautiful, right?” Krystal gave me an appraising glance. “I mean, more than usual, thanks to me. But of course our Nancy is always beautiful.”
“Good catch,” I said.
Alexander cleared his throat, and now he was looking anywhere but me. Feeling uncomfortably warm, I looked away too, staring at my hands as though they were the most interesting sight in the world.
Then the doorbell rang again, shattering the awkward atmosphere. Jamie swept in, wearing a cashmere Burberry coat. She wished Alexander a happy birthday and gave Krystal a quick kiss. All the attention turned to Jamie, as usual.
Krystal clapped her hands. “Great. Now that the party’s all here, let’s take a picture! It’s not every day that Alexander turns fifteen, and that Nancy looks this great.”
“Hey,” I said.
We squeezed together to take a group selfie, with Krystal commenting on our angles, and Jamie complaining that the lighting was exaggerating all the pores on her face. But eventually, with everyone’s approval, Alexander snapped a photo.
My phone pinged with a text notification. When I looked at the name on the screen, I quickly excused myself, pretending to need to get some water in the kitchen.
Peter: Hey, wyd rn
Nancy: Hanging w/Jamie and them. Why?
Peter: Come chill at my place for a bit. I’m working on a new piece, and I want you to be the first to hear it
Nancy: Are you sure it’s ok if I come over . . . ? Won’t your parents ask questions
Peter: They’re not home.
“. . . Nancy? You in?”
Startled, I tore my gaze from my phone screen and glanced up to find my friends all staring at me expectantly. “In for what?”
“Since we’ve got time to kill before the rez, Alexander wants to go see the new Marvel movie,” said Jamie.
I thought fast. I wished I could say the decision was harder to make, considering that it was Alexander’s birthday, but I didn’t really like superhero movies. Plus, Peter’s summons couldn’t have come at a better time, right when Krystal had given me a makeover.
“Oh, I . . . I just remembered. I forgot to help my mom with something. I gotta go back home for a sec, but I’ll meet you guys at the dinner later.” I avoided everyone’s eyes, especially Alexander’s, so they couldn’t sense my lie.
“What? Can’t that wait until after the dinner?” Jaime pouted.
“It’s Alexander’s birthday,” said Krystal.
Guilt shot through me. Now I really, really couldn’t look in Alexander’s direction. I was being a bad friend. This wasn’t what a good friend would do. Peter and his song could wait. Should wait.
But it was exhausting making the right choices, never sticking a toe out of line, all the time. Couldn’t I have this one thing? This one secret?
“Sorry. I’ll be quick,” I said.
As I threw on my thick winter coat and headed for the door, I thought I could feel their eyes lingering on me, Alexander’s especially. I forced myself to think of Peter, only Peter.
And when I arrived outside his family’s apartment on Madison Avenue, it was clear Peter was pleased to see me, too. His black bangs were flyaway, and the first couple of buttons on his denim button-up were undone. He looked frazzled, like he’d been in the middle of something all-consuming.
“Hey, Peter,” I said, my voice pitched
higher than usual.
Peter’s dark eyes drank in the sight of me, then flickered up to meet mine. The approval I craved was in his smile. “Nancy. You’re . . . wow. You’re beautiful. Come in, I want you to hear this song.”
Leaving all my doubts at the door, I followed Peter and slipped inside.
CONFESSION NINE
Does our school do drug testing for student athletes? Asking for half the track team —Anon
*****
In the gloomy late afternoon, the boys on the short distance team took turns sprinting down our school track. At the opposite end, co-captains Kimmie Tran and Georgia Banks led the girls’ team in a warm-up. It was an unseasonably cold spring day with no wind, and had been raining on and off all day.
This was the last—and most important—meet of the nearly finished season. Our runners wore the blue-and-white Sinclair Prep track uniforms, while our biggest rivals, Anderson Collegiate, sported green and yellow. Crowds of students and parents gathered in the stands, a much larger number than the usual turnout. Anderson had thrashed us last year, and everyone was pumped to see Sinclair Prep return the favor this year. There were college scouts in the stands, too, eager to scope out the promising potential recruits, like Akil.
I couldn’t shake the feeling the Proctor was among us. If I were them, I’d use this chance to do something at a school-wide event, especially if the targets—Akil, Krystal, and me—would be right under my nose on the field.
The thought forced me to quicken my pace as I walked up to the end of the field, toward half the newspaper staff, Peter, and Krystal. Peter and I casually greeted each other, like we hadn’t met up and talked like old more-than-friends in the AP Chem classroom yesterday. Like we were nothing more than student and teacher.
Krystal had been standing slightly apart from the huddle, and drifted closer to me as I approached, her expression full of relief to see me. It wasn’t hard to understand why. The five newspaper club staff members regarded us with haughty expressions. The editor in chief, Louisa Wu. Staff photographer Kiara William. Then there were three other students I only knew by name: sophomore Mark Gowain, junior Isabel Lim, and senior Nishant Kakar.
“I highly suggest we collaborate with the accused students. This will give Sinclair Unveiled some desperately needed visibility, no matter the outcome of the investigation,” Peter was saying to his club.
“What’s Sinclair Unveiled?” Krystal blurted out.
“Our newspaper,” Kiara said through gritted teeth.
Krystal blushed. “Oh. Oops.”
“See?” Peter said.
Nishant folded his arms across his chest. Mark narrowed his eyes and hugged his camera closer to his chest, as though afraid we’d run at him and snatch it out of his hands.
“A murder investigation involving high-profile minors.” Louisa studied us not with distaste, but curiosity. With hunger. Clearly, the chance to get the inside scoop on a death that had shaken the school was too tempting for her to pass up.
Mark sighed. “Everyone’s so busy using that dumb app Tip Tap, they’ve forgotten about us. This might be our only shot at fame.”
“If this article gets big, it’d be a good resume-booster,” Nishant mused.
“We’re in!” declared Isabel.
“Great,” I said. Even if the newspaper club was planning to use our reputations to boost their readership, it was nice to know that some people were sort of on our side.
“Meet us at the newspaper room tomorrow right after school,” Mark ordered. Then he waved his hands. “Now, shoo. We have a track meet to cover.”
Krystal grumbled, shooting a disgruntled look behind us as we headed toward Akil. “Those newspaper dorks are lucky we’re giving them the news coverage they need for people to actually notice them. Sinclair Unveiled. Seriously. Who’s even heard of that?”
“Hey, Nancy, Krystal—wait up.”
I turned around to see Louisa and Kiara jogging toward us. Their high ponytails swung in near-perfect unison. Krystal stared openly at Louisa’s leggings with unmistakable envy, and Louisa, following Krystal’s gaze, gave her a lofty smile.
“Like them? I just got these limited-edition Fendi leggings.” Louisa patted her legs. “These cost four hundred bucks. They’re not technically on sale for another two months, but, well, my father’s got connections, so he can get me anything I want early.”
“Look,” Kiara interjected, a solemn expression on her face, “we wanted to say . . . you know, it’s been rough on Louisa and me, since Jamie . . . you know.” She gulped, and Louisa squeezed her friend’s hand. “I know it’s probably been tough on you guys, too, especially with people suspecting you and everything. But Louisa and I are on your side, and we’ll get the newspaper to get to the bottom of this.”
“So, wait. You don’t think one of us hurt Jamie?” Relief flooded through me.
“Oh, sweetie, no,” Louisa laughed. “You can’t even pull off that outfit, much less a murder.”
“I . . . thanks?”
After an awkward pause, Kiara said, “Um, so that’s what we came over to say.”
“Thanks, guys. It means a lot,” Krystal said. “Really.”
Nodding, Louisa grabbed Kiara’s hand, and then they jogged back.
“That was weird,” I said as we watched them go. “And . . . nice?”
“Yeah. Not sure those leggings are the best look on Louisa, though. They’re kinda tacky.” Krystal frowned.
“Huh,” I said, which was about the only fashion input I ever had.
“I heard Louisa’s family is one of those new money families. Those leggings scream ‘Daddy got rich in China pretty recently.’ You can always tell new money from old money.”
“Right.” New money, old money. The only kind I knew was no money. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to change the subject. “Let’s go grab seats in the stands before they’re all full.”
We snagged a spot close to the track at the bottom of the stands. Before the competition shifted into full swing, we waved at Akil, who was warming up with his teammates in the middle of the track. It didn’t escape my attention that when Kiara drew close to him, he tripped and fell on his face.
During the meet, my attention was divided between watching the runners and trying to spot any suspicious activity in the bleachers. Krystal and I were both on full alert, ready to head toward our friend if the Proctor tried anything.
My phone buzzed, and I jumped. But it wasn’t a new post from the Proctor.
Mama: Did you see Alexander today? He didn’t show up for his shift at the restaurant or call in sick, and he didn’t pick up his phone either. I’m worried
Nancy: Yeah, he was in school
Mama: Ok when you see him tell him he’ll be working extra hard next time
Nancy:
Aside from being vice president of our class and keeping top grades, Alexander worked a handful of shifts every week at the Lucky Jade Kitchen as well. Maybe Alexander had forgotten about this shift. Couldn’t blame him, given how many things he was juggling. But then why wouldn’t he answer the phone when my mother called?
The sky darkened, and the lights along the track turned on, glowing like strange, otherworldly orbs in the misty early evening.
The excitement of the crowd crescendoed. One after another, each race was too close for comfort. Akil came in third and fifth for the boys’ four-hundred-and two-hundred-meter dash events respectively. I couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but I knew him well enough to know he’d be disappointed with himself. Representatives from top universities like Dartmouth, Columbia, and Duke had been scouting Akil for their track teams.
By the time the final race rolled around—the girls’ hundred-meter dash—I’d gotten so wrapped up in cheering that I’d pretty much forgotten about the Proctor. Sinclair Prep trailed Anderson by two points, and Samantha Erwin saved the day by pulling off a first-place finish.
It had gotten cold, but I hadn’t thought to bring a s
weater. I shivered through my uniform, through the chill of the evening.
Freezing fingers landed on my shoulders.
“Agh!” I whirled around, heart hammering. Black eyes. Alexander’s eyes. “You scared me! Don’t do that.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Alexander said as Krystal suppressed a snort. “I would’ve texted, but my phone died.” He gave a sheepish smile. His hair was mussed from something—maybe the misty weather—and his cheeks were flushed, as though he’d run all the way here.
“Why’re you late?” Krystal asked.
“I had to wrap up a shift at the Lucky Jade Kitchen. Ran a bit over.” Alexander’s eyes, flitting away from mine.
Alexander Lin had never been a good liar. And now, though he didn’t know it, I’d caught him in the act. He hadn’t been working his shift. Mama hadn’t been able to reach his phone. Where exactly had he gone? I wanted to ask, but not with Krystal here.
“You missed all the good stuff.” Krystal sighed. “We had the most epic comeback win.”
“Yeah? That’s great. How’d Akil do?”
“Not that great,” I said.
Then, a scream cut through the cheers. “Help! Somebody get help!”
The crowd quieted, and my gaze was drawn toward the source of the noise.
There, out of the mist, out of the dark, a figure rose from the ground. A student, wearing the blue-and-white Sinclair jersey. Collapsing onto the field in convulsions.
“Oh my god,” gasped Krystal. “That’s Akil.”
Shoving past confused students and parents, we raced from the bleachers toward Akil’s prone figure. But the track coaches and teammates formed a wall around him.
“Hey!” cried one of his teammates as I elbowed my way in, Krystal and Alexander on my heels. Akil lay on the grass, his whole body trembling. The school medic was checking his pulse, and a teacher was on the phone.
“What’s wrong with him?” Krystal hissed at me.
The tremors, sweating, gasping. I was no medical expert, but I knew enough from books and TV shows to recognize the signs of a panic attack.