The Perfectionists

by Sara Shepard

  Finally, Peters drew back. “Okay, then,” he said. He tossed his empty coffee cup in a small trash can in the corner. “I’ll drive you back to school. Thanks for your time.”

  Ava’s legs felt like Jell-O as she followed him down the long hall and climbed back into his squad car once more. After Peters slammed the door behind him and started the engine, he draped his arm over the back of the seats and smiled at her. “But you’ll tell me if you remember anything else, right? Anything at all?”

  “Of course,” Ava said, smiling her brightest, most helpful smile back at him.

  But what she really meant was, Like hell I will.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “SO IT’S THE SEVENTY-SIXTH MINUTE of the game, and we’re tied with Kirkland. And we’re all on edge, because this is the game that decides who goes on to state. I’m hanging back in midfield, and here comes their forward.”

  Caitlin poked at her salmon with the edge of her fork, only half listening as Josh recounted one of his soccer victories to the table. Next to her, her mother Sibyl laughed.

  “I remember that kid,” she said. “He was massive. I couldn’t believe he could move that fast.”

  “Yeah, he’s at Indiana this year. Full ride,” Josh said. He took another huge bite of his Dungeness crab cakes. “Anyway, so the clock is ticking, and this guy is huge and fast and heading straight for the goal. No one else is even close to him.” He paused dramatically. “I’m the only one who’s got a chance to stop him.”

  Across the table from Caitlin, Josh’s dad, Ted, sipped a glass of red wine, his face flushed and pleasant. Next to him, Josh’s mom, Michelle, watched her son with a rapt expression. Caitlin’s moms were on her side of the table—Sibyl next to her, and Mary Ann on the other side of Sibyl. They were gathered at the Martell-Lewises’ house for their weekly Wednesday dinner. Jeremy wasn’t there, and Caitlin couldn’t help but wonder where he was.

  Just two days ago they’d almost kissed. Or . . . had they? Maybe she’d misinterpreted. Maybe he was going to lean forward just to give her a friendly, platonic hug. That had to be it.

  “What happened then?” breathed Michelle, looking at Josh.

  Caitlin fought the urge to roll her eyes. She was proud of Josh, too, but that game had been almost a year ago, and they’d all been there. They’d all seen what happened next.

  Josh put down his fork and leaned in to the table. “There was no way I could overtake him—I could see that. He was too fast, and I was, like, thirty yards away. But suddenly, out of nowhere, it just hit me like a bolt from the blue. I could see the path stretched out at my feet, like someone had laid it out just for me. It was almost glowing, it was so vivid. And I knew—if I could just follow the path, I would head him off, just in time.”

  Caitlin tried to hang on to Josh’s words, but she found her mind drifting. She thought instead about what Ava had told her when she called her an hour ago. All those things Ava had said about getting called into the police station. About people seeing Ava go upstairs with Nolan. And if the police were onto Ava, how long before she mentioned who she was with and what they’d done? Then what would her parents do? Caitlin was all they had left now. This would destroy them.

  Suddenly she heard Josh clearing his throat. She gave a little start as she realized that everyone at the table had gone still. Looking up, she saw that Josh had pulled a small black velvet box from his pocket. Smiling confidently, he slid it across the table toward her.

  Caitlin’s mouth went dry. Her eyes darted around the table. Ted had a knowing smile beneath his full salt-and-pepper beard, but next to him, Michelle’s hands had flown to her lips. Mary Ann grabbed Sibyl’s hand as they both watched, wide-eyed. Across from her, Josh gave her a come-on-open-it-already nod.

  Only, Caitlin didn’t want to open it. She was afraid to see what it was. Everyone was looking at her, though, and every second that ticked by made the moment seem even weirder. She took a deep breath and flipped the lid.

  Inside was a pendant, hanging on a slender golden chain. It was in the shape of a small glass ball—inside was a small chunk of something green. The air flooded back into her lungs, and the tension at the table was broken.

  “It’s a chunk of turf,” Josh said, giving her his lopsided grin. “From Husky Stadium.”

  “That’s lovely,” Mary Ann exclaimed, leaning across Sibyl to peer down into the box. Caitlin thought she sounded a tiny bit disappointed. Did her moms actually want her to get engaged . . . when she was still in high school? Then again, that way, she and Josh would be the perfect soccer-playing couple . . . forever.

  Caitlin didn’t even want to think about it, though. And it freaked her out, a little, when she realized how much she didn’t want to think about it. Should she be thinking about it?

  “Thanks,” she said, finally finding her voice. She shut the box. “That’s really . . . cool.”

  Josh grinned. “You’re going to dominate at semifinals,” he said. “I can’t wait.”

  Caitlin stared down at her plate, a blur of green and red. She knew this was a nice gesture. She knew it was supposed to make her happy. But for some reason, it just made her feel . . . trapped. Something about the way her moms were staring at her—like she was their last hope, like they needed her to be happy—and the way Josh was looking at her, so sweet but so unaware of anything she was going through, prickled at her in ways she couldn’t even explain. She needed out of here before she started crying at the table.

  “Um, can you excuse me for a minute?” she mumbled, jumping up. “I’m not feeling well.”

  She turned and headed out of the kitchen and ran upstairs. But instead of going to her room, she went to Taylor’s. She and her moms hadn’t changed his room at all; there were still books on the floor where he’d left them, and the calendar was still turned to the month he died. They kept saying they would clean it out and turn it into a guest room, but somehow they never seemed to get around to it.

  Images of Taylor came floating back to her as she fell onto his twin bed. Her little brother’s habit of carrying all his textbooks at once in his backpack instead of using his locker like a normal person, so that he looked like a turtle under the giant hump of his bag. The way he looked bent over a Dungeons & Dragons figurine, painting the armor with a tiny, delicate brush, his tongue between his lips in concentration. The way he screamed, high-pitched and girlish, if someone startled him. Caitlin had loved to sneak up on him and poke him in the ribs just to see him jump.

  Then she thought about Nolan shutting him into a locker for three hours, just as he’d documented in Reasons Death Is Better Than School. When Nolan had tripped him in the hall, sending him flat across the filthy linoleum. When Nolan had stepped on Taylor’s iPhone to break it, or ripped the pages out of his Robert Jordan novel right in front of him. Caitlin hadn’t seen most of these things happen—she’d only read about them in Taylor’s journal after the fact. Taylor had swallowed all of it so bravely. He’d kept it to himself, the last entries both hopeless and resolute. To him, death was a better option than high school. He would escape Nolan.

  No wonder she’d been so up for that prank at the party. No wonder she’d taken Julie by the arm when they all convened by Nolan’s stairs, her body thrumming with adrenaline. Even now, even knowing she could be blamed for his death, she had no regrets for giving Nolan a taste of his own medicine.

  “Caitlin.”

  Startled out of her thoughts, she sat. Mary Ann stood in the doorway.

  She thought her body language would drive her mom away, but Mary Ann walked in and paused next to the bed. She could feel her gaze on her. Her eyes were the same dark brown as Caitlin’s. Whenever strangers saw her with Mary Ann and asked if Caitlin was adopted, Mary Ann would always say, “No, she’s mine. Can’t you tell by the eyes?”

  Mary Ann sat next to Caitlin on the bed and folded her hands. “Is everything okay, honey?” she asked in a small voice. “Are you missing Taylor?”

  “No,” she sai
d sullenly. “I mean, yes, I always miss him. But no more tonight than usual.”

  “Is it something with Josh?” Mary Ann sighed. “You two shouldn’t fight. You’re so good together.”

  Caitlin stared at her mother, frustration building inside her. Why were her moms so obsessed with her and Josh’s love life? “I’m not fighting with Josh. Why would you think that?”

  Mary Ann smiled sadly. “It’s just not like you to walk away from the table. And you’ve been acting strange lately, sweetheart. I’m just worried about you.” She hesitated. “Have you taken any of that OxyContin Dr. Magnuson prescribed?”

  Caitlin did a double take. “What? Why?”

  “I’m just . . . curious.” Her mother didn’t meet her gaze.

  Caitlin wound a piece of dark hair around her finger, her pulse suddenly racing. “A few,” she said carefully.

  “When?”

  “I don’t know.” Caitlin threw up her hands.

  Her mother exhaled loudly. “Well, I was hoping you hadn’t. If you still had all your prescription, you’d be in the clear.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “What are you talking about?”

  Something about her expression was strange, almost suspicious. “Well, the police called earlier. They’re calling everyone from your school with an Oxy prescription. They subpoenaed records from all the local pharmacies. Obviously, your name came up.”

  Caitlin’s heart was thudding fast. “Nolan was a notorious pill popper. He had his own stash.”

  “Maybe so.” Mary Ann nodded like she wanted to believe that. But the expression on her face seemed timorous, like she was about to burst into tears. “It’s just . . . can you do something for me?”

  “Sure. What?”

  “Bring me the rest of your OxyContin prescription?”

  Caitlin stared at her. “Why?”

  “Just humor me, honey.” Mary Ann looked uncomfortable. “You don’t need it anymore, right? I’m going to dispose of it for you.”

  Caitlin blinked. “Do you think I had something to do with what happened to Nolan?”

  “No!” Mary Ann said quickly, her eyes widening. “Honey, I’m not accusing you of anything. I just . . . well, you haven’t been yourself lately. And Coach Leah called to say she had to kick you out of practice the other day. Sometimes that medication causes changes in people. I just would rather we have the pills, okay? Just in case . . .”

  Just in case what? Caitlin wanted to ask, fearful of how her mother had drifted off.

  Instead, she rose robotically, walked to the bathroom she used to share with Taylor, and grabbed the pills, carefully examining the bottle. All kinds of paranoid thoughts entered her mind: What if there was a tracking device on the thing? What if the bottle could tell you, somehow, where it had been—and that it had logged time in the Hotchkisses’ house? She shut her eyes and saw herself shaking out a single pill into her palm. Grinding it up and brushing it into that cup. Was all Oxy the same, or was each pill unique, like a snowflake? What if there was a way to track down that the pill in Nolan’s stomach had come from her?

  But if she balked now, her moms would surely suspect that something was up. Swallowing hard, Caitlin brought the bottle to Mary Ann.

  “Here you go,” she said despondently. “I hope that eases your mind.”

  “Oh, honey, you know I just want what’s best for you,” Mary Ann said, and tried to grab Caitlin for a hug. Caitlin shook free, darting under her arm and slipping into her bedroom, locking the door swiftly behind her. She collapsed on her bed and pushed a pillow against her face, her whole body shaking. The police had already talked to Ava. It was only a matter of time before they called her in, too. And if her own mother thought she had it in her to kill Nolan, why would anyone else think she was innocent?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON, PARKER SAT ON her front porch in South Kenwood, a town just outside the Beacon Heights line, smoking a cigarette and looking out at the rain. It felt weird to be sitting here; she hated coming home so much that she was rarely here anymore. This neighborhood was a far cry from their old one in Beacon. After her dad went to jail, her mom had sold their sprawling five-bedroom house and moved into this bungalow. The paint was peeling off in long strips. A neglected begonia slumped in a pot on the railing. All the houses on the street were small and crumbling, with overgrown little lawns surrounded by sagging chain-link fences. Empty beer cans rolled in the gutters, and more than one yard had a car up on blocks.

  She took a quick, nervous drag, exhaling a sharp burst of smoke. A shadow flashed in the doorway of the house across the street, and she tensed. Stop the whole paranoid act, she scolded herself. No one’s after you.

  But that was easier said than done. For the past few days she’d been a complete mess. Everywhere she went, she could feel eyes on her. Why, she wasn’t sure . . . but she just felt watched. Cops were crawling all over the school, and students were being called in right and left to confess anything they knew about the party. It was turning into a witch hunt—kids were dropping the names of rivals and enemies to try to get them hauled in for questioning, claiming they’d seen so-and-so talking to Nolan that Friday night.

  Ava had called everyone this afternoon to tell them that someone had seen her taking Nolan upstairs. “I denied it,” she’d said flatly. “But we have to be careful. People might have seen more than we think.”

  So far, no one had asked Parker any questions—and she could only hope it would stay that way. But what about all the pictures kids had taken that night? What if someone had caught her black-hoodied figure slumping in the background? Someone might whisper to the cops about how sullen and withdrawn she’d become after her attack. The rumors might swirl about how Nolan had drugged her the night she was beaten. Parker Duvall has a motive, people might say.

  And then there was an even more horrible thought: Although Parker wanted to trust these new friends of hers, could she? Who was to say one of them wouldn’t crack and give her up? She didn’t think Caitlin would be a problem—Caitlin still hated Nolan’s guts too much to go out of her way to help the cops. And of course Parker could count on Julie. But Mackenzie? She’d looked ready to spill her guts at the funeral. And Ava . . . well, the cops already were onto her—Parker doubted that princess would hold up well in jail. It wasn’t as if Parker contributed much to the circle of friends. Maybe they’d see her as expendable. An easy scapegoat. An already damaged girl with nothing left to lose.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when a Lexus—five years old, but still way nicer than any of the other cars in this neighborhood—pulled into the driveway. Her mother stepped out, slamming the door behind her, and stared at Parker.

  “What are you doing here?” she snapped, hands on her hips.

  Parker made a face. “Nice to see you, too.”

  Mrs. Duvall opened the back door of her car and started pulling out bags of groceries. Parker watched her mother coolly, not offering to help.

  If the house was a step down in the world, her mother’s outfit was a total fall from grace. Since the trial, Mrs. Duvall had worn the same long-sleeved shirt and yoga pants almost every day, though they’d gotten baggier and baggier on her bony frame as she wasted away. Her once perfectly colored hair had grown out to a dull, graying mousy brown, and it hung in limp locks around her face. And more than that, she just looked . . . tired. Like she’d battled the world and the world had won. She never smiled anymore. Never laughed. Everything was a struggle.

  Mrs. Duvall looped the bags over her arm and staggered up the steps with them.

  “Are you just going to sit out here on the porch all day?” she snapped.

  It was surprising how much this still stung. She shot to her feet. “You’re the one who messed up, you know,” she sputtered, not sure what had come over her. Maybe it was her talk with Elliot, but she felt bolder than usual. “It’s a mother’s job to protect her family. But you just let it happen.”

  The color drained from Mr
s. Duvall’s cheeks. For a moment, she looked as if Parker had slapped her. Then she pressed her lips together and unlocked the door. “Jesus Christ,” she snarled. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

  She pushed her way in the door and dragged the grocery bags behind her. Before Parker could follow her, she slammed the door shut. Parker heard the firm click of the lock from the other side.

  Parker stood there for a moment, staring at the faded welcome mat. Fine. Whatever. She turned around and kicked the potted begonia with the tip of her steel-toed boots. It made a satisfying shattering sound against the slate pathway below.

  Well then, back to Julie’s. She headed up the street toward the bus stop, past the dilapidated houses and the convenience store. But then her hands started to shake. What had she done that had been so bad that she’d deserved such horrible treatment? Why did both her parents hate her so badly?

  She remembered one night when she’d been sitting at the kitchen table, not long before the night that changed everything. She’d been on the phone with Julie, laughing about something Nolan had done at school that day. Then she’d heard the door slam hard—her father was home. His footsteps were heavy, his breathing hard. Parker knew the signs, but instead of getting up and scurrying to her room like she usually did, she’d stayed at the table, the phone pressed to her ear. It’s my house, too, she’d thought defiantly. I shouldn’t have to hide.

  She didn’t even have time to hang up the phone before he hit her. After her father was through with her, her mother had crouched next to her on the floor, placing a bag of frozen peas on her bruised ribs—her dad had learned to hurt her where others couldn’t see. “You need to learn to stay out of your father’s way,” her mom had admonished. “You’re making it worse.”

  Snap.

  Parker wasn’t sure where the sound had come from. She swiveled around and stared down the street, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Was someone following her? Taking pictures? Watching? Three teenagers came out of the convenience store holding slushies and talking loudly in Spanish. A block away, an old woman hobbled out to her mailbox. Three birds lifted off the telephone wire all at once.