The Perfectionists

by Sara Shepard

  No one is watching, she told herself angrily. Do you really think anyone cares about you?

  The bus grumbled from the next block. Parker picked up speed to get to the stop on time. Suddenly, all she wanted was to be on the bus in an anonymous crowd of commuters, hoodie pulled around her face, headphones on her ears with the music turned up loud. The bus whizzed past the stop just as she turned the corner. “Hey!” Parker cried, waving her hands at the driver as she sprinted to catch up. The driver kept going.

  “No!” Parker screamed, slapping her arms to her sides. Now she’d have to wait twenty minutes for the next bus.

  Snap.

  Parker’s skin prickled again. She looked around, watching as a Nissan Maxima peeled away from the curb. As it passed, she caught a glimpse of the driver through the tinted windows, but she couldn’t make out the face. It looked like a man. Almost like her father.

  She could feel that sinking, pounding sensation of another headache coming on, but she tried to fight it. What had Elliot told her to do as a coping mechanism during their session? She couldn’t remember a thing. Her vision felt swirled and distorted. Dizzily, she fumbled for her phone, finding herself dialing a number.

  “Hello?” came Elliot’s voice.

  “Uh, Dr. Fielder—Elliot?” Her voice was high and thin, nothing like her own.

  “Julie?” Elliot said uncertainly.

  “N-no, it’s Parker. Parker Duvall.”

  “Ah. Parker. Of course.” There was a swishing sound behind him, as though he were in traffic, perhaps, talking on a cell phone. Parker wondered if this was a terrible time to call. He had a healthy life. A normal life. He didn’t want to be bothered by her.

  “You’re busy,” she said. “I’ll go.”

  “Wait, Parker,” Elliot said. “I’ll always take a call from you. Are you okay? What’s up?”

  “It’s . . .” Parker swallowed hard. “Everything. My mom . . . this neighborhood I’m in . . . I feel like someone’s following me. . . . I’m sort of having a hard time coping. I can feel myself slipping away, and you said to call, so . . .”

  “And I’m glad you did.” Elliot’s voice sounded closer now, not so muffled. “You’ve got to hold on, Parker. Try to stay in the here and now. Focus on something real—your hand, your foot—and tell yourself that it’s going to be fine.”

  She was sitting on the bench at the bus stop now, her head between her knees. “But I don’t feel fine,” she admitted. “I feel like no one sees me.”

  “You know that’s not true.” His voice was steady and trustworthy. “I see you, Parker.”

  Parker gazed shakily out at the road, staring at the median divider until she came back into herself. Cars passed steadily now, none of them looking suspicious. Her heart rate began to slow. Her breathing wasn’t so shallow anymore, either. It was amazing: Just hearing Elliot’s voice had brought her back to earth.

  A few moments passed. “How are you feeling now?” Elliot asked.

  “Better,” Parker admitted. “Not as . . . tight. I can see everything again. I feel focused.”

  “Good,” Elliot said. “Listen, Parker, let’s move up your next appointment. Do you think you can make some time?”

  Parker’s throat felt dry. “I—I think so,” she said.

  “Great,” Elliot said. “And listen. If you feel any more attacks coming on, if you need me for any reason, I’m always here. Please call. I always want to talk.”

  “O-okay,” Parker said. She hung up and hugged her chest tightly. The paranoid feelings had disappeared completely, and in their place were visions of Elliot’s therapy room. That comfy couch. That soothing lighting. And Elliot’s safe, open face, smiling at her, helping her, saving her.

  But then a police car drove by. The officer peered out the window at her, giving her a long once-over. Parker pulled her hoodie lower over her face, holding her breath until the car passed. She exhaled heavily, looking down at her phone. Elliot might want to save her, but if the police found out what she and her friends had done to Nolan, he might not have time.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  IT WAS RAINING ON FRIDAY as Ava drove toward Mr. Granger’s house. At the end of the block, she turned onto Shadywood Road, a familiar street of small, quaint houses. As she passed Alex’s, she gave it a little wave, even though she knew Alex was out at the mall, shopping for a new pair of Vans. Then she pulled into the driveway just two houses down. It was funny: Alex had mentioned once that he’d seen Mr. Granger running on his block, but Ava hadn’t realized how close their houses were until she pulled into the driveway.

  Granger’s house had blue shutters and a red front door. Rolling back her shoulders, Ava walked to the front stoop and rang the doorbell, adjusting the strap of her bag, which was filled with spiral notebooks and her laptop and even note cards, since she hadn’t been sure what she would need.

  She heard footsteps, and the door flung open. “Miss Jalali,” Granger said with a smile. “Please come in.” Ava followed him inside, looking curiously around. His living room was warm, with two low-slung leather couches around a square teak coffee table. There were film noir posters on the walls, a bunch of ancient-looking cameras, and an old film projector on a side table.

  “Does that actually show movies?” Ava asked, gesturing to it.

  “Yep. I’ve thought about bringing it into class, actually. Maybe next unit.”

  “I’d love to see something on it,” she said, then wondered if that sounded like she was inviting herself over again. “I mean, I bet it’s the best way to see old movies, the way they were designed.”

  “Exactly.” For a split second, his gaze seemed to travel down her body, taking in her smooth skin. Her ample cleavage. Ava felt her cheeks growing warm—but a moment later she was sure she’d imagined it. Nolan’s stupid rumor was making her paranoid.

  “Thank you for letting me rewrite the essay,” she said. The sooner they got started, the sooner she could call Alex.

  “I think you’re a wonderful writer. I’d love to see you do more with it.”

  She frowned, looking down at the floor. “Thank you. But I don’t think good writers get Cs.”

  “Ava.” Granger seemed suddenly earnest. “I didn’t give you a C because your work was bad. I gave it to you because I know you can do better. You’re special—I expect more from you than I do from the other kids in class.” He cocked his head. “Do you write anything aside from school stuff?”

  “I’ve written a few, um, essay-type things,” Ava admitted. “About things that happen to me. You know, stuff about my mom. Stuff about my family.” She shrugged awkwardly. “Not that anyone’s seen it.”

  Granger nodded. “If something is weighing on you, writing is a great way to relieve the tension. So you like narrative nonfiction?”

  “I guess so,” she said. “But I guess I see it more like a diary. It’s really just for me—no one else has ever read it.”

  “Not even your boyfriend?”

  “Not yet,” Ava said. Was that weird, that Granger was bringing up Alex? She tried not to let it bother her. Maybe he was just trying to be cool, show that he knew some of the school gossip.

  “Well, I’d really like to read them.” Granger crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ve got a fascinating mind, Ava. You’re beautiful and brilliant.”

  “Thank you?” Ava said uncertainly. A teacher shouldn’t say she was beautiful. A teacher shouldn’t even notice what she looked like. But the way he was looking at her, Mr. Granger definitely noticed.

  “So, um, my paper?” she blurted out, her voice squeaking.

  “Of course.” Granger blinked as if coming out of a trance. “Let’s get to work on that.” But then he leaned forward. “Listen. If you don’t mind me asking, was everything okay with the police the other day? I was worried about you.”

  A sour taste welled in Ava’s mouth. “Um, everything was fine,” she said in a small voice. “Just routine questions.”

  Granger sniffed. �
�The cops shouldn’t be questioning kids. It’s scary and intimidating, and they’re never going to get anyone to talk that way.” His smile was kind on the surface, but Ava sensed another emotion below. “But enough of that. I just made a pot of Caffé Vita coffee. Best in all of Seattle. Can I get you a cup?”

  Ava was still jittery from her earlier espresso, but she felt like it would be rude to say no. “Um, sure.”

  She followed him into a kitchen with white ceramic countertops and a long, rough-wood table covered in camera parts and developing equipment. Pulling the coffeepot from its warmer, Granger poured two mugs and brought one to Ava. “I’m sorry about the mess.”

  “What is it for?” she asked.

  “Oh, hobby stuff. Let me just go ahead and move all this, okay? I need to remember to bring it to school for photography club anyway.” He scooped boxes labeled B&H PHOTOGRAPHY SUPPLIES into his arms. “Then we’ll get to your paper.”

  “Sure.” Ava sat down on the edge of a chair when Granger stepped out of the room. She looked around his clean, efficient kitchen, noting the line of canisters by the sink, the red-and-yellow-striped dish towels hanging from the oven door, and a picture of Marlene Dietrich looking particularly mysterious.

  Beep.

  Granger’s iPhone, which he had left on the table, lit up. Ava looked at it and froze. On it was a picture message . . . of someone’s boobs.

  She glanced in the direction of the front door, then slowly slid the phone toward her and looked again at the photo. It was a boob shot, all right . . . and there was a familiar poster of Casablanca on the wall. Ava felt her stomach turn.

  This picture had been taken in their film studies classroom.

  She unlocked the screen, and the icons flooded into place. With shaking hands, Ava clicked the Messages icon. Dozens of texts, most of them pictures of topless girls, filled the screen. Ava flicked through sext after sext, horrified. The numbers hadn’t been saved as contacts, and the girls never showed their faces, but Beacon was small. She recognized Jenny Thiel’s Texas belt buckle in one of them. There was Mimi Colt’s beloved Chanel tote on the desk behind her in another. There were Polly Kramer’s henna-tattooed hands, which she had meticulously redone every few weeks. She recognized seniors from last year, when Granger had started teaching at Beacon High.

  Ava’s mouth was agape. He’d gotten all these girls to send him these pictures? What else had they done for him?

  There was a small clicking sound, and Ava’s head popped up. Granger’s front door was still shut, but he was bound to come out any minute now. She was about to set the phone back down and get out when something else caught her eye—a number that she recognized.

  What had Nolan Hotchkiss texted Mr. Granger?

  Ava clicked open the text thread and saw that it consisted of only one thing—a video. She pressed play.

  The video started in Granger’s classroom. Justine Williams, a brunette senior with puffy bee-stung lips, sat on the edge of his desk. Granger stood in front of her, between her slightly parted legs, and stroked her cheek. “Have you ever seen La Dolce Vita?”

  “No,” said Justine in a slightly wavering, innocent voice.

  He took her hands. “There is a scene where a couple wades into the Trevi Fountain in Rome. It’s so romantic. I can see us doing the same thing.”

  “R-really?” Justine said nervously, giving a high-pitched laugh.

  Then he kissed her full on the lips.

  It was the expression on Justine’s face that made Ava almost puke. Justine looked uncomfortable and excited all at once. She also looked hopeful. Even though she knew it was wrong, she was so entranced she didn’t care.

  The camera started to shake. It went out of focus for a moment, and then it was turned around onto the filmmaker. It was Nolan, standing outside Granger’s classroom in the hall. A slow, hostile smirk spread over his face.

  “Oooh, teacher,” he cooed into the camera. “You give such good extra credit assignments.” His tone changed abruptly. “Speaking of assignments, I’ve got one or two for you. And if you don’t want this going public, you’d better pay attention.”

  Squeak.

  Ava shot up for real this time just as Granger’s door opened. She quickly placed his iPhone exactly where he’d left it, then moved back into her seat.

  Granger sat in the chair next to her and scooted forward until his face was only a few inches from hers. “Okay, let’s get started,” he said. Then he looked more closely at Ava’s face and frowned. “Are you all right?”

  There was no way Ava could be in this room even a moment longer. “Um, actually, I have to go to the bathroom,” she blurted, her words coming out in a rush. She reached for her purse, nearly upending it, she grabbed it so hard.

  He pointed to a door down the hall, and she walked quickly toward it, locking the door behind her. She collapsed against it, trying to process what she’d just seen. All those boob shots. All those girls he’d taken advantage of. Justine’s expression. And Nolan. Had Nolan been blackmailing Granger?

  The window was open, and a cool breeze broke her out of her trance. On a whim, she opened Granger’s mirrored medicine cabinet. And right there, on the middle shelf, was an orange bottle clearly labeled. LUCAS GRANGER. OXYCONTIN, 20 MGS. TAKE FOR PAIN AS DIRECTED.

  Oh. My. God. With shaking hands, Ava grabbed her phone from her purse and snapped a photo of the bottle. Then, heart pounding, she flushed the toilet, turned on the tap, then left the bathroom.

  Mr. Granger was sitting at the table, waiting for her.

  She forced an apologetic smile on her face. “I am so sorry to do this, but I just got a text from my dad. I have to go.”

  Granger stood and stepped a few paces in front of her, blocking her way. “So soon?”

  Ava’s breath caught. “We can work on the paper another time, right?”

  Granger’s smile was twitchy. “But I made time for you now, Ava. You’re being rude.”

  Ava dared to look into his eyes, registering the very unteacherly tone. He seemed totally sure of himself. Not guilty. Not sheepish. He didn’t think he was doing anything wrong.

  “M-my father needs me,” she stalled, trying to remind him that she was still a child. With parents. And a father who would kill him.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t at least like to earn some extra credit before you go?” he said suggestively, placing a hand on Ava’s neck.

  She pulled away in horror. “I—I have a boyfriend,” she reiterated, her voice cracking.

  Granger’s eyes widened comically. “Why, Miss Jalali! What do you think I’m suggesting?”

  Which confused Ava even further. She didn’t mean to, but her gaze fell to his phone. She’d seen those photos. She wasn’t suggesting anything that wasn’t already implied.

  Granger looked, too, then glanced back at her, seeming to put two and two together. His eyes darkened.

  Ava tried to take a step back. “I really need to go.”

  Granger’s fingers clamped hard. “I know the rumors about you are true, Ava,” he said, all traces of warmth gone from his tone. “And I have to say, I’m disappointed that you’d do this for other teachers but not for me.”

  Time seemed to stop. You’d do this for other teachers but not for me. The words hung in the air, giving voice to the horrible stories Nolan had told long ago. She knew other students had heard them, but teachers? Who hadn’t Nolan told?

  Was this why she’d gotten all those As from Granger, because it was all part of his plan to get her to come over? For one horrifying moment, she wondered why the hell she bothered to work so hard. If everyone thought the worst of her anyway, what would one kiss cost her, really, if it meant she’d get an A?

  Ava’s blood ran cold. “Those are just rumors,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t—I haven’t—”

  Granger gave her a condescending glare. “Ava, you knew exactly what you were doing. So cut the innocent act, okay?”

  And then he pulled her toward him, his gr
ip strong. Ava managed to break free and barreled for the door, slipping out without him catching her. She sprinted to her car and slammed the door, revving the engine. Only when she’d made a few turns did she finally pull over, lean forward to rest her forehead on the steering wheel, and burst into tears.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  AT EIGHT O’CLOCK ON FRIDAY night, Julie rushed into her bedroom. Parker was sitting on Julie’s second twin bed, painting her nails chalkboard black. Adele crooned from the iPod dock, and the sound of rain pattered on the window outside.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. You’ll never believe what just happened,” Julie said, flashing her phone at Parker.

  On it was a text from Carson. U like sushi? Was thinking of checking out Maru’s. Tomorrow?

  Parker scanned the phone and handed it back. “Are you going to say yes?”

  “You know my rule. No boyfriends.”

  Parker shrugged. “Live a little. A date is not the same as having a boyfriend.”

  “I know.” Julie rocked on her mattress. Goose pimples ran along her arms from the chill, but she barely noticed. “But god, can you imagine what would happen if Carson found out about my mom?”

  Parker shrugged. “It’s nothing a little damage control can’t solve. You just have to spin the story.”

  Julie shook her head. “That’s easier said than done. Think about what happened to Ava.” Even though Ava was smart and pretty and popular, it’d been easy for Nolan to taint her reputation, even if everyone knew deep down he was full of it.

  “Or even you,” Julie added, looking at her friend. Parker had been the most admired girl in school before her dad attacked her. Even as a freshman, she’d been on almost every page in the yearbook. But now, just because her dad had gone to jail, just because there were scars on her face, she was persona non grata.