by Julie Murphy
A younger officer approaches my dad and me while the two of us sit helpless behind the counter. “Uh, ma’am? You’re the one who found the place this morning.”
I nod. “Yes, sir. I am.”
“I see there are cameras set up out here. Those the real deal or just for show?”
A frown settles on my lips. “A little bit of both. They only keep footage for twenty-four hours.”
“Would you mind walking back there with me so we can take a look?”
I nod, and while the officer gets a head start, I turn to my dad. “I feel so bad for Vernon and Inga.”
My dad grips my knee. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I walk back to the office with Dad as he gently guides me with his hand on my back.
“Looks like Pop-Pop is on the case,” I say as he questions Officer Barnes about why they aren’t dusting for fingerprints.
Dad lets out a half grunt, half laugh. “At least he’s got a new distraction. This might be the most excitement the old guy has seen since we let him help us pick out new grass for the yard.”
The office is small and can barely fit two people when it’s cleaned out, which is not its current state. I take a seat at the desk, and Sheriff Bell and Dad hover behind me.
I search through the system and save the footage starting with me locking the door last night up until now. As we fast-forward through the evening, I stop just after midnight as I spot some shapes blocking out light from the parking lot. It’s only a few minutes before the first window cracks. And then the next. And the next. Soon a handful of people spill in over the broken glass. All of their faces are covered with scarves, hunting masks, and a few Halloween masks, too.
Sheriff Bell leans down over my shoulder. “Those . . . those look like a bunch of teenage girls. You don’t recognize any of them, do you?” he asks me.
“It’s hard to say.” There are only a few of them on the actual footage, but you can tell they’re talking to a bunch of girls outside. And then something shiny catches the light from the parking lot. I hit pause and zoom in on a shorter girl in black shorts and black T-shirt. Her face is covered with a hunting mask, but beneath the mask a small necklace hangs down.
I gasp.
“What is it, Millie?” my dad asks.
I look up at him. Dread swells in my chest. “I know that necklace. I know who that is.”
Sheriff Bell coughs into his fist. “Let’s get you on the record.”
My mouth feels like a desert. I don’t want to get anyone into trouble. But someone—a lot of someones—really wrecked this place. And this isn’t just some gym. It’s Vernon and Inga’s dream and livelihood all wrapped up into one.
Over the next hour or two, I answer endless questions. It’s dizzying. I listen as officers go back and forth with Vernon and Inga about pressing charges and how it would be best to go after the one person that they can identify instead of the whole group.
“Well, if Millie is correct,” says Sheriff Bell, “I’d say the girls in the video are all on the school dance team.” He clears his throat. “Especially after the, uh, financial difficulties you detailed, Vernon.”
It appears that not only did Inga and Vernon skimp on their security system fees this month, but they also had to drop their sponsorship of the Shamrocks, making for a convincing motive.
When the police finally leave, I sit down behind the counter to make sure that nothing was taken from the front desk. I feel like I’ve been awake for days. All the adrenaline that’s kept me going for the past few hours is starting to dwindle.
My phone buzzes from inside my backpack, and I find eighteen missed calls and forty-two text messages from Amanda. I can see she’s allowed her imagination to escalate quickly as the texts move from calm to panic within thirty minutes’ time.
AMANDA: Did you oversleep?
AMANDA: Am I getting ditched right now?
AMANDA: Should I get my mom to take me to school?
AMANDA: OMG ARE YOU DEAD YOU NEVER MISS SCHOOL WHERE ARE YOU
“Darn! I totally forgot it was a school day. I was supposed to pick up Amanda. And there goes my perfect attendance record! Great. Just great.” I groan. “And I missed getting to school in time to do morning announcements. Mrs. Bradley probably thinks I’m a total flake.”
Unfortunately, my flakiness probably won’t be the worst news Mrs. Bradley gets today.
Callie
Six
I woke up today with what can only be described as a hangover. I was late to practice—as was most of the team. So that was a wash.
My stomach is all knots and my heart stammers against my chest. I’m good at doing bad things. I’ve gotten away with my share of unspeakable acts. But that’s because I’m careful. I’m a planner. Last night? Last night did not go as planned, and this town is way too small for what happened to stay secret for long.
Honestly, I feel like my life is a Lifetime movie and I just got away with murder, but justice is lurking at every corner. (Okay, I might have a thing for Lifetime movies. Thanks to my mama.) But seriously. Nothing turned out the way it was supposed to last night. It was only going to be some toilet paper on the gym sign out front and maybe a few eggs on the windows. Until Jill threw a freaking rock through the window. Jill’s that person who takes every joke too far, so I would like to say I’m surprised, but I’m not.
I’d also like to say that when I saw those windows shatter, my first instinct was to put a stop to everything or, at the very least, to run like Melissa, but adrenaline masked as rage took over. Call it mob mentality or whatever you want, but we trashed the place. I even took the rock used by Jill and went to town on the mirror stretching across one of the walls. It was sort of pretty the way it shattered slowly at first, like a crack in an icy lake, and then came crashing down all at once. We destroyed the equipment, the bathrooms, and even the boxing ring. I think the only thing left untouched was the cash register.
So, yeah, last night got way out of hand. No one wants to get in trouble, obviously, but some of those bitches would gladly rat out the rest of us if it meant saving their own asses. I trust Sam, but seeing as Melissa was nowhere to be found last night after shit got real, I’m just waiting for her to rat me out. If she really wants to secure her title as captain next year, this is probably her best shot of getting me out of the way.
I spend my office-aide hour staring into the bottomless abyss that is the attendance filing cabinet as I think through several different scenarios and how they might play out.
The phone shrieks, sending me nearly two feet in the air.
“Sweetie, can you get that?” my mom calls from the other side of the office.
I nod and pick up the phone. “Clover City High front office.”
“Uh, yes, this is Todd Michalchuk. I need to speak with someone about my daughter, Millie, being out sick today.”
“One moment please.” I press the hold button. “Mom, it’s a parent with an excused absence.”
“Oh, I better take that,” she says, pushing her red-glitter reading glasses, which perfectly match her nails and lips, into her curls.
I hand off the phone and find something to alphabetize.
“Oh, I knew something must have been really wrong when she didn’t show up for announcements this morning,” says Mama. “Well, I’m so sorry to hear that, but I hope they find whoever did it so they can pay the consequences.”
Oh God. That doesn’t sound good. Sweat gathers at the nape of my neck. But there’s no way Millie has anything to do with that gym. I doubt that girl’s ever even seen workout equipment outside of a late-night infomercial.
Slowly, I reexamine every detail from last night. We wore all black and a mix of ski masks and molded Halloween masks. I twisted my hair into a sloppy bun and donned a Richard Nixon mask Jill had in her truck, among the piles of masks she’d stolen from her brothers. None of us were even slightly recognizable.
I’ve gutted my phone for any text messages that might incr
iminate me, and I should tell everyone else to do the same. But isn’t covering up evidence somehow even worse? And don’t they have technology to recover deleted stuff from phones?
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. A chilling sense of resignation settles down my spine. What happened last night is done. I can’t change that. I can only protect my team and whatever shot we have left at State and Nationals.
“Well, that’s just awful,” says my mom as she hangs up the phone. “You know that little gym, Down for the Count? The new one behind the Chili Bowl?”
I nod but keep my eyes focused on my work. If anyone will notice something’s up with me, it’s my mom. “I think so.” The words feel like nails on a chalkboard.
“Well, that was Todd Michalchuk, and he says his brother-in-law owns the place and his daughter, Millie . . . you know Millie. That . . . bigger girl who was in the pageant last year with you. She’s such a gem. Does the announcements for me every morning. I was worried about her this morning.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Well, she was opening the gym up for her uncle and found the whole place ransacked. They’re not sure if people were looking for money or what, but the place is trashed.” She sighs. “Things like that just don’t happen here.”
I’d hoped that somehow this whole thing would exist in a bubble and never work its way back to me, but suddenly it’s here. It’s simply a matter of time before this is the only thing the entire town is talking about.
Because Mama is right. Our local police department keeps busy with things like drunk drivers and domestic disputes. As trite as it sounds, this is the type of place where you can leave your doors unlocked. In Clover City, an incident like this is front-page news.
I am front-page news.
She sits down at her computer and opens up her attendance software to mark Millie as having an excused absence. “I tell you,” she says, “little places like this can only hide from big-city crime for so long. It’s like watching a way of life become extinct like the damn dinosaurs.” After a moment, she adds, “I hope they find whoever is responsible and lock ’em up for a good long while.”
Later that day, I excuse myself from US History to take the attendance slip to the office, mainly as an excuse to eavesdrop on any possible gossip related to the incident at the gym. I can barely sit still or even process my surroundings. Words melt together until all I hear is a low, dull buzz. Mouths open, and all I hear is static.
On my way back to class, I stop in the bathroom, and as I’m walking out of the stall, the door swings open, and there’s Melissa, still in the same black clothes she wore last night. Her eyes are wide and crazed, like she’s just been roaming aimlessly for the last twelve hours.
“We need to talk,” she says, still framed by the doorway of the stall. She yanks me by the elbow and pulls me into the narrow space, locking the door. I wedge myself into one of the corners.
“You disappeared last night,” I say, my voice low.
She squats down to check for feet in the other stalls before whispering, “Well, when it went from a silly prank to an actual break-in, I figured the dance team wasn’t really worth having a criminal record.”
The minute that window broke, Melissa was gone. All anyone saw were her taillights leaving the parking lot. I notice the dark circles beneath her eyes. But I can’t find it in me to feel even a little bit sorry for her. “So what’s there to talk about then?” I ask. “Besides you totally ditching us. Sam had to squeeze Natalie and Gretchen into her backseat with three other girls, by the way, because you weren’t around to give them rides after driving them there in the first place.”
“So there weren’t enough seat belts!” she says. “What’s another broken law after breaking and entering?”
I roll my eyes, trying to maintain the cool and collected exterior I’m known for. “No one’s gonna find out it was us.” Though saying it out loud makes me realize how unsure of that I actually am. “That place didn’t even have a working camera.”
“You know I can’t get in trouble again,” she says through gritted teeth.
Ah, yes. In eighth grade, before Melissa had transformed into a pretty little rule follower with dance-team ambitions, she was caught shoplifting thousands of dollars’ worth of designer cosmetics, sunglasses, and clothing from Levine’s department store. She had to do endless hours of community service and even had a parole officer.
“How do you know for sure the camera wasn’t working?” she asks.
“There wasn’t a little blinky light,” I say. The moment the words are out of my mouth I feel silly.
She throws her hands up. “That means literally nothing.”
“You’re overreacting,” I tell her. But all I want to do is flail right back at her, because I smell a rat. “And you smell guilty . . . and like BO.”
“I saw the sheriff in the front office during my lunch period.”
My heart stops. I swallow and take a deep breath. “He could be at school for any reason.”
She looks at me pointedly. “You should’ve stopped them.”
“I’m not anyone’s mother. And I didn’t see you trying to be the voice of reason.”
“They listen to you,” she tells me.
“We’re both co–assistant captains,” I remind her. “They listen to both of us.”
“Cut the crap,” she says. “You know they don’t listen to me the way they do with you.”
My little world is on the verge of being hit by an asteroid, and still some part of me feels satisfied to hear her admit this. I hate myself for it.
I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Our faces were covered. There’s no proof. As long as everyone can keep a secret, we’re all in the clear. And you can keep a secret, can’t you, Mel?”
Later that afternoon, we have an emergency practice to make up for poor attendance this morning. Not all of them were there last night—it was mostly juniors and seniors—but word spreads fast enough that everyone might as well have been there.
We all meet on the bleachers outside the track. With so many voices talking at once, it’s nearly impossible to get anyone’s attention.
“Hey!” I shout. No one even blinks.
“Y’all!” Sam barks.
And they all freeze, turning to her. It’s a reminder, even for me, that she is still very much the team captain.
Sam motions for everyone to move it in.
All our bodies press together to create a tight, sweaty circle.
“You wanna know what makes us great?”
“Jess’s pirouettes?” says someone.
Sam smiles, and just that small act of normalcy sends a wave of ease through our huddle—myself included. “Well, that, and the fact that before we’re a team, we’re a sisterhood. And sisters have each other’s backs. No matter what.”
And that’s all she needs to say. Mentally, I file this moment away. This is how a captain does her job.
After a grueling practice, including a three-mile run, we all collapse on the grass at the center of the track ring.
“Okay, ladies,” says Sam. “I’ve lined up a car wash at one of the Clay Dooley service-repair departments for next Saturday.”
“Oh,” I blurt.
Sam and Melissa both eye me.
“Sorry,” I say. “News to me.”
Sam smiles. “Callie’s boyfriend, Bryce, was sweet enough to set that up with his dad.” She glances to me. “He told me just before lunch. I’m sure he meant to tell you first.”
I nod, feeling unease about the whole team witnessing this interaction. The admiration I’d just felt for Sam melts into suspicion. “Totally,” I say, trying to shake it off.
It’s weird that Bryce forgot to tell me, but it probably slipped his mind. I guess he just wanted to help out after seeing how stressed I was last night, so I can’t fault him.
Sam clasps her hands together. “And not to be too mushy or anything, but the end of the year is almost here, and it’s my last year as a Shamro
ck. I’m going to miss y’all so much. Once a Shamrock, always a Shamrock, right?”
The whole team whoops and cheers.
I lean over to Melissa. “And Shamrocks don’t snitch.”
After practice, Bryce drives me home. I haven’t told him about last night. It’s not that I don’t trust him, but I’m playing it safe for right now.
He takes the long way home through downtown Clover City. A few of the shops are boarded up, and while much of downtown maintains its mom-and-pop charm, a few places have been replaced with chain stores and restaurants.
I hold my hand out the window, letting my fingers drag through the warm breeze, and this is the first moment of real calm I have all day. But it’s gone faster than I can count. “Hey,” I say, “so you set up a car wash for the dance team and forgot to tell me?”
He grins. “Just trying to do my part to get my girl to Nationals.”
“Well, you couldn’t tell your girl about it instead of letting her find out in front of the whole team?”
He shakes his head. “You’re making this into a thing. I just texted Sam because I knew she would be the one you’d have to run everything by anyway.”
I start to argue, but instead I take a deep breath. I’m on edge today. That’s all.
In the alley behind my house where he always drops me off, we share a long kiss that is quickly turning into more when my stepdad knocks on the passenger window.
The two of us knock heads as we disentangle.
Keith opens the door, ducking down to speak to Bryce as I gather my backpack and purse.
“I’d invite you in,” says Keith, “but tonight is family dinner.”
Bryce nods. “Understood, sir.”
I squint my eyes at Bryce for a minute, and I find myself almost making a comment about how he never makes any effort to call my real dad sir. Both Keith and my dad work blue-collar jobs—the kind of things Bryce will never find himself doing. The only difference between them is that one of them is white and the other isn’t. But I shake it off and decide it’s just more paranoia. Bryce isn’t racist.