The Good Girls

by Claire Eliza Bartlett

  The video, which has been removed, depicted a girl fitting Emma’s description being pushed into the water over the bridge at Anna’s Run. Anna’s Run is a popular teen hangout spot, but the water narrows dangerously upstream, cutting through the deep channel just under the bridge and creating a powerful undertow. The police believe that the push was deliberate, and made by someone familiar with the danger of the area.

  No details regarding the suspect have been released.

  13

  Study Buddies

  Gwen should be telling Heather Halifax to get back to work. It’s her job as a tutor, after all. But it’s too late to focus properly. She sneaks a look at her phone every few seconds as Heather finishes flicking through the Lorne Examiner Online. “So they let him off,” she says at last. “Senator Hunterton,” she clarifies when Gwen raises her eyebrows. “Maybe I can write my APCoGo final paper on abuses of power and gender imbalance.”

  “You’d probably get an A,” Gwen says. “But imagine presenting to the class.”

  “But, uh, wasn’t Lily Fransen really hot at the time?” Heather parodies in her patent stupid-boy voice. She tucks a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. Heather’s smart enough not to need tutoring; in her own words, she’s just lazy. And it’s easy credit for Gwen, who was angling to be more community-oriented than Emma. Plus she likes Heather. Heather doesn’t bring up Lizzy all the time, and she’s pretty easygoing where everyone but Claude Vanderly is concerned.

  Around them, the library is quiet. Most everyone has gone home by now. A group of girls piles on four beanbags, sleeping or doing algebra homework or arguing quietly. A couple of guys are having a heart-to-heart in the corner.

  “Today’s weird.” Heather stretches. “Let’s just cancel it and go home.” But she looks like she’s going out later—her hair falls in perfect ringlets and she spent the first half of tutoring reapplying her makeup while answering Gwen’s pop quiz. She wears a soft burgundy V-neck sweater that dips to show her cleavage. “I’ll buy you an iced coffee to put on your shoulder.” She rolls her eyes, as though to reiterate how stupid she thinks Gwen is for her competition in the gym.

  “No thanks.” Heather’s nice and everything, but being around her makes Gwen uncomfortable. Heather’s always offering to buy her stuff. She has so much money she doesn’t care. Instead of trading in her old iPhone for credit on the new, she gave it to Gwen so that Gwen could have a phone. It doesn’t have a SIM card, but at least it has an internet connection. She used to offer to drive them to Starbucks during study hour, too. Gwen knows Heather would buy her whatever eight-dollar drink and muffin she wanted. She doesn’t hate Heather for it, but she sort of resents her. Gwen’s never imagined dropping eight bucks on someone else, for no reason at all.

  Mr. Pendler leans on the table. “How we doing, humans?”

  Heather smiles at him. “Fine.” She leans forward a little, and his eyes momentarily follow the neckline of her sweater before snapping back to her face.

  “Getting in good study time?”

  “It’s great, thanks.” Gwen busies herself with flipping through notes.

  “We’re closing in fifteen minutes. Time to wrap up.” He makes little finger guns, then heads for the pile of girls.

  Heather watches him leave. “I wish he were ten years younger,” she says.

  “Really?” Gwen mutters.

  “Yeah. I’m not going to go for, like, a thirty-five-year-old.”

  “Maybe we should get back to APCoGo and, you know, abuses of power,” Gwen says.

  Heather flaps her hand. “It’s not the same. Women can have relationships with older men.” She picks up her phone, frowning at something on the screen.

  “For a certain value of older and a certain value of women,” Gwen replies under her breath.

  Heather’s not listening. “Oh, shit,” she says, mouth dropping open. “Sweet Jesus. Claude Vanderly’s been arrested.”

  She says it loudly and gleefully enough for the rest of the library to hear. For a moment, silence reigns. Then chairs scrape back as students rush to crowd around her phone. Gwen leans in to read upside down.

  “No way,” Heather breathes as she scrolls.

  “It’s fake,” says Ben Nakayama.

  “I agree. What is this site?” says Samantha Johnson. She scribbles in her notebook; no doubt she’s starting an op-ed for the JLH Inquirer. “And who the hell is Adams West?” Her question is met with general dissent from the students as they all deny knowledge or involvement.

  “Okay, humans, break it up.” Mr. Pendler and his finger guns are back, herding students away from Heather’s phone. “This is study time, not gossip time. Miss Halifax, do I need to confiscate that?”

  “No,” Heather says, but he pulls the phone from her hands. Mr. Pendler frowns as he scans the blog, and Gwen’s heart drops through her stomach.

  The nightmare has started, and it’s only going to get worse.

  Jefferson-Lorne Police Officially Can’t Detective for Shit

  By now you’ve heard: Police arrested a suspect tonight in connection with the death of Emma Baines, a senior at Jefferson-Lorne High School.

  Slow. Clap.

  Not only that, but their target is literally the first person you’d suspect: Claude Vanderly.

  If that girl’s as good at murder as she is at sarcasm and blow jobs—according to the rumors, that is—we should all be pretty fucking afraid.

  No doubt the police think their work is done, but I’m not convinced. The resident delinquent makes an easy scapegoat, but it took the JLPD this long to confirm that the girl in the viral video was indeed Emma. Pray tell, what other missing blondes were last seen at Anna’s Run in the previous twenty-four hours?

  Congrats again on your incredible sleuthing, JLPD.

  I don’t just want to know that it was Vanderly who did it (if she did). I want to know why. The quiet ones always have secrets, so what was Emma’s? The real key to this case is who is that secret going to bring down? And does anyone else know it?

  If you do, I recommend picking up a change-of-address form on the way home.

  Because I’m going to find that secret. And I’m going to expose the truth, the whole truth, and whatever I find along the way.

  Sincerely yours,

  Adams West

  14

  The Unfaithful

  The snow falls, and gray wipes the world clean. Even when night descends, it can’t seem to penetrate the low-hanging clouds that have blocked the mountains around Lorne from view. The town exists alone in space, separate from reality.

  The gym doors at the back of the main building burst open, and the cheer squad comes out. They shiver and squeal together at the cold, pulling hoodies over their heads, hunching their shoulders to their ears. Breaths puff like smoke.

  They move with care around each other, each conscious of the girl missing from their orbit. When they exchange hugs at the edge of the parking lot, they linger as though they’re not sure they can let go.

  Avery wraps her arms around Tanya. “I know it was a long practice today,” she says. “But we had so much to work through.” Both the routine and Emma. They’d clustered around Lyla’s phone, reading and rereading. “We’re going to kill it on Saturday.”

  Shay comes up and puts a hand on Tanya’s shoulder. “My mom’ll give you a ride home. You can’t wait for the bus in this.”

  “Thanks.” Tanya and Shay wave to the rest as Shay’s mom pulls into the pickup area.

  “Drive safe,” Avery says as Natalie unlocks her new VW Bug.

  “Of course.” Natalie slips in and slams the door.

  And then it’s just Lyla and Avery, headed for Avery’s car. “Starbucks?” Lyla says hopefully.

  “Dad said I have to be home in fifteen minutes.” Which is true but also a convenient excuse for avoiding two-thousand-calorie drinks. Avery runs a hand over her stomach.

  Lyla shrugs. “All right. Feel good about the routine?”

 
“This one’ll be hard. But we’ll get through it,” Avery says. They have to.

  “Yeah. As long as no one keeps getting called in for interviews.” Lyla unpins her dark hair, massaging her scalp as she tucks bobby pins through a belt loop. She casts a sidelong glance at Avery, but Avery’s intently stepping around piles of slush, careful not to ruin her ballet flats. “I mean, they’ve already done you twice.”

  Avery rubs the back of her neck. “I offered to help, remember?”

  “Of course.” But Lyla sounds relieved. “Are you giving them good stuff? Stuff they can use? Stuff that can help Emma?”

  “Yeah.” Avery looks up, staring at the slate sky, at the snow that falls in clumps. The perfect weather for careening over the side of the ravine, or crashing into the mountain. Sliding off bridges and into rivers. She taps her foot, as if pressing on an imaginary accelerator.

  “Awesome. They might be getting somewhere because of you. My dad texted me during practice to say they already had a suspect in custody.”

  Avery’s head whips around. “So it’s true? Is it—?” She doesn’t say Claude.

  “He didn’t tell me. But according to Adams West . . .”

  “Yeah.” Avery unlocks her Prius. Yesterday, Adams West didn’t exist. Now he’s promising to burn the world down. “Murder’s a little off the deep end, though. Even for her.”

  Lyla shrugs. “I don’t know. Claude likes to . . . try new things.”

  “Lyla,” Avery gasps.

  “Calm down, Aves.” Lyla laughs. When she laughs in this snow, she looks like a fairy tale, a princess among peasants. “Even West is skeptical, though I’d have to be an idiot to put all my trust in some random blogger. Even if he does probably go to this school.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Knowledge of the student body and general disdain for Lorne.” Lyla tilts her chin up to catch snow on her eyelashes. “He’s a Lorner, through and through.”

  “Or maybe he’s a forty-year-old in Denver who makes fake blogs out of big news stories,” Avery says.

  “No, he’s from here. And he’s definitely our age. I’m betting he’s hot.” Lyla giggles and leans over the hood of the car. “It’s something in the way he writes.”

  Avery shakes her head as they slip into the Prius. “You’re too obsessed with hot guys, Lyla.”

  “Of course you’d think that. You’ve got a hot guy, and I’m still waiting on mine. The most action I get is covering for you.” Lyla bites her lip. “So did your parents ever ask you about it?”

  “About Adams West?” Avery’s busy slipping off her wet shoes and doesn’t look at Lyla.

  “No, Aves. About where you were last night.”

  “Oh.” She swallows again and tosses the ballet flats behind her seat. “I said I was at your place. That’s still cool, right?”

  “Of course. You know I have your back. We girls gotta stick together.” Lyla leans over to knock Avery with her shoulder and gives her a conspiratorial smile. “My parents were asleep at eleven, so if anyone asks, you came over around twelve, and you left early this morning because you forgot something at home.”

  “Thanks, Lyla.” Avery finally smiles, a soft and real smile. “That means a lot.”

  “I’m happy to help. As long as you give me details. Which you’ve been really bad at so far.”

  Avery starts up the Prius. “I know. I just . . . don’t know how to talk about it. My parents would kill me if they thought Michael and I are—um. You know. And they really like him. They say he’s such a good boy.” The perfect boy to marry right out of high school and start a Jefferson-Lorne family with.

  “Aves, I’m happy to keep your relationship-saving secret sex life a secret, as long as you agree to spill some of that secret.”

  “Relationship-saving?”

  “Don’t play innocent.” Lyla arches a brow. “Michael was convinced you and Emma were . . .” She tilts her head as she leans in to adjust the heat. “He was practically crawling up my ass, trying to get me to admit to covering for you.” She puts her hand on Avery’s arm. “Don’t feel guilty about last night.”

  “I don’t,” Avery says, but her eyes are on Lyla’s hand, not her face.

  “You needed to make time for him. You almost had me convinced that you were cheating with Emma.” She squeezes. “I’m gonna dump my stuff in the trunk—hang on.”

  “No! I mean, here, I’ve got it.”

  Avery grabs Lyla’s bag and hops out, tiptoeing over to the trunk. She pops it open and tosses a black hoodie over a pair of too-large hiking boots, still wet and crusting with mud.

  “Didn’t you wear that yesterday?” Lyla says over her shoulder.

  Avery spins as if seeing a ghost.

  “No.” The lie comes out easy, forceful, with no room for error. “That’s an old lacrosse hoodie. Sorry. It’s such a mess back here. I didn’t want to get your stuff filthy.”

  Lyla stares for a moment at the misshapen bundle only partly hidden beneath the sweatshirt. The rubber toe of one boot poking out. The mud, dense and dark, like the kind that coats the banks of the river. “Pine Nation doesn’t make boots in women’s sizes.”

  “They’re Dad’s. I sort of, um. Borrowed them.” Avery twitches the muddy hoodie over the edge of the boot.

  Lyla puts one hand on the top of the trunk, fixing Avery with her stare. “Why? What were you and Michael doing last night?”

  Avery swallows. “He wanted to do it . . . somewhere different.”

  Lyla snorts. “Shut up. You guys did it outside?”

  “Shh,” Avery pleads, looking around the deserted parking lot.

  Lyla takes her hand off the trunk. “I need details. Five minutes ago.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you everything.” Avery’s face is beet red. She slams the trunk closed. “Let’s just get into the car first. It’s freezing out here.”

  As they drive away she spins a story. Of hands, and lips. Of whispered giggles and hitched sighs. Of stolen, forbidden time.

  Not all of it is a lie.

  Diary Entry

  Emma Baines—October 4, 2017

  Lizzy’s diary is quite enlightening. That secret-boyfriend thing? Suspicions confirmed. And not just that, he’s an older guy. Like, statutory-rape older. That’s why she kept it secret.

  The boyfriend seems to coincide with . . . the other stuff. The Jack and pills stuff. And call me crazy (everyone else does, and if my diary calls me crazy I’m definitely out of my mind), but I wonder if the two things are related. Older guy, who gets Lizzy into some bad habits—he could go to jail not only for dating an underage girl, but for getting her booze and drugs. What if she wanted to break up with him? What if he wanted to break up with her but was afraid she’d go to the cops in revenge? In her last few months she wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. What if she threatened him and he panicked?

  What if he was a cop, and he could cover up the evidence?

  All I know is that Lizzy’s boyfriend wasn’t a high school student. And since the biggest exodus is right after high school, it’s feasible that he’s still in Lorne. If he is, and he doesn’t want the truth of their relationship getting out . . . I need a name and evidence before I go to the police. And I know where I can find one. Lizzy never put his identification down on paper, but she did write this: I sent THE PHOTOS today. It’s all detailed on No. 2. Still fanning myself.

  I think No. 2 is a secret account. If I find that account, maybe I can find him.

  I need to tread carefully, but I also need to keep going. That’s what journalists do. That’s what friends do.

  15

  The Fence

  CLINE: The date is Thursday, December 6, 2018. Nine thirty-three p.m. Third interview with Claude Vanderly. Presiding officers Muñez and Cline.

  Miss Vanderly?

  . . . Miss Vanderly?

  CLAUDE: I can hear you.

  CLINE: What was your relationship with Emma Baines?

  Miss Vanderly, did you
push Emma Baines into Anna’s Run?

  CLAUDE: I did not.

  CLINE: Miss Vanderly, did Emma have something on you? Maybe she had evidence linking you to a supplier of these?

  CLAUDE: I don’t know anything about those pills.

  CLINE: You don’t know about the pills that we dumped out of your bag?

  CLAUDE: Nothing.

  CLINE: You’re eighteen, which means you can be legally tried as an adult. Do you realize what will happen if we bring charges against you? Charges of distributing medication without a prescription? Charges of murder?

  Claude, I know you’re a good girl at heart.

  CLAUDE: And here’s me thinking the murder charges were going to be the biggest lie you told tonight.

  CLINE: Sometimes, people get caught up in things and don’t know how to get out of it. Maybe you did someone a favor once, and now you’re blackmailed into doing it. Is that how you started selling pills? We see this story a lot. It doesn’t have to be as shameful as you think. And if you work with us, maybe we can get you leniency for cooperation.

  CLAUDE: I can’t help you.

  CLINE: The pills came out of your bag. The phone, Emma’s phone, came out of your bag. Where did you get them from?

  Tell us, Claude. Where did they come from? While we can still make a deal with you.

  CLAUDE: I . . . I got them from her locker, all right?

  CLINE: Which locker?

  CLAUDE: Her locker at school. The main one. With all the flowers and shit around it. That’s where I got the pills and the phone.

  CLINE: And why were you there? At the locker?

  Come on, Claude. Help us help you. Because if you don’t, you’re going to go up before a judge, and he’s going to know about all of it. That you’ve been in trouble before. That you’ve been on the wrong side of the law. That you have a problematic history.

  Do you want that, Claude?

  CLAUDE: No.

  CLINE: Tell us why you took the phone.