by Askew, Kim
The trip home was as silent and unsociable as the first leg of the journey had been. The only difference was that Beth’s left hand stayed gripped on Craig’s thigh throughout the drive and she ignored me completely until she got out to release me from the backseat. I couldn’t help but think about the baby I imagined was growing inside her. Having a child at the age of eighteen would change her life forever, not to mention throw a giant wrench into her grand plans to be Prom Queen. Beth was manipulative as hell, but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant on purpose if it meant forfeiting the crown. A weary sensation of relief washed over me when Craig finally pulled up to my house. Beth opened her door, and as I squeezed past her, she grabbed hold of my elbow, forcefully, and asked, “Hey, who tagged you?”
“What?” I asked. In the moonlight, her pristine white cheerleading jacket glowed ghost-like. Not wanting to lock eyes with hers, mine landed instead on a spot on her shoulder. A tiny red dot, a mere pinprick-sized blemish was visible on the white leather. Could it have been blood?
“Who. Tagged. You.” Beth said, enunciating slowly. Why had she been so insistent?
“Um, some freshman.” I wriggled free of her grasp. “They all look alike, don’t they?” Flashing a nervous smile, I waved in the direction of the Jeep and headed for my front door, practically at a run.
Mrs. Kimball’s tremulous voice finally broke my reverie.
“Class, please pass your quizzes to the front of the room.”
I’d been too immersed in my own thoughts to realize that, possibly trying to keep some semblance of normalcy in the classroom, our physics teacher had passed out her usual Monday morning pop quiz. Lost in thought, I had missed the whole thing. That was when Leonard, who sat to my right, reached over and placed on my desk a sheet of paper with the answers circled in pencil and my name printed in block letters at the top. He’d obviously taken the quiz for me. I turned to thank him, but he looked the other way as if in embarrassment — for once not using the opportunity to assail me with his badly formulated compliments. I was grateful.
The rest of the day was obviously shot to hell as students gathered in little clusters, comforting each other in shock and disbelief. Others walked zombie-like from class to class with a perpetually pallid look on their faces. A collection of bouquets and stuffed animals was starting to amass outside the hockey rink, and Duncan’s locker was plastered with taped-up notes of condolence. On some level, everyone seemed affected by what had happened, from the thespians to the stoners. And although a few people were milking the drama — sporting black armbands made of construction paper seemed a bit gratuitous, after all — the general outpouring of emotion was a testament to Duncan’s equal-opportunity friendliness. In truth, he’d been the only one of Craig’s friends who didn’t make me feel like a complete waste of space when I was in his company.
Grief counselors bogarted several of the classrooms on the first floor, arranging the desks in circles, presumably for group therapy sessions. Must be a depressing job, I mused. What somber scenarios did they encounter during the other 364 days a year? A local news network anchor and her camerawoman sat whispering to one another in two of the plastic chairs lined up outside the principal’s office.
The last thing I wanted to do was talk about my feelings, so after bailing on fourth period I headed for the darkroom where I knew I could be alone. No teachers would be worried about truants today. I walked the hallway toward the art annex and when I was about to round the corner of a bank of lockers, two voices — ones I had recently become all too familiar with — stopped me in my tracks.
“I just can’t deal with the … the circus right now.” Craig must have been standing just around the corner. His voice was low, a loud whisper. “Half of them didn’t even know him. Not really.”
“Damn it, Craig, we’ve got bigger issues right now.” Beth’s response was shockingly abrupt. “They’re going to be questioning everybody who was at the party.”
“I still can’t believe he fell! I mean, the look on his face…. It still feels like some bad dream I’m going to wake up from. We should just tell the truth. I mean, I wanted to call the cops that night!”
“No one could have known the ice was that thin! It wasn’t our fault.”
“I punched him!”
“You were provoked, damn it!”
“Those things he said about you. What he did to you. I just couldn’t stand there and let the guy get away with it.”
“Forget all that — ”
“How can I, Beth? I’m going to jail for this!”
“But you were only protecting me, Craig — ”
“When he grabbed for you … I almost thought he was going to pull you in with him. I … dammit, I actually thought for a second you’d be able to pull him out,” he said, punctuating his words with a groan.
“Of course I tried, but he caught me off balance,” she said. “There was nothing I could do — nothing either of us could do. But the only thing that’s important now is that we get our stories straight. If anyone asks, we’ll say we headed upriver toward the turnpike. We weren’t there. Nobody was there.”
“They say he was alive for hours out there, you know….”
“Craig, we both saw him go in the freezing water. He was probably dead in under a minute.”
“But Chief Towers said he died of exposure. His body was found on land,” he said angrily. “What if he wasn’t dead? What if we could have done something to save him?” There was a pause before Beth finally responded.
“But you can’t save Duncan now. You can only hurt yourself.”
As I listened with my eyes as wide as saucers I was practically in a state of shock. So it was true. Beth wasn’t pregnant. They’d been freaking out that night because they both had something to do with Duncan’s death! Instinct told me to turn on my heels and get out of there as fast as possible. My Converse All-Stars barely made a sound as I started to back away, but just then, Craig rounded the corner. Our eyes locked, and I’m quite certain he could detect the look of sheer horror on my face.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He glared at me.
“Craig, I’m sorry about Duncan. If you need someone to talk to….” It was the only thing I could think to say without betraying everything I’d just overheard. I was standing far enough down the hall at this point that I hoped he didn’t suspect I’d been eavesdropping. Craig paused and gazed at me intently.
“You should stay away from me, Skye,” he said, before continuing down the hall. My knees felt shaky and I dropped my messenger bag to the floor, letting my shoulders and head sink along with it.
CHAPTER NINE
Present Fears Are Less Than Horrible Imaginings
BY WEDNESDAY NIGHT all of the local media outlets were reporting ad nauseum the “official” details of Duncan’s death. It was even briefly mentioned on CNN during a special report on the rise of alcohol consumption among teens. Apparently, although it hadn’t been cited by the police, the prevailing wisdom was that Duncan must have downed one too many before stumbling out into the woods to his death.
Although I carefully avoided watching television or reading the paper during that time, it was pretty pointless, because that’s all anyone seemed inclined to talk about, including my parents. They wanted to know how much I had to drink that night, how many drinks I thought were “too many,” and all sorts of similarly embarrassing and frankly useless questions. I thought about telling them everything, but somehow the words just wouldn’t come out. Besides, communication in my family wasn’t a strong suit these days. In any case, it was obvious that my mom and dad sensed I was on edge. I couldn’t blame them for speculating, but I wasn’t about to give them the real reason for my anxiety: that I might very well be an accomplice to murder.
On Friday morning, news crews circled the gym like vultures, awaiting the memorial service scheduled for three o’clock that afternoon. Kaya and I were crouched inside the senior visual display window in the re
ception area outside Principal Schaeffer’s office hanging the Yup’ik masks when Tiffany and her parents were ushered in by Dottie Hen, Schaeffer’s plump and frazzled secretary.
“I’m afraid Principal Schaeffer isn’t here at the moment,” she explained breathlessly, “but he said that you should wait in his office.”
“That’s fine; we don’t need to see him.” Chief Towers had his hand on Tiffany’s shoulder. “We just wanted to make sure that Tiffany wasn’t penalized for her absences this week.”
“No, certainly not,” said Miss Hen. “We all know what a terrible ordeal this must be for your daughter….”
I stole a glance at Tiffany and the poor girl did look truly miserable. Her face was pallid except for two bright spots on either cheek, and her brown eyes were red and puffy. Between that and the unusually somber black dress she was wearing, she definitely looked like a woman in mourning. All she needed was a veil to complete the picture. Were the widow’s weeds really necessary? They’d only been an item for two weeks, max.
“Miss Kingston, hon?” Miss Hen interrupted my train of thought. Damn, had I been thinking aloud? But then she continued, “Why don’t you walk Tiffany to her class?”
As she and I walked along the hallway, the echo of Tiffany’s heels clattering against the linoleum was the only sound. Just as it was starting to feel really awkward, she broke the silence.
“Did you know Duncan?” she asked softly.
“Only superficially. We sort of moved in different circles.”
“But you were there, right? I saw you with Beth and Craig.”
I nodded, wondering where this was going.
“You know, he wasn’t as drunk as everyone is saying,” she said, pushing her thick auburn hair out of her eyes and looking me in the face as if to see my reaction. I didn’t really know what to say, but I stopped walking and waited for her to finish.
“He wasn’t,” she said again. “And he wasn’t cheating on me. I know what everyone thinks, but he wouldn’t do that. Somebody has to know what really happened. There’s more to this. There’s got to be.”
“Okay,” I said, not sure how to respond.
“He was always honest. That’s the one thing you could count on with Duncan.” The word “honest” hung in the air as if it were Duncan himself staring me down, accusing me, haunting me. “He even told me when Beth made a pass at him.”
“You think Beth would really do that?” I said, thinking, not for the first time since that night, that maybe Kristy had been telling the truth after all.
“Yeah, you’re not surprised are you?” she said with a withering look. Maybe she was smarter than I’d given her credit for.
“Not exactly.”
“Did she tell you about it?”
“No, but it’s not like Beth and I are friends or anything … the opposite, actually.” She started walking down the hall again and I followed.
“Even if you were, I doubt it would be something she’d want to advertise….” She trailed off, but I sensed an unspoken question behind her words.
“Well, I’m really sorry about Duncan,” I said lamely as we reached room 113, freshmen English. I wished I could tell her what I knew, but it was hazy, uncertain, and liable to drag me down just as Duncan had been pulled down into the icy current. My self-protective instincts kicked-in, and I walked away from the poor girl feeling as though I had betrayed her confidence. I proceeded back down the hallway feeling more alone than ever and with absolutely no one I could confide in. Not a soul.
When I got back to the office, Kaya and Tess were standing outside the display window whispering conspiratorially.
“Skye,” Kaya said, waving me over.
“What’s up?” I said, still distracted by my conversation with Tiffany.
“Mr. Tether just dropped this off for Schaeffer,” she said, showing me the cell phone she’d been hiding behind her back.
“So?” I was in no mood for idle conversation.
“We overheard him tell Dottie that he confiscated it from your boyfriend,” Tess added, as if that explained everything.
“From who?” (Though I knew exactly whom she meant.)
“Apparently your not-so-starving wannabe artist was penalized for unlawful texting during history,” confirmed Kaya.
“What are you doing with it?”
“Hen left it on the counter in plain sight.” Kaya giggled. “We couldn’t resist snagging it.”
“We thought you’d want to return it to him,” Tess said proudly, handing me the phone.
“Um, right,” I said, “good idea.” I didn’t want to seem totally goody-goody, and it would give me an excuse to talk to Craig, who’d been studiously avoiding me. Now I just had to figure out how to give it to him — a tricky proposition considering we weren’t speaking.
• • •
I planned to ambush Craig as he headed from class to the gym for the memorial service. If he saw me coming, he would be sure to head in the other direction, so I’d have to plot our rendezvous with extreme caution. At the very least, I was hoping it would lead to some clarification on the situation. All through next period, I puzzled over what to say and composed endless imaginary scenarios for how things might play out. Unable to concentrate, I finally raised my hand and asked to be excused to use the restroom. When I walked in, Kristy and her friend Emily — a petite junior with dark hair, an upturned nose, and a perpetual pout — were already in the bathroom. They both wore their cheerleading uniforms and sported black armbands. Their makeup bags and beauty paraphernalia were perched precariously on the back of the sink and windowsill. Kristy was pulling Emily’s hair into a tight ponytail on the back of her head.
“Skye, long time no see,” Kristy muttered through the bobby pins in her mouth.
“Hey,” I replied, watching her as she pulled the pins out and thrust them in her makeup bag. Just what I needed right now; a conversation with Kristy. I assumed from her tone she and Beth had probably made up already and that I was no longer her new favorite person.
“I see you made it home from the party okay.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you were riding with Beth. I thought she might have chucked you out the car door at a convenient overpass, or at the very least tried to claw your eyes out.” Okay. Clearly they were still frenemies.
“Any word from Duff?” I asked nonchalantly, changing the subject.
“He texted this morning,” she said. “His parents called and told him about Duncan, and he’s devastated that he can’t be here right now.”
“They were pretty good friends, right?”
“The best,” she said. “Since kindergarten. Well, until Craig showed up, anyway. After Duff left, Craig stepped in and became Batman’s new Robin.”
I pulled out my comb and began running it through my hair, at the same time berating myself for primping. First of all, like Craig would even notice, and secondly, I had never been one to spend hours in front of the mirror trying to be the fairest of them all. It just wasn’t my style.
“We’re doing a dance routine in memory of Duncan at the memorial service,” Emily said in a confiding tone.
“That’s nice, I guess,” I said, thinking it was actually kind of ridiculous, but whatever.
Startled, I noticed that Kristy was looking at me the way a tagger might eye a pristine brick wall. “You know,” she paused and placed her forefinger against the side of her mouth, “you actually have a really decent complexion. You would look seriously fab with a little blush and some lipstick.”
“And mascara. She could really use some mascara,” said Emily.
“No way.” I was emphatic. “You are not going to give me a makeover right now.” In fact, the only time I’d ever even worn lipstick was for the party. Of course, Craig did almost kiss me that night. Unless I’d imagined the whole thing.
“No, crazy girl! We don’t even begin to have time for that, but how about some lip gloss?” she said.
�
�Well….” I couldn’t believe I was actually considering being one of Kristy’s Barbie dolls. Yet I was so preoccupied that I found myself nodding an absentminded assent. Oh well, maybe a few more minutes with her would give me some more information about what had happened at her family’s hunting shack.
“Emily, move it!” Kristy said, motioning her away.
“Fine then, I’m outta here,” Emily said as she flounced off, arms folded and her ponytail swinging angrily.
I dropped my messenger bag to the floor as Kristy pulled me over. She searched through her makeup bags carefully, lips pursed in thought, rejecting first one tube, then another.
“Let’s try this one,” she said finally, twisting open a tube of gloss. “Hold still.”
“Okay,” I said, trying not to move my lips as I perched in Emily’s former spot on the edge of the porcelain sink.
“You know,” Kristy said in a hushed tone, “Craig ought to look out.”
“Huh?” I tried to keep still but gazed at her questioningly.
“Well, Duff’s gone — practically banished — and now Duncan … dead.” She pumped the lip-gloss wand back in its tube, giving me a chance to speak up.
“Yeah, so. What does that have to do with Craig?” I felt a cold dread travel up my spine.
“They have something in common. Beth’s thrown herself at them all,” she said with a shrug. “It’s like a curse or something.”
Now I was thoroughly confused. I thought back to what Tiffany had told me about Beth making a play for Duncan, and now Kristy was acting as if Duff was among her romantic targets, as well. None of this jibed with how possessive Beth was of Craig.
“You can’t really think….”
“I’m just saying,” said Kristy, stepping back to admire her work. “It’s too bad, that’s all. And, of course, it gets Beth a little closer to what she wants.” I hopped off the sink and turned to look at myself in the mirror, where our eyes met. “Convenient for her that Duff and Duncan are both out of the way. Now no one stands between her and Craig becoming Prom King and Queen.” Then she smiled airily. “Aren’t you going to get that?” she said.