Mignon holds up both hands. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell y’all! Guess who got her placement letter today? Looks like I’m heading to Costa Rica!”
Mignon is taking a gap year before college through some program that places you in a Latin American country where you are totally immersed in the language and culture of the area while also doing community service projects.
Alexis throws a chip at her. “I can’t believe you’re moving so far away,” she says.
“I’ll only be gone a year—it’s not like it’s forever,” Mignon says. “We’ll all be back here for summer break next year.”
This seems to catch Reagan’s attention, and she leans forward to look across me to Mignon. “You’re going to meet some ridiculously gorgeous guy, fall in love, and we’ll never see you again. You know I’m right.”
Mignon smirks at Reagan. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
We all laugh, except Alexis.
And Reagan is right; Mignon has always had a wanderer’s soul, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she just keeps going. Reagan and I will hopefully be relocating to New York next fall. We both applied to the New School, and there’s nothing I want more than that acceptance letter. Reagan’s parents started a college fund for her when she was little, so her tuition is covered, but I’ve been saving every penny since I started working for this and applied for scholarships and tuition assistance. So now we’re just waiting to hear if we got accepted. Alexis got early acceptance to Northwestern, where she wants to major in journalism. But we all promised to meet back here next summer.
Alexis says, “See! This is how it starts! We’ll never be together like this again.”
“Y’all are going off to college. Not dying. Quit being so dramatic,” Josh says, laughing. Reagan nudges him but laughs too.
Mignon jumps up and grabs my and Alexis’s hands. “Let’s go dance and leave these lovebirds alone.”
Both Reagan and Josh look embarrassed, but they both stay at the fire. It shouldn’t be long before Josh is completely out of the friend zone.
When we finally leave the party, it’s close to midnight and we’re all starving. I forfeit my usual spot so Josh can sit in the front seat next to Reagan. Mark ditched him at the party without a ride home. I didn’t tell anyone he was the one in the mask. In the backseat, I fight for every possible inch of space with Alexis and Mignon and Josh’s other friend, Parson. Reagan pulls into the drive-through at Whataburger and it seems like we aren’t the only ones wanting a midnight snack. The line of cars is almost to the road.
“Do we want to go in?” Reagan asks.
We all pivot and look inside. There’s a crowd at the counter, and it seems every seat in the dining area is already taken. This is why it sucks to only have one fast-food restaurant open this late.
“Drive-through will be faster. And since y’all are all staying at my house, we can eat when we get there,” Mignon says.
“Awww, thanks for the invite. Can I borrow some PJs?” Parson says.
“I’m only staying if we can have a pillow fight,” Josh adds.
Reagan playfully hits him on the arm and her cheeks flush.
Parson shifts around, leaning over Alexis to roll down the window. “Mark Roberts, you suck!” he yells out the window.
We all look out of the side window and see Mark in the parking lot. He’s turned in our direction, trying to figure out where that shout came from.
“Thanks for ditching us!” Josh shouts from the front seat.
Mark is standing next to the driver’s-side door of a black Tahoe. Logan McCullar’s black Tahoe.
Mark laughs and flips us off, then turns back to the car. Josh rolls up the window, shaking his head. “What an ass.”
“Who’s he talking to?” Mignon asks.
“No telling,” Parson says.
The others forget Mark as fast as they saw him, now trying to decide what they’re going to order, but I keep watching him out of the window.
Why is Mark talking to Logan? Does Logan know he’s the one who was dressed up like Grant at the game?
“Earth to Kate!” Reagan says, startling me. “What do you want to eat?”
“Chocolate milk shake. And fries,” I say, still staring at the Tahoe.
“Ooh! That sounds good. I want that too,” Alexis adds.
A fistful of cash appears out of the driver’s window and Mark takes it, quickly stuffing it in his pocket, then moves away to his car. I watch both vehicles until they pull away from the lot. I never get a good look inside Logan’s car, but I know it’s his.
Mark said someone bet him to dress up like Grant. Was it Logan?
Images of the person dressed up like dead Grant Perkins are all over social media.
Some posts say it was the funniest thing they had ever seen, while others called it disgusting and cruel.
The funny thing about this is Grant would have loved it.
He lived for a good prank. The nastier, the more people affected, the better.
The media has made him out to be a saint. He is now the poor boy whose life was cut short, gunned down by a friend.
Would they change their tune if they knew what he was really like?
It was easy to find someone to dress up like Grant. Hell, that guy was busting a nut to pull a stunt like that.
The others are pissed.
They want revenge.
I go along with them, but they don’t understand. What happened tonight needed to happen.
We needed something to bind us together. We are all outraged over someone mocking Grant. Making him into a joke online. Making us into a joke.
We’re moving back in the right direction. We are finding our way home.
The girl surprised me, though. I didn’t expect that. Not at all. It won’t hurt to keep an eye on her. The last thing we need is someone poking their nose in where it doesn’t belong.
TRANSCRIPT OF THE OCTOBER 8 INTERVIEW AT ST. BARTHOLOMEW HIGH SCHOOL OF REBECCA MEYERS BY DETECTIVE PIERCE, WITH BODY LANGUAGE COMMENTARY BY KATE MARINO
DET. PIERCE: Rebecca, looks like from some posts on your Twitter account, you were at River Point last Saturday night. Is that right?
REBECCA: Yes, sir. I was there.
KATE: She looks really sad.
DET. PIERCE: Want to tell me what was going on out there that night?
KATE: She shrugs. Looks a little confused.
REBECCA: Just the same ol’ party that happens almost every weekend there.
DET. PIERCE: We’ve had some reports that there were some fights, lots of drinking and drugs. Was that normal?
KATE: She’s chewing on her bottom lip.
REBECCA: It was. Well, a year or so ago that wouldn’t have been normal, but it’s normal now. It didn’t used to be like that out there. They didn’t used to be like that.
DET. PIERCE: What did they used to be like?
KATE: She sighs and then smiles. She still looks a little sad, kind of wistful.
REBECCA: I’ve known them since elementary school. Except Shep, but he and I have been friends since freshman year. They always made me laugh even back when we were kids. I mean, they were a little wild but not in a bad way. They were fun.
DET. PIERCE: You’re using the past tense, so I’m gathering something changed.
REBECCA: Things did change. Or really, Grant changed. He was still as wild as ever, but there seemed to be a mean side to him that wasn’t there before. Some of the jokes he made or pranks he pulled weren’t funny anymore…they were cruel. And he was always pushing things. Drinking too much. Partying too much. Driving too fast.
DET. PIERCE: What about the other boys? Did they change too?
REBECCA: I guess in a way. They tried to keep Grant in check most times, you know. Tried to slow him down. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. And then they were all partying more. The vibe around them was definitely different.
KATE: She’s back to gnawing on her lip. I can tel
l she’s really torn about telling the detective all of this. It’s all over her face.
DET. PIERCE: When you said “mean side” earlier, what do you mean by that?
KATE: Her head dips back and she closes her eyes like she’s trying to think of an example.
REBECCA: Well…like with my friend, Lindsey. They’ve been seeing each other on and off since sophomore year. One minute he’s all into her, and another he acts like she doesn’t exist. He was playing some shitty mind games with her…like seriously screwing with her head. And it changed her. She’s not the same girl she used to be.
KATE: She squeezes her eyes shut, then runs her hands over her face.
REBECCA: I can’t believe he’s gone and I’m sitting here talking about him like this. And talking about Lindsey like this. God, what is wrong with me?
DET. PIERCE: You’re helping us get a clear picture of what was going on with him, and hopefully we can use that to find out what really happened that morning.
KATE: She nods, seems to take a deep breath. She sits up a bit straighter.
DET. PIERCE: So, back to the party. How late were you there?
REBECCA: We left close to midnight. My friend I was just telling you about, Lindsey…well, she and Grant got into a huge fight. I’m not even sure what it was about this time, but she wanted to leave, so I took her home. I didn’t even care. I was so ready to leave by then.
DET. PIERCE: Do you know if Grant contacted Lindsey again? Either that night or the next morning before he died?
KATE: She shrugs.
REBECCA: I don’t know. I know she’s devastated he’s gone. She’s got so much to worry about right now. Her little sister is sick, really sick. She’s been at St. Jude’s, but she’s home right now. Probably not for long, though. I think she goes back in a few weeks for another round of chemo. I’m really worried about Lindsey, but part of me is glad Grant can’t screw around with her anymore.
SEPTEMBER 25, 5:12 P.M.
GRANT SHEP: Apparently, it’s not a good idea to microwave food on a plate that has a metal rim around the edge
KATE: oh no. how bad was it??
GRANT SHEP: There was fire. Lots of fire.
The cross-country meet I was shooting ended a few minutes ago, and while I’m stowing all my gear in the back of Mom’s car, I notice Logan stopped at a red light.
I’m not sure what makes me do it, but I jump in the car, and just as the light turns green, I’m on his tail. I’m telling myself it’s okay, since Stone all but gave me the green light to spy on them, but I know there’s more to it than that. I can’t get past the fact that I was duped about Grant and Shep, and now I’m second-guessing everything I thought was true. Why were he and Mark talking in the parking lot last night?
I follow him for miles and it’s clear he’s heading back to Pat’s. Is it time for another meet-up? But instead of stopping in the parking lot, he turns the corner and disappears behind the building.
I glance quickly at the cooking trailer, but thankfully it’s close to noon and the line for fish is so long Pat doesn’t notice me.
How can I drive back there without Logan seeing me? I circle back around and turn down the street on the other side. There is a break in the trees, and if I angle just right, I can see Logan’s Tahoe.
If I thought the fronts of these abandoned stores looked bad, the back is even worse. The wooded area is littered with trash and debris and old furniture and God knows what else. From this distance, the only way I’ll know what Logan is up to is through my zoom lens.
I start snapping even before he gets out. He wanders around the area, kicking things in his path, and I take pictures with every step he takes.
He stands in the middle of the garbage, staring at the ground, until something seems to startle him and he turns back toward his car.
I turn the lens so I can view a wider area, and flinch when I spot a couple of guys getting out of a white truck and approaching Logan. One of them is tall and dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved camo shirt. The other is about the same height as Logan. He looks preppy, dressed in a light blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Logan’s posture changes immediately. His shoulders are back, and when I zoom in, I can almost see the muscles bulging in his neck. This doesn’t seem like a friendly meeting. Logan seems to hand the preppy guy something, but I can’t see what it is.
I take pictures of Logan, of the two guys, of everything. Why would he meet them out here unless he was up to no good?
Preppy Guy looks down, I guess checking out whatever Logan gave him. I hate this angle! I can’t see anything. Preppy Guy finally turns and walks back to the truck. Tall Guy is still standing there with Logan. I stare at them through the lens, wondering what kind of standoff they’re having. And then Tall Guy rears back and punches Logan so hard in the stomach that Logan falls to the ground.
“Oh my God,” I say, out loud, then snap another picture.
I missed it. It happened so fast and then it was over. I have a shot of them standing there, and then I take one of Logan crouched over but not the hit.
With my finger poised over the button, I wait for anything else that may happen, but Tall Guy just stands there and watches Logan stagger back to his Tahoe.
Logan crawls into the driver’s seat and peels out of the area, leaving the same way he came. Tall Guy is still standing there, watching. He turns around, scanning the area, then stops. He crouches down and cocks his head to the side. He’s looking right at me through the gap in the trees.
“Shit!”
Throwing the car in reverse, I back out of the space. My hands are shaking as I turn back on the main road, and my eyes stay on the rearview mirror longer than they stay on the road ahead.
My phone rings and it scares me so bad I nearly swerve off the road.
It’s Reagan.
“Hello?”
“I thought you were meeting us for lunch at Sake Sushi. Are you coming?” Reagan asks.
My heart is still pounding in my chest. “Yeah. I’m coming. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I hang up and take several deep breaths, hoping to calm myself down. What will my images show? Not much. Logan standing around with a couple of guys, then Logan crouched on the ground. He could say he dropped his keys and was looking for them.
I really suck at spying.
• • •
When I finally get home, I decide to try cyberstalking instead of spying. It doesn’t take long to find every one of the River Point Boys’ social media accounts. Grant’s accounts follow a ton of people, but he never actually posted anything; I had already looked him up when we first started texting.
When I thought I was texting Grant.
I guess Grant was more of a lurker. But the other boys seem more normal; they definitely don’t post as much as the girls I follow, but there is at least something there to look at.
There are a lot of group shots of them on Henry’s account. I study one of them from last summer. All five of them are sitting on the back bench of a ski boat. I look at them in this image and think about how different they are at school. There are the little things I’ve picked up on. Shep tries to come off like he doesn’t care about anything, but I can see through his act. He watches everyone—me, his friends, other students, the teachers. His eyes take in everything around him.
And Shep is a doodler. There’s always a pencil in his hand, and during class, it never stops scratching along the edge of his paper. I almost fell out of my seat one day in English trying to get a look at what he was drawing. Even at lunch, he twirls the pencil through his fingers as if it were an extension of his body.
Henry can flirt with a girl without even talking to her. It’s the way he looks at her—just long enough to get her attention, but not so long that he comes off like a weirdo. With perfectly timed glances, he’s got the girl falling for him, and he hasn’t even opened his mouth.
Logan is the loud one in the group. His voice is loud. His lau
gh is loud. And somehow, even his mannerisms come off…loud. He’s the kind of guy that can’t sit still. When they are walking anywhere, he circles the group, always bouncing around from one person to the next, never walking in a straight line next to them. He must be exhausted by the end of the day.
Scrolling down, I see a picture of Logan, with several tall stacks of poker chips and a huge grin on his face. The gambler of the group. The bookie. Did he bet Mark to dress up as Grant?
John Michael is in the picture with him, with only three chips in front of him, but he’s smiling just as big. John Michael is the hardest to read. He’s laid-back, not just in personality but in posture, too. His straight brown hair is always messy and there’s always one part of his button-down shirt that isn’t tucked in. Out of all of them, he’s the one most likely to speak to someone outside of their little group. He’s in no hurry to get where he’s going and comes across as bored in almost every situation I see him in. But then he’ll lean over to one of the others—it’s always just one, not all—and he says something that only the two of them can hear, and the other person laughs as if it’s the funniest thing ever.
I switch to Shep’s account. Scrolling through the posts, I study the images, read and reread the captions. In almost all the pictures, it’s Shep with the other River Point Boys. The most recent ones show them hunting and fishing as well as partying. In one, Grant and Henry are passed out on some flowery-patterned, oversize papasan chair–looking thing. I can tell the shot was taken at River Point, because I can make out the back porch of the cabin behind them. Both boys are in nothing but their underwear, and the caption reads, Lightweights.
I can’t help but laugh.
It’s weird scrolling back and seeing them get younger. By the time I get to some pics from freshman year, they look like babies. I study one of the first images where all five of them are together. There are three muddy four-wheelers lined up, and the boys are piled on top. They’re just as dirty as the machines, and the only clean body parts are their eyes and lips. And they are all smiling bigger than I’ve ever seen anyone smile. The caption reads, Mud Nationals. Best day ever.
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