Will we be treated differently tomorrow than we were yesterday? Will the curious glances and whispers be replaced with outright stares and ugly remarks?
Whatever we get is nothing compared to what Shep will.
Right now, his mind has to be spinning. He has to be questioning why it all fell on him.
Or maybe he knows. Maybe he understands he lost the protection he had when he was our brother.
There are things he can say to hurt us.
But there are things I can do to remind him what can happen if he does.
Tomorrow…a whisper here, a rumor there. It doesn’t take much for the tide to turn. And when it does, it will roll right over him.
NOVEMBER 19, 1:02 A.M.
PRIVATE NUMBER: I probably made things worse. I’m so sorry.
I look like a complete mess. I showered, dressed, and was out the door for school within thirty minutes of waking up. Mom brought home Mr. Stone’s car last night, so thankfully, I have my own ride for today.
Reagan, Mignon, and Alexis are already there when I get to the media arts room, which proves how late I am this morning.
“Dang, Kate, are you okay?” Mignon asks. “You look like a truck ran you over.”
“More like a bus…or a freight train,” Alexis says with a laugh.
“Ha, ha, ha,” I say in the most deadpan voice I can. “Had trouble sleeping last night.”
Reagan arches an eyebrow at me. Thankfully, I’m spared from any further questioning when Miranda bursts into the room.
“The River Point Boys showed up for school today,” she says in a rush. “They’re in the office. Some parents already got word of it and are up here, complaining.”
I knew they would be here. Their lawyers know this case is going to be played out in public just as much as it will be in the courtroom. Just like wearing the nice clothes every day makes them come across as well-dressed, respected members of the community, showing up for school today proves that they care about their education. Also that they aren’t afraid or ashamed to be in public.
Mignon turns to me. “Kate, grab a camera and come with us. There’s no way we’re not doing a story on this.”
I’m already reaching for it and heading to the door. I meant every word I said to Shep last night. We are going to figure out who really shot Grant, and to do that, I need to be the River Point Boys’ shadow.
My friends are just steps behind me, but they have to almost run to keep up. There’s a crowd in the main hall when we get there. I can spot all four boys through the window, just inside the office. Shep is a good three feet away from the other boys, and he looks as tired as I feel.
Reagan glances at him, then back at me. She’s putting it together. I can see it on her face.
The principal is out in the hall, addressing the group of parents gathered there. I recognize one of the defense lawyers a few feet away. I pull my camera out and start firing shots.
Principal Winn holds his hands up. “Please, everyone, let’s keep it down.”
“If those boys are going to be here, then I’m pulling my daughter. There’s no way I’m sending her to school with a bunch of killers,” a woman at the back of the crowd says.
“I agree. At least send home that Moore boy. He’s charged with murder!” a man yells out.
I can tell Shep heard what the man said, as anger flashes in his eyes.
The lawyer steps forward and everyone turns toward him. “My clients have only been charged with a crime, not convicted of one. In that grand jury, we weren’t allowed to defend ourselves or show any evidence to contradict the prosecutor. Once we have our day in court, I am confident all four of these young men will be exonerated of all charges. Until then, they have every right to attend school and stay on track for graduation.”
A loud murmur ripples through the crowd, and Principal Winn steps forward. “Look, this is a new experience for us.” He gestures to the lawyer at his side. “Our policy is clear that any student convicted of a felony must be expelled, but as Mr. Baxter points out, they have not been convicted yet. I called the judge and he said until there’s a conviction, they’re allowed to attend school.”
Shouts echo through the crowd, all expressing the same sentiment—they are not happy. Somehow, Principal Winn settles the group down and manages to get them out of the building. Once the hall is all but empty, Mr. Baxter pulls all four boys aside. Their heads bend toward him so they can hear his whispered words while Principal Winn waits patiently nearby. A few minutes later, Mr. Baxter turns toward Mr. Winn and says, “They’re all yours now.”
“If they so much as put one toe out of line, they’re out of here. I don’t care who their daddies are. You hear me?” Mr. Winn asks and jabs the air in front of him for emphasis.
“They are well aware that they will be watched more closely than any other student here, and they will be on their best behavior.”
Mr. Winn storms back into his office. Mr. Baxter says his goodbyes and leaves while the River Point Boys shuffle off in the direction of the main hall. Shep is two steps behind, clearly not in the group anymore. He throws a glance over his shoulder at me, and my hands itch to touch him, to let him know he’s not alone, but I can’t.
And that kills me as much as anything else.
No English class today, so no chance of seeing him there. My group moves in the opposite direction, and I reluctantly follow.
For two hours, either walking down the hall or sitting in class, the only thing anyone can talk about is Shep.
“I heard Shep is gay and he was in love with Grant, but Grant was totally grossed out when Shep made the move on him so that’s why Shep shot him.”
“I heard Shep killed someone back in Texas and that’s why his family moved here.”
“I heard he does coke in the bathroom at lunch.”
It will be a miracle if I don’t go crazy before noon. Reagan and I meet up with Mignon and Alexis to head back to media arts, my and Reagan’s last class of the day. Apparently Mignon and Alexis just got out of science, where Shep and John Michael were.
“I still can’t believe they showed up today. I mean, if I was arrested for killing someone, there’s no way I would show my face,” Alexis says.
Mignon lets out a sharp laugh. “I’d be on the way to Mexico or Canada. Anywhere but here.”
“Y’all. Just think about the media circus that this town will be when it goes to trial. We need some footage of Shep, here, before it gets crazy. If the national news picks up this story, we’ll probably get credit. How awesome is that?”
They high-five each other and make plans to stalk him later this afternoon.
Reagan ducks her head and stays silent. Thankfully, she’s not joining in.
A hollowness forms in my gut and grows every time they say his name. I want to scream at them to shut up, tell them that they don’t know him or they wouldn’t be talking about him like that, but I also know that if Shep hadn’t told me the truth, I’d be thinking the same thing. I would be reveling in his downward spiral.
I feel sick.
Sick.
I drop down in front of the computer. Hopefully, drowning myself in work will make this last hour go by faster.
“Ugh,” Alexis says. “That picture is circulating again.” She’s at the computer next to me, scrolling through social media. “Look at all these jerks reposting it.”
I slide my chair next to hers and take a peek at her screen. It’s that graphic one of Bree and the other two girls. There’s something off about it. Something weird I can’t put my finger on. All I can hope is that Bree doesn’t see it making the rounds again.
Alexis closes the pic and I scoot back in front of my computer.
“That picture is awful,” Mignon says. “It showed up on my feed too.”
Reagan would know the most about this, since the complaints from the girls and their families came through Morrison’s office. From across the room, she says, “It’s a shame they can’t figure out where
it was taken. You can’t see anything but the girls.”
That’s it. That’s what’s weird. “Pull it back up,” I say.
“Ew. Why?” Mignon asks.
“I want to see something.”
I shuffle my chair next to Alexis as she opens her feed again, pulling the image back up. I can feel Reagan and Mignon peeking over my shoulder, their curiosity piqued.
Mignon holds a hand over her eyes and is peering at the screen through slits in her fingers. “I’m never going to be able to unsee this.”
We’ve all heard about this picture, and gotten a glimpse of it before, but I’m pretty sure this is the first time we’ve really studied it. There are three girls in it, all of them naked. And they are…posed with hands and body parts in very graphic positions.
“Are they asleep? They look out of it,” Alexis says.
“I heard they were given that date-rape drug,” Reagan says.
“The angle of the photo is weird. Like the camera must have been directly above them or something. And look right here. It’s very pixelated. So the camera would’ve been either very low resolution or far away,” I say.
I try to get past what’s in the image and look at the image itself. It’s cropped close, like there’s probably more to the original shot. Whoever took it probably didn’t want to show anything but the girls.
I pull back from the image, judging the angle.
“Where would you say the camera was in relation to the girls?” I ask. Since Alexis shoots a lot of video, she gets what I’m saying.
I can see the second she starts examining the image in a different way. Her head tilts and she stands up, her hands holding an imaginary camera as if she’s thinking about where you would have had to be to have taken this. God, what if we can help figure out where this was taken? Or at least how it was taken.
“From above somehow—you’re almost looking down on them,” Alexis says as she sits back in her seat.
“That’s what I think too. But almost more than what a normal height would be. Like, the camera would have been elevated, right?”
“I mean, they’re on some sort of couch or chair or something. So if I’m standing on the ground and they’re elevated off of the floor, then I can’t be directly over them and get this angle, right?” I ask.
When Alexis zooms in, we can examine small, pixelated pieces of the image, much easier to stomach than the whole. We all lean in toward the screen.
But it’s just bodies and not much else.
Reagan reaches past me and taps the screen. “Not sure what this is, but it’s not part of her. That’s a pattern, like something you would find on fabric.”
It’s next to one of the girls, right at the edge of the picture. It’s a small, swirl-like design and it definitely would be more helpful if you could see what it was attached to, but this small section is all we have.
“Okay, I can’t take looking at it anymore,” Alexis says and closes the screen.
This is the stuff of nightmares. Now I know why these girls and their families are so traumatized by this. And Mignon is right—once you see something like this, you’ll never unsee it.
“Okay, I think it’s safe to say we’re scarred for life now,” Reagan says.
The screen is blank, but it’s like the image is burned in my brain. Yes, I’ll definitely be having nightmares over this one.
NOVEMBER 19, 12:24 P.M.
SHEP: I bailed. Can’t stay in this school another second.
I wait until Mom leaves for a smoke break before I approach Mr. Stone. I’ve thought about it for half the afternoon, and the sooner I can talk to him about Shep, the better. I’m still not willing to tell him I know Shep, have been seeing Shep, but I have to try to convince him that he’s got the wrong guy.
I knock on his door and he swivels around in his chair, pulling the headphones off.
“Yes, Kate?”
“Ummm…can I talk to you a minute?” I ask.
“Of course,” he says, and gestures for me to have a seat in the chair next to his desk. “What’s on your mind?”
I pick at my thumbnail, tap my foot, do everything but actually face him. “You don’t think it’s weird that Lindsey said Shep’s name in front of the grand jury yesterday but never mentioned that part to us the night before?”
His mouth turns down into a frown. “I believe once she really thought about that conversation, it’s possible that more details surfaced. I’m just grateful she came forward, as should you be. From what I remember, it was as important to you as it was to me to make a case against one or all of these boys.”
And now I’m drowning in the guilt because he’s right. This is what I wanted. This is what I pushed for.
His head is turned to the side, so I know he’s looking at me the only way he’s able.
“I’m just not sure. I’ve been watching these boys at school and studying those interviews, and Shep was the last one I would have suspected of killing Grant.”
He sits forward in his chair. “Were you leaning toward one of the others? You didn’t mention that.”
I don’t want to throw a random name out and have another innocent person be accused of this crime. I mean, there’s Logan and the guys in the woods, and Henry with his mystery girl. And I have pics of John Michael passing drugs out and getting in a car of a known drug dealer. But none of it is strong enough to go against what he has on Shep. While I’m gathering my thoughts, he says, “Is it maybe that you don’t want it to be Shep? Maybe something about him appealed to you in the videos or at school. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked so much of you.”
I lean back in the chair and really consider what he said. Am I blind when it comes to Shep? No. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Shep is innocent. I would bet my own life on it.
“It’s not that. It’s just a gut feeling I have. We’re going off something one person said. And that’s a pretty big part of the story she left out the night before. I mean, if there was something else pointing to him, that would be one thing, but there’s just what Lindsey said. That’s not a lot when you’re talking about someone going to prison.”
Stone leans back in his chair and crosses his arms across his chest. “I didn’t ask that girl to come forward, nor did I put those words in her mouth. I’m bound to use any and every piece of evidence I have to win my case, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. And I’m not going to refute a piece of evidence just because you don’t like it. Gaines is furious with me. To waffle now would all but push me out of the door, and I’m not quite ready to leave just yet. Mr. Moore has counsel and will get his day in court.”
I can totally see where he’s coming from, and if I were him, I’d be running with what we have too.
Left with nothing else to say, I nod and leave his office and settle into my space next to Mom’s desk.
Mom scurries in a few minutes later, and from her expression, she doesn’t have good news.
She goes straight to Stone’s office and I follow her, dying to know what’s got her ruffled.
“It’s been leaked that Lindsey Wells pointed the finger at Shepherd Moore. I was walking back in from outside and a news reporter was on the front steps, filming a segment. She doesn’t mention the girl by name but she reports everything else. How she was on the phone with Grant…how Grant said Shep’s name…”
Mr. Stone’s face gets bright red, and if this were a cartoon, smoke would be pouring out of his ears. He paces around the room.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if Gaines himself handed over the transcript,” he says, then storms from the office.
A few minutes later, I give Mom the excuse that I don’t feel well and ask to leave. She’s worried, checks my forehead for a fever before giving me her keys and letting me go. I must look terrible. The lack of sleep I’ve had in the last few weeks is leaving its mark.
• • •
Once I get home, I boot up my laptop, opening the folder where I copied every single picture and fi
le on the River Point case.
Pictures of the woods…the trees…the back patio…the fire pit…the map inside with the tags…I scour every inch. I read reports on Grant, the crime scene, the coroner’s report. Everything.
After a few hours, I feel like my eyes may start bleeding at any moment. I have been combing through the pictures, but there’s…nothing. Nothing.
I slam the laptop closed and pull the covers up over my head.
What am I missing?
Just like I’ve done for weeks, I run through what I have on each boy that would make them want to kill Grant. It’s not much.
I start with John Michael.
He’s the hostess with the mostest. Parties at his place every weekend. Can get anything anyone wants—alcohol, drugs, whatever. Disappears for periods of time. Jumps in cars with drug dealers. He was mad at Grant that night…not his normal laid-back self.
But why?
Did Grant do something to him? Something bad enough that John Michael would shoot him over it?
Then I think about Henry.
And the girl. The one from the video. The one he saw downtown. He cares for her—it’s obvious in the way he touches her, runs his hands through her hair. She was pissed at Grant. But why? Would Henry have wanted to get back at Grant for whatever it was?
And then there’s Logan.
What am I missing on Logan?
He’s a bookie. Did he bet Mark to dress up like Grant? And the money. The two guys in the white truck. I’m guessing the guys Phoebe saw at River Point are the same ones he met behind Pat’s. They want the money. If Grant took it and Logan needed it back, how would he get it if Grant was dead? And why would Grant take it in the first place? He was rich. He had a nice car, a nice watch—even his class ring was made with a real sapphire instead of those imitation ones you usually get.
Then something starts itching around in my brain. What was it? Something with the watch. And the ring.
I bolt up out of bed and turn on my laptop once more. Grant’s dad asked Mr. Stone about them when we were at River Point. He filled out a report that they were missing the next week.
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