“Steve isn’t acting! He had to deal with something awful this morning!”
“Yeah, I know! I was there! But why won’t you even listen to my side of it?” I shook my head. “Are you that desperate for a boyfriend?”
Elena’s eyes flashed. “You’re one to talk, hanging out with Hayden Collins.”
A prickle went through me. “What’s wrong with Hayden? You think he’s from a ‘bad’ neighborhood? He doesn’t drive a BMW? He’s on scholarship, just like me?”
Elena’s mouth dropped open. “Is that what you think matters to me?”
“Isn’t it?” I shot back.
Elena was about to say something but then changed her mind and shrugged. “What’s the point of explaining myself? You’re not going to listen.”
I scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
There were two blotches of pink on Elena’s cheeks. It took her a few moments to speak again. “You just do what you want and think what you want, Adrianna—always. I don’t matter to you. What I care about, what I think—you think I’m beneath you.”
“What!” I couldn’t believe it. “Why would you say that?”
“A lot of things. Little things.” Her jaw was set. “Like with school. And that new job you just got. You don’t think I’m good enough to do the things you do.”
“What?” I blinked, flabbergasted.
“And I tell you Steve apologized, but you don’t care—you’re going to hate him just like you’ve always hated him instead of giving him a chance out of kindness for me.”
“I’m being kind by warning you!” I roared. “You can do so much better than him!”
“Are you saying that because you truly don’t like him … or because you’ve stereotyped him? The way you stereotype everyone?” Elena snapped.
I staggered back as though she’d punched me. Then I spun on my heel, my cheeks blazing. I don’t stereotype people, I thought fiercely.
I needed Elena to believe me—I wasn’t overreacting. And I didn’t want to be in this scared headspace alone. But how could I make her trust anything I said now? According to her, my outlook was flawed. I saw only what I wanted to see. I saw rich white men looming over a young man’s body and of course thought of greed and conspiracy. Because I was stereotyping? Or because it was true? And how could I prove it?
And then it hit me. I knew how I could prove it. I would do what I did yesterday: I would investigate. I would report.
Except this time, I would figure out how and why Eric died.
Myla Breaking News:
1 hr ago
“IT’S HELL” AND “SCAM OF THE CENTURY”: KIDS TRYING TO ESCAPE SOLSTICE FESTIVAL STUCK ON AIRPORT TARMAC, OTHERS STILL TRAPPED ON ISLAND.
EAST MYLA ISLAND: Reports are trickling in from the Solstice Festival on Myla Island, which is mostly unreachable by cell signal despite festival organizers having promised “unlimited Wi-Fi hotspots,” “luxury accommodations,” and “a weekend you’ll never forget.”
It has been a weekend concertgoers will never forget—just not in the way they expected.
In interviews with several groups that were able to board a shuttle from the festival site back to Myla Airport, travelers were shocked by the “primitive” conditions of the festival, including limited food, little drinking water, filthy restrooms, and no sleeping accommodations. “Quite a few of us had to sleep on the ground—in the rain,” said one young woman from Scottsdale, Arizona. “There were no blankets, no pillows. I paid for a three-bedroom suite with a wraparound balcony and strawberries and cream in bed.”
For 23-year-old Chase Hutchins of Annapolis, Maryland, the sign to leave was when he contracted a strange rash on his leg after a walk through some thistle overgrowth to get to the actual concert site. There was no first-aid station on the festival grounds, and when he asked a Solstice worker if someone could arrange for him to go to a medical clinic elsewhere on the island, he was very forcefully talked out of it. “I have an Amex Black card,” Chase said. “I could probably buy that island if I wanted. I knew there were medical facilities on the normal part of the island, and I just wanted to rent a motor scooter to find them. But I was being held captive.” Hutchins was able to receive proper medical care when he returned to Myla West.
But some still remain on the island, waiting for the festival to start. One woman said she was “praying” for those who’d remained—“to Buddha, a bunch of crystals, and even Cthulhu!” It is unclear which bands are still committed to performing, but currently, more than nine acts have dropped out, citing the poor conditions.
Zack Frazier, the organizer of Solstice, could not be reached for comment.
13
THE HASHTAG FOR THE SOLSTICE FESTIVAL had officially become #SolShitFestival. People were writing it on their arms and legs. It was sharpied on a flag fashioned out of someone’s boxers. I also noticed it in shaky letters on the dry dirt. I had a sneaking suspicion some guys had spelled it out in pee.
I rustled up some lunch from the food truck—which, to my surprise, offered granola bars, apples, and lemon Dannon yogurt along with greasy French fries and sweating cans of Coke. We’re not starving, I wanted to say to the weak-acting droves who passed by, whining. Yet I was rattled to be here, too. Just for different reasons.
The first thing I did to get to the bottom of Eric’s death was head to the little roadside market outside the festival site where Eric and I had met. This didn’t prove super easy, because the moment I stepped over the festival-ground border, a Solstice worker jumped in my path. “Miss? Miss? Where you headed?”
I stared at the guy’s longish brown hair, his thick eyebrows, stern face. What did he know about the body found on the shore? Did he know? Or would telling everyone cause mass panic?
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I said. “The porta-potty lines are too long.” This wasn’t even a lie. The porta-potty lines were criminal.
The worker shrugged. “Fine. But don’t, under any circumstances, go near the water. Okay?”
“Why?” I placed my hands on my hips. I’d been in the water, kayaking to the shore. I’d been on the beach where Eric’s body was found. What had I avoided? And was this a warning because of what had happened to Eric?
The worker turned away from me without answering to handle two drunken boys who’d begun throwing half-hearted punches. A screech of feedback came from the stage—it seemed that at least one of the acts, a singer-songwriter named FoMo, was going to have a go at performing. There were no cheers, though. Most people were beyond caring.
The little convenience store was overflowing. Even before I went inside, I tapped my Wi-Fi icon, hoping to use their server, but, unfortunately, it was unavailable. The younger woman who’d been at the register caught my eye as she trundled in from hauling trash to the dumpster. “Mosley is a softie, and he gave the Wi-Fi out to a bunch of other people. Who told their friends, and their friends—anyway, they flooded the system. We had to turn it off for a while. It’ll be on again soon—but people will have to take turns logging on.”
I nodded and fiddled with my phone, wishing I could send Hayden another update video. Then Elena’s words popped into my head. You’re one to talk, hanging out with Hayden Collins. She was judging him for having less than her. I couldn’t believe it.
I also couldn’t believe she thought that I found her beneath me. It was so far from the truth—and the total opposite of how I really felt. I found Steve beneath me—and beneath Elena, too—but when had I treated Elena that way? I listened to her opinions. I cared about what she said. Unless the conversation turned toward Steve—but that was only because I didn’t think he was right for her. How had she misinterpreted that?
Or was I being shortsighted? Did I tune her out? Did I act haughty and superior? Did I stereotype people—including Elena? I scoured our conversations, and how I presented certain things, and the comments I made. Elena had said, specifically, work and school. Sometimes I glossed over what I was working on in my h
onors classes by saying, “Oh, just random, boring, smart-people stuff.” Maybe I shouldn’t have.
And there was that comment after my first day at the law firm—Elena suggested that maybe she get a job at the firm, too, so we could spend the whole summer together. I’d written back, The office definitely isn’t for you. I’d said it because the place wasn’t for me, either … Had she thought I’d dissuaded her because I didn’t think she was smart enough to work there? Or that I deserved the job more than she did?
All this time, I’d thought Elena was confident and untouchable. But maybe I was wrong. And maybe I’d said things that poked at insecurities I didn’t know existed.
“Yo!” said a voice on the stage, jolting me from my thoughts. I could just make out a guy in glasses with a guitar strapped over his shoulder peered into the crowd. “Um, Blink-182 couldn’t make it, but I’m FoMo. It’s really, really great to be here.”
“Is Lavender coming?” an olive-skinned girl with two pink ponytails near me screeched.
Her friend looked at her in surprise. “You didn’t hear? Lavender backed out, too. This morning.”
Pink Ponytails looked chagrined. “Then what the hell are we still doing here?”
There was a lump in my throat. My favorite artist was no longer coming. I wasn’t surprised Lavender had bailed, but still, it filled me with disappointment and despair. If I were her, I wouldn’t play this venue, either.
As FoMo Whoever-He-Was started to play a few jangly chords—I pitied him; he was playing for probably the angriest audience in the history of audiences—I made my way into the little market. Inside were the same three Mylan locals working—the two smiling women and Mosley, who’d given me the water and beer earlier today. He brightened when he saw me. “You’re looking much better now!” he sang. “Out from the heat!”
“Yes, I’m feeling a little better,” I said, and then asked carefully, “So this is a long shot, but do you remember a guy coming in here yesterday? He had on a red T-shirt with a mountain-climbing logo. Glasses. Pretty fit. Friendly.”
Mosley scrunched up his face. “Why? He lost?”
“Um, actually, there was an accident,” I said, deciding to take the risk.
The Mylans exchanged glances. My heart sped up. Did they know?
The younger woman with the Afro swished her hand. “Of course there was an accident. The festival is a disaster waiting to happen.”
“I’m surprised people aren’t dead.” The older woman tut-tutted, making a face.
This wasn’t the answer I wanted.
“Is there someone I could talk to?” I asked. “Police? Maybe someone from the coast guard?”
“What’s a coast guard?” Mosley asked, cocking his head.
I blinked. “Th-they protect the waterways?” But maybe people of Myla had some other infrastructure. It felt weird that I didn’t know.
“I’m just messing with you,” Mosley said teasingly. “Of course we have something like a coast guard, but it’s called the Royal Mylan Defence Force. It’s not a very big faction, though. And the water is safe—if you’re okay with jellyfish.”
“Oh.” I felt uncomfortable after falling for his joke—like it said something bad about me that I believed it. “And the police?” I asked. “Surely they’re here…”
The older woman narrowed her big brown eyes. “If you ask the other concert guests, we just rely on voodoo magic to make our problems disappear.”
“Auntie.” Mosley touched the older one’s arm. “Cut her some slack.”
The door burst open and in walked the same Solstice worker who’d apprehended me at the festival border. The guy’s eyes clapped on mine. “There you are,” he said sharply. “Best if you headed back now, okay?”
I wanted to make a scene—this random guy couldn’t tell me what to do. But maybe keeping a low profile in my investigation was smart. Heading out, I shot Mosley what I hoped was an apologetic look, feeling like I could have handled that way better. The women were snickering.
Back within the festival borders, my mind thrummed, tuning out FoMo’s whiny song about how his girlfriend drowned in the Gowanus Canal. I couldn’t give up. Maybe Eric’s friends were still here. Surely they would have some details. I didn’t remember anyone being with him yesterday, though I was pretty sure he mentioned he’d come with a group.
I looked around the crowds to see if there was anyone who seemed more worried and distraught than normal. The problem was that everyone looked distraught: We were all sunburned, exhausted, hungry, dehydrated, and out thousands of dollars—and without easy transport home. I saw a lot of pacing. A lot of crying. I approached the fringes of a few groups who looked particularly in agony, speaking softly, “Do you know someone named Eric? Is there an Eric in your group?” Everyone shook their heads.
Then I heard footsteps. A girl in a red ball cap covering her long, blond hair faced me. Her shoulders were sunburned, and she carried a battered Gucci handbag that was covered in splotches of mud, and there was a hesitant look on her face. “I just overheard you,” she said. “Do you mean Eric Jedry?”
My eyes widened. “Yes!”
“Who are you?” she asked suspiciously. “How do you know him?”
I licked my lips. “I spoke to him a little yesterday—he said he was going rock climbing. He seemed really nice.” I paused. “Do you know him?”
“I’m Pearl. Eric came with me and a few other friends.” Then she stepped closer, her gaze darting. “But I thought Eric was—” Then her mouth clamped shut.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, cutting her off. “I know. I know he’s dead.”
“Someone’s dead?” a voice next to us said, and I jumped. A guy I hadn’t noticed before was sitting on the ground, drinking one of Zack’s free cocktails and eavesdropping.
Pearl stared at me in fear.
“You sure you heard that right?” I said, staring pointedly at his cocktail as I steered Pearl away toward an unpopulated patch of grass.
“How do you know?” she whispered, when we were out of earshot. “Who are you?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “I happened to see the guys who found him. But … what did they tell you? When?”
Pearl swallowed. “The police contacted us about an hour ago after they’d ID’d his body. They tracked who he’d come with through flight manifests and the Solstice ticket sales.”
“So the police know, then?” That was kind of a relief.
She nodded, her eyes glistening. “I need to get out of here. I’m having a panic attack. I put my name on the ferry list, but it’s taking forever. I need to call my mom. I need to process what’s happening, not in this nightmare of a concert.”
“I know,” I said. The anxiety was stifling. I kept seeing Eric’s limp body whenever I closed my eyes.
“Eric was the responsible one of all of us.” She choked on another sob. “He can’t be … gone!”
Yes, I thought. Yes, yes, yes—I’d thought Eric seemed responsible, too. “So he didn’t get drunk yesterday?” I asked.
“No way.” Pearl shook her head emphatically. “Eric never drank. He didn’t even come to this festival for the music—he was interested in the landscape. Rock climbing.”
“He told me he was an experienced rock climber and that he was going out to climb since the festival didn’t seem like it was starting up anytime soon. But the organizers are sure he died from a fall.”
Pearl chewed on her lip. “That’s what the police said, too, but I don’t know how that could be possible. He was so careful when it came to climbing. And the rocks here? They’re nothing compared to what he’s used to.” Then she breathed in sharply. “You know what’s weird? They wouldn’t let us see his body. Not that I would have looked—but my friend Andrew wanted to. Just to … see, I guess.”
“How might he have died if he didn’t fall?” I hated that I was asking this question. “Do you have any theories?”
“No.” She bit her lip. “I mean, what are the
options? A sudden heart attack? Instant poisoning from a snake? A murderer on the loose?” Her eyes widened. “What if it’s one of the other attendees?”
A chill went through me. I suddenly remembered Paul’s words when Zack warned him not to touch the body: Why? You think I’m going to destroy evidence?
“How late did you see Eric last night?” I asked.
Pearl’s eyes lowered. “He went on a hike at about three, but then came back around dinnertime. We had one of those cheese sandwiches from the food cart.” In another time, I thought, she’d probably be harping on those cheese sandwiches and how gross they were and the injustice of it all. But she was too numb.
“And then what? Eric went out again?”
“He knew other people from our town who’d come, too. Eric said he wanted to look for them. Say hi.”
“Who were these other people?”
“I don’t know. I’d never met them. James … something. And a girl. Kylie? Kayla?”
“Did the police talk to them, too?”
Pearl shrugged. “I told them that they were probably the last people who’d seen Eric alive, but they didn’t even write down their names.” She paused contemplatively. “If someone else is involved, if someone knows something, shouldn’t the police be doing everything possible to figure it out—even if it ends up being an accident in the end?”
I nodded. That sounded reasonable. But what if the police were in Zack Frazier’s pockets? What if Zack spun the situation to the cops that Eric died from a fall and nothing more? But … why? Simply to avoid bad PR? That seemed like a lot of hoops to jump through.
A guy in a windbreaker with big bags under his eyes burst through the crowd and touched Pearl’s arm. “It’s our turn for the ferry,” he said. “We have to hurry.”
Pearl gestured to me. “This is Adri. She met Eric yesterday. And she knows about Eric and … you know.”
The guy’s face pinched with pain. “Oh.” He closed his eyes, almost looking like he was going to cry, but then, in that I-need-to-be-strong thing guys sometimes did, powered through it. “You wanna come with us?” he asked. “I could probably convince the driver to let you jump the line.”
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