We Know It Was You Page 5

  “Can you zoom? Enhance it?” Gerard said, his voice eager and little high-pitched. “Can you tell who it is?”

  “That’s just TV,” Virginia said. Those scenes always annoyed her, the ones where cops zoomed in on a piece of grainy footage and suddenly a million pixels magically appeared, providing a crisp, clear image. “In real life what you see is what you get.”

  Gerard didn’t say anything. He seemed confused, staring at the grainy image and blinking dumbly.

  “I mean, I guess it doesn’t really change much. Brittany’s still . . . gone. But, I mean . . .” Virginia didn’t know what she meant. “I mean we still don’t have the answers.”

  Gerard inhaled slowly, then started crying again.

  “Christ, Gerard,” Virginia sighed. Why had she even showed him the video? Because she felt sorry for him, she guessed, but now he was just annoying her again.

  She closed the file and yanked out the flash drive.

  “I’m going to bed. Can you get yourself home? You can sleep here on the sofa if you want, I guess, but if Mrs. Morehouse checks in, you’ll be dead meat.”

  Gerard sniffed and wiped his eyes. “I’ll go.” He began shuffling to the door. Then he turned back and looked right at Virginia.

  “Do you think Brittany’s a virgin in heaven?” he said. His voice cracked.

  “Uh . . .”

  “Or when we die, do we bring all the bad shit that happened to us?”

  Virginia gaped at him for a second. Was she actually supposed to answer that?

  “The first one,” she managed. But actually, that one seemed depressing too. What was the point of all this shit happening if when you died it just got erased, like it hadn’t meant anything at all?

  The fountain, 9:30 p.m.

  Benny dialed the number again, but she didn’t pick up. She must not be in her room. Where is she? It was weird and inconvenient that Virginia didn’t have a cell phone, but he didn’t want to embarrass her by bringing it up. Which was ironic, because Virginia never hesitated to embarrass anyone, pointing out all the little ways they were lacking in her opinion.

  Benny bent down to pick up another burned-out candle rolling on the ground. Why was he picking up everyone’s litter? It’s not like anyone would thank him for it. There was no one around; after the loud kerfuffle by the fountain, everyone had quickly dispersed and gone home, dropping their candles like they were trash, even though most were only barely used.

  Benny sat down on the ledge of the fountain, depressed. It was quiet. They’d turned the water off, so now instead of a gushing, sparkling spray, it was just a pointless cement pool of stagnant water.

  A baby cried. A baby? Benny turned around. He’d been sure he was alone. Then something low and slinky caught his eye. It wasn’t a baby; it was a cat.

  “Wildcat,” Benny said. “What’re you doing out here, little guy?”

  The cat meowed again and hopped up beside him. He was a brown, fluffy part-Manx, slightly mangy looking, with big expressive yellow eyes. He was the school cat and had the run of the campus, but usually avoided the students.

  Benny hesitantly ran the tips of his fingers over Wildcat’s long fur, matted in places and in need of a good brushing. Wildcat wasn’t generally very friendly. He was one of those moody cats who test people—rubbing up against you, then attacking out of nowhere, just to see if you’ll still like them.

  “Did you see what happened, Wildcat?”

  Wildcat nuzzled Benny’s arm. Benny reminded himself that this was the same cat who had literally scratched Connor Tate’s eye out and sent him to the hospital. The Tates wanted to have Wildcat put down after that, but everyone agreed it was Connor’s fault. He was an asshole and an idiot and was trying to put a sock on Wildcat’s head.

  Benny called Virginia’s room again. No answer. He left a message. “Hi. It’s me. . . . Umm . . . could you bring the camera to school tomorrow? We should take it to the AV lab, find out if Brittany checked out equipment like that a lot. Maybe videotaping the locker room was, like, a habit of hers. . . . Okay, anyway . . . bye.” He snapped his phone shut. Next to him, Wildcat stretched, gave Benny a random, offended-seeming hiss, and then hopped to the ground. “Bye,” he said to Wildcat.

  Benny put his head in his hands and moaned quietly. He was furious with himself for missing the action with the fight or whatever it was. He’d been at the edge of the crowd, watching Angie Montague shuffle toward the parking garage. He must have been staring for a full minute, just spacing out. Then he’d heard shouting and immediately turned around. Virginia was gone, and the crowd had compressed, forming a wall of bodies that blocked Benny from whatever was going on at the center. Benny had circled the crowd desperately, like a dog circling a tree. But there was no way in—they were packed too tight. Maybe Virginia could have shoved her way to the center, but Benny couldn’t. He was stuck there, missing everything. Which proved the entire point of the philosophy of Being There. You could never get inside from the outside. Your only hope was to Be There.

  The Boarders, 2:11 a.m.

  Virginia realized she was awake. She wasn’t sure how long her eyes had been open, or why she’d woken up. She was lying on her side, staring blankly into the darkness. In the corner her coat hung from a metal hook, creating a bulky shadow. She kept staring at it, like her eyes were magnetized. The room had a faint bluish tint from the streetlamp filtering in through the thin curtains. As Virginia’s vision slowly adjusted to the dimness, the coat’s outline started morphing, taking on eerie details. A pale sheen of gold on top. Shadows almost seeming to form a face. And it was moving slightly.

  It’s October, Virginia thought suddenly. My coat’s in storage.

  Instantly she was wide awake. Her arm shot out to reach for the desk lamp. But she knocked it over, and there was a loud thump and a clatter as the power cord dragged everything on her desk down with it.

  “GET OUT!” she screamed. She fell out of her bed in a tangle of sheets, landing hard on her hip. She picked herself up in the darkness, then tripped on the sheets and fell down again. She scrambled to her feet and lunged for the light switch. Bright yellow light flooded the room. Virginia blinked, looking around frantically. Her heart was pounding and her breath was ragged. Her lamp was on the floor, her sheets in a messy knot.

  There was no one there.

  Virginia poked her head out into the hall. It was dark and silent.

  Chrissie White’s door opened and light spilled into the hall. “What’s going on?” she said groggily, squinting at Virginia across the hall.

  “Nothing,” Virginia said, rubbing her eyes. “I don’t know. I was dreaming. Did you hear someone in the hall just now?”

  “Be quiet!” someone shouted from inside their room.

  “I just heard you screaming,” Chrissie said. “Go back to sleep.” She closed her door, and her light disappeared.

  Virginia stood there for a second, feeling foggy and confused. It wasn’t the first time someone had woken up screaming in the Boarders. Yancey Kemper had nightmares all the time, and no one paid attention. The boarders tended to have little sympathy for one another. They were all stuck in the same shitty situation; no one had it particularly worse than anyone else.

  Virginia went back into her room and looked at the corner. There was no coat. There was no person, either. It was just her normal room. She gathered her sheets and threw them back on the bed. Then she flicked off the light and went to sleep.

  Monday

  The girls’ locker room, 11:00 a.m.

  I love you and you’re my best friend. You have the biggest heart!

  I love you and you’re my best friend. Your smile makes my day!

  I love you and you’re my best friend. Never ever change!

  Corny began carefully taping the notes to the locker doors, using tape she’d sprinkled with pink and silver glitter. She’d stayed up until two a.m. writing a special note for every girl on the varsity and junior varsity cheer squads, each with a unique m
essage to lift their spirits and help get everyone through this sad and awful week.

  I love you and you’re my best friend. You have the most beautiful hair!

  She taped up the last one with a flourish, and then plopped down on a bench. She closed her eyes and made herself breathe in and out. It was important to take a moment for yourself every now and then. It was called self-care. Corny had read that in a magazine.

  “Okay!” she said after five seconds. She opened her eyes.

  This locker room is disgusting, she thought. Stuff was strewn everywhere—clothes, bras, pairs of tennis shoes. No one had bothered to clean up after the game on Friday. Everyone had just gone home and cried. And now it was like a moment frozen in time, the moment before Brittany’s light had gone out and left the world a darker place.

  Corny noticed a puddle on the floor near the pom-pom closet. It looked like urine. Gross. Had someone been so sad they’d peed themselves? Grief pee? Maybe that was a thing. Corny got up and went closer to it, to see if it really was pee. It was disgusting, but she couldn’t help being curious. Then she realized it was coming from under the pom-pom closet door.

  Oh my God, she thought. There’s someone in there.

  There was a burgundy backpack leaning against the door. It had initials embroidered on it: GWC. Gerard Cole. She knew Gerard came in and out of the locker room sometimes to refill their pink Gatorade. No one really minded—Gerard was practically one of the girls. But did he, like, hang out in there when they were all gone? Just by himself? That was kind of weird.

  “Um . . . Gerard?” Corny knocked gently on the closet door. “Gerard, what are you doing in there?”

  She heard him groan softly.

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” Corny said. “I think we all deserve to cry in the pom-pom closet today. Let me in and we can cry together.” She jiggled the door handle, but it was locked.

  “Did you pick a fight with Trevor again?” she asked through the door.

  She waited, but he didn’t seem to be moving.

  “I’m going to get the spare keys from the lounge. And a mop. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in five minutes, and I’ll give you a nice foot massage.”

  She gave Gerard’s backpack a little push with her foot so the urine puddle wouldn’t touch it. Then she dashed from the locker room, buzzing with all the love inside her.

  The AV lab, 12:30 p.m.

  Skylar Jones sat in the dark, blinking back tears. He was in the equipment closet, watching The Lion King on Mr. Rashid’s laptop. The circle of life—it was so beautiful! Skylar swiped a match against his pant leg, preparing to light up for the third time since breakfast. On a day like this you really couldn’t be too high, Skylar figured. Everyone was freaking out about Brittany Montague. Apparently she’d jumped off the bridge in her mascot suit and was dead. About a hundred people had seen her do it, right in the middle of the football game. Skylar shuddered, not wanting to think about it. He turned up the volume on Mr. Rashid’s computer. Hakuna matata, right?

  Ding ding! It was the little bell at the front desk. Skylar considered ignoring it. The school was barely functioning today. Half the student body hadn’t even shown up, and the other half was crowded into “grief circles” in the guidance hall. Ding ding! The bell rang again. Skylar sighed and paused the movie. He poked his head out of the closet to see who was there.

  Great. It was that Scooby-Doo guy and god-awful Virginia Leeds. Just being in the same room with Virginia was a buzzkill. She’d worked at the AV desk for a few weeks at the beginning of the semester, and she’d driven Skylar crazy. The AV lab had always been Skylar’s place to chill out, but Virginia’s vibe was anything but chill. She was always in your face, and she was incredibly nosy. He’d even caught her going through his backpack once. When he asked her what the hell she thought she was doing, she said, “I’m just trying to get to know you!”

  And now here she was, leaning across the desk and holding a small digital camera. “Skylar, can you give us the checkout history on this camera? It has a library barcode. Just tell us how often it gets checked out.”

  “Um . . . no?” Skylar said. “We don’t fork over that information.”

  “We’re just trying to return it,” Virginia said. “We found it on the ground. . . . Are you crying?”

  Skylar wiped his eyes. “Shut up.”

  “It’s okay to be one with your emotions,” Virginia said, smirking.

  The Scooby guy looked impatient. “Yes, yes, everyone’s upset. So can you give us the checkout history?”

  “You just found it on the ground?” Skylar asked. “Why do you care who checked it out?”

  “Why do you care that we care?” Virginia said.

  “I don’t,” Skylar said, scowling, wishing he’d never left the equipment closet.

  “If you could just check,” the Scooby guy persisted.

  Skylar sighed loudly and scanned the barcode on the camera. He squinted at the computer screen. “Um . . . nobody checked this out. Well, not a student anyway.”

  “Yes they did,” Virginia said. “It was definitely a student.”

  “Well if you know so much, why are you asking me?” Skylar sighed.

  “Here, let me look,” Virginia demanded, leaning over the desk to see the computer screen for herself. Her elbow bumped a cup full of pens.

  Skylar swatted her away. “Quit. You’re knocking things over. Let me a do full scan.”

  “Patrick Choi,” Virginia said, reading the scan result. “Mr. Choi? The pep band conductor? Mr. Choi?”

  “Mr. Choi?” Scooby repeated. “Mr. Choi?”

  Now Skylar really needed a joint. “Let’s say ‘Mr. Choi’ five hundred more times.”

  Virginia grabbed the camera and started walking off with it, followed by her nerdy friend. “Thanks, Skylar.”

  “Hey, you have to give that back,” Skylar shouted after them. They ignored him. He sighed and returned to the equipment closet, resolved not to come out again until he was high enough to tune out this entire day.

  The girls’ bathroom, 2:45 p.m.

  Virginia stood at the mirror, spritzing herself with perfume. I can’t believe I used to think Skylar was cool, she thought. She’d applied to work at the AV lab in September because Skylar Jones had seemed like the most mysterious boy in school. He was a senior, he wore sandals, he had a bumper sticker on his car that said THE TAO OF CHILL, and Virginia had started the school year determined to be his girlfriend. She had spent every free period in the AV lab, probing Skylar’s mind for the mysterious, philosophical thoughts that she was certain must be in there somewhere. But after a few weeks Virginia learned the important lesson that some people who seem mysterious are actually just incredibly stoned.

  Virginia eyed the camera in her backpack. Mr. Choi? she thought for the hundredth time. It was so weird and random. Maybe he’d been paying Brittany to do his lecherous peeping for him. Except that didn’t make sense, because the Montagues were already rich.

  “That smells really nice,” came a girl’s voice from inside one of the stalls.

  “Thank you,” Virginia said, taking a final spritz of the perfume.

  “It smells like . . . I dunno. Like a rose.”

  Virginia frowned, annoyed. She didn’t want to smell like a rose. She wanted to smell like yearning or eternity.

  “Can I use some?” The stall door swung open, and a tall blond girl stepped out, dramatically wobbling on a pair of high heels. One glance at her face and it was obvious that the girl was way on drugs. But for once Virginia reserved her snotty judgments, because this wasn’t just some druggy lowlife skulking in the girls’ room. This was Angie Montague.

  Virginia’s mouth hung open stupidly for a moment. What is she doing here? Half the school was missing today, and Angie was the last person anyone expected to show up. And who could blame her for wanting to drug out—only why was she doing it at school  ?

  “Uh, sure,” Virginia managed to say finally, holding out the perf
ume bottle.

  “Thanksss,” said Angie. She reached out and swiped the perfume, then immediately dropped it. The glass bottle shattered on the filthy bathroom tiles, and within seconds the air was thick with the pungent smell of perfume. Angie looked at her hand with confusion, as if she expected the perfume bottle to rematerialize. Then she burst into tears.

  “I’m so sorry!” she cried out, crumpling to her knees. The perfume’s smell wafted up from the floor.

  “Whoa, it’s okay,” Virginia said, coughing a little from the smell and wondering if she should go get a guidance counselor.

  “I’ll pay you back!” Angie said, sobbing into her knees. “How . . . how much was it?”

  “Um, forty dollars . . . but don’t worry about it, really.”

  “Forty dollars?” Angie gasped. “Where am I going to get forty dollars? MY PURSE WAS STOLEN!” Then she collapsed in tears, burying her face in her hands.

  Virginia felt her lip curl in irritation. She’d been prepared to excuse Angie’s histrionics, but this was just insulting. She didn’t need to make up some story about her purse being stolen. She was Angie Montague; she could probably reach up her ass and pull out forty dollars.

  “I said don’t worry about it,” Virginia said icily. “You can write me a check.”

  “Do you have anything to eat?” Angie demanded. “I’m fucking starving.” And she actually looked kind of starving. Her cheeks were hollow and colorless, and she seemed weak.

  Virginia rummaged in her bag and found a crumbly old granola bar. “Here,” she said, handing it to Angie. Angie took it, but then just stared at it.

  “So . . . are you gonna eat it or what?” Virginia asked her.

  Angie glared at her, and her eyes were suddenly clear and ferocious. “Oh my GOD, get OUT of here! I want CORNY! I want a HUG! Not you and your disgusting trailer-trash perfume!”

  Virginia stumbled backward, startled by Angie’s outburst. “Sorry,” she muttered. The heavy perfume was making her dizzy. She turned and ran out the door, and immediately crashed into the soft, hefty chest of Corny Davenport.