“You don’t already know?” Nick tilts his head, smiling.
“No, I don’t.” Everything feels sharp at the edges. Intense. Like the air between us has a static charge and if I move—maybe if I even breathe—it will zap me.
He moves first, his cheeks tinged with pink as he reaches into his pocket. I watch him drag out a red wallet, realizing that it isn’t just any wallet. It’s mine.
He hands it over with another perfect, lopsided grin. “Uh, you dropped it in the grass.”
Right. When I tripped over my own feet and almost face-planted into the ground.
“Well, I should get back.” He looks toward the school, and I take a deep breath that smells like soap and fallen leaves and boy.
I know I should thank him. I really should. But I’m so stunned that I don’t. I just sit there like a complete moron—a rude moron—until he’s gone.
CHAPTER THREE
Tacey greets me at the door of the technology lab at 4:56 the next day. She pushes her long, curly hair away from her eyes. “Didn’t you get my texts after lunch?”
“Uh…” I trail off because I did get them. I just didn’t read them. As much as I love her, Tacey is strung like a caffeinated cat, and after yesterday’s drama, I needed a mellow day.
“Well, we have a major emergency,” she says.
“I’m here now, so what’s the big deal?”
“Come look for yourself,” Manny says.
I walk around Tacey to the computer where he’s sitting. At first it’s nothing new—our student website with the Claireville banner across the top and student pictures scrolling down both sides. But then I see the video playing in the box where our upcoming events slide show usually plays. I step in a little closer, trying to focus on the rhythmic motion and the grainy room. I can’t quite figure out what’s going on.
And then I do.
Heat flares up my neck, my mind suddenly blank. “Um, is that what I think it is?”
“If you think it’s naked people in the middle of—”
I put my hand up to cut him off. “Okay, I’ve got it. Why is it on our website?”
He shrugs, so I look past him to another computer, where Connor is clacking away, Hadley sitting beside him, beautiful despite her obvious agony.
In my peripheral vision, I can still see bits of the video. A pair of legs. A nondescript footboard. Long, red hair.
The blood drains out of me so fast I grip the back of the chair in front of me before I turn around. Away from the screen. “This is Stella DuBois’s tape.”
Everyone in the room stares at me.
The way Tacey moves in—quick and light—makes me think of hungry wolves. “You already knew about this?”
“Yeah,” I say, then wave. “I mean, not about it being up here, but I heard about the tape.”
Manny, Connor, and Tacey all seem surprised. I think Hadley’s too miserable about this to care. She’s chewing her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
My eyes drift to the screen and my insides go squirmy. I know some part of me is halfway watching this mess. The photographer in me can’t help but to notice the strange angle. It’s contrived. Stella’s on display, but the guy is off camera. It doesn’t feel accidental.
Tacey answers her phone and stalks from the room, and Manny looks at Connor. “Think you can clean up the resolution?” he asks.
“You realize I’m busy doing something valid here, right?” Connor says. “Feel free to get off your duff and help at any time.”
“This one’s beyond my skills.” Manny stretches. “But I’d like to figure out who this guy is. He seems awfully careful to keep himself out of frame, if you get my drift.”
I move closer to him, a little because I’m backing his cause and a little because this might be less horrible if I’m standing next to my best friend.
He drops his voice so it’s just for me. “This is really bothering you.”
“You sure you can’t make it go away?” I say, gesturing weakly at the screen. I know he hates messing with computers, but he is good at it.
“Sorry, Pi. Wish I could. But you know this school. This will be old news by tomorrow. Don’t let it freak you.”
I tug the back of his sweatshirt, so he knows I appreciate him trying.
“Give me a minute. I might be able to get the password from the keypass file,” Connor says. He might as well be speaking Greek, but I trust him. Connor will probably wind up at MIT or something. But despite the geek-smarts, he’s gorgeous and athletic enough to make any of the varsity teams. He and his girlfriend Hadley are kind of above all that though.
“It’s not in there,” Connor says. “What’s taking her so long?”
Tacey opens the door again, with our technology advisor, Ms. Collins, walking behind her. Tacey gestures at the thin woman beside her. “Did someone ask for a password?”
“Connor?” Ms. Collins says, holding out a Post-it note with a shaking hand.
“What kind of idiot decided you shouldn’t have that password?” Manny asks.
“The kind of idiot who knows what I can do with it,” Connor says with a wink.
“I’m the idiot,” Ms. Collins snaps. “It may be an independent website, but it contains school and student images and therefore a teacher needs to maintain security.”
“Way to maintain,” Manny says. I smack his arm.
Ms. Collins frowns so hard her whole face puckers. She’s never been good at handling his particular brand of ornery. I think it’s because she’s so young. She took college courses in high school, so she’s only three years ahead of us. Plus, she’s got that whole tall, scrawny look—less supermodel, more praying mantis. Between that and her oh-so-obvious crush on Connor, she doesn’t exactly command respect.
“I’m glad we found you,” I say. I can’t help it, I feel for her. She’s never quite grown into her own skin. And if her teenage fashion sense was anything like the long floral skirts and baggy cardigans she sports now, I can’t fathom she had an easy time of it around here. Come to think of it, I have no idea why she wanted to come back.
Ms. Collins smiles at me, then steps closer to Connor. Her voice—like her gaze—is just for him. “So, do you know how to take it down, Connor?”
“Already on it,” Connor says, and a few clicks later, it’s done.
“So, it’s over? It’s down?” Tacey asks, hands planted on her curvy hips.
Manny refreshes his screen and an error message appears: We’re experiencing technical difficulties. Check back later.
“It’s down,” I say.
Tacey slumps over the table like Armageddon itself has been avoided. I don’t feel like anything’s been avoided. That video is still out there. No way are we the only ones who saw it.
“Now what?” Manny asks.
“Now the school board will investigate. Until then, the website will have to remain down. I’m very sorry,” Ms. Collins says. She doesn’t really sound sorry.
“Well, good luck,” Connor says. “This file is totally buried and the source is encrypted.”
“It’s going to be like chasing a ghost,” Hadley says. It’s the first time she’s spoken, and she’s still so pale. Is she about to get sick?
“This is an independent, student-run website,” Tacey says. “You can’t keep it down.”
Ms. Collins’s lips thin into a hard line. “You use images and logos that are property of the school, so we certainly can.”
I touch Tacey’s shoulder because I know this will kill her. Tacey spent every waking minute over summer break working on this. She had a whole vision—a website for the students and by the students. Shutting it down is probably as harsh as giving her dog away.
“Do you think the police will get involved?” Hadley asks.
Connor puts a hand on her knee. “It’s a good question.
I mean, is Stella a minor?”
I remember the birthday cards taped to her locker earlier this year. “She’s eighteen.”
“Still, we can’t be sure. We don’t know how old…” Ms. Collins stops, obviously uncomfortable talking about Stella’s mystery man. “Regardless, the website will stay down, and I trust that you’ll all use discretion in this highly sensitive matter. We don’t want anyone to think someone here is responsible.”
“Why would we want our own site taken down?” Manny’s jaw tightens. He’s pissed.
“I just don’t want to give anyone a reason to point fingers.”
“It’s cool,” Connor says. “We appreciate the heads-up, Ms. C.”
She blushes in response and then slips out quietly, leaving us alone.
Tacey looks up at the ceiling with a sigh. “She has a point. I did this for my college résumé, so I don’t really want to advertise the scandal. We should keep it quiet.”
“It’s too late for quiet,” Connor says.
“Why would you say that?” Tacey asks.
“Because he’s smart.” Manny smirks. “That video was up for at least an hour.”
“So?”
“You know how I hate phrases like going viral, but…” Connor trails off and turns his laptop around so we can see the screen.
Screenshots, quick posts, little fragmented scenes from the video—Connor’s right. It’s too late to stop any of this.
• • •
The book is propped open on my desk, and I’ve got a notebook beside it filled with code names and possible descriptions. I didn’t plan to spend my evening this way. But the Stella tape got me thinking. Maybe that book has something in it about the guy who was so careful to keep himself hidden, or about the tape itself. So far, I’ve found nothing, except page after page proving how much crap people are getting away with.
I thought long and hard about turning this sucker in, but what’s the point? This isn’t some threat-laced manifesto. All of this stuff already happened—if it’s all even real.
My throat squeezes thinking of the entries about Manny. Blackmail. Changing student records. That’s expulsion at the least. Maybe criminal charges. Seriously, Manny is way too smart for that.
But then I also thought he was too smart to wait on college.
I could just ask, but how would I do that to him? If this were my name and Manny reading it, he’d dismiss it no question. Because he’s my friend and he knows I wouldn’t.
No, I can’t confront him unless I’m sure it’s the truth. Which means I need to figure out what’s real and what’s not in this creepy thing.
My gaze skims the eerily uniform writing and the stack of white-eyed photographs beside it. I tip my head down, rubbing my forehead. I need a break from this thing. I feel icky touching the pages for too long. I flip open my laptop and search the Latin phrase on the cover.
Malum Non Vide: See No Evil
Weird title for a book that’s pretty much dedicated to seeing evil. Maybe it explains why the photographs have no eyes? Or maybe it’s just further proof that the mystery writer is a delusional psychopath.
Either way, it doesn’t help. I need names. Real ones. So far I’ve got three.
Shutter—Me
RJG—Shane Haywood
LQ—Manny Raines
The initials are driving me crazy. What the heck does LQ have to do with Manny? And why does Shane get three letters? Unless maybe it’s because he used to go by his first and middle initials: SK. It was weird even back in elementary school. SK doesn’t exactly have the same ring as a TJ or a JD. It never made any sen—
Wait a minute.
I chew on the inside of my lip. Shane’s initials are SKH. His code name is RJG. One letter off. I flip to Manny Raines. LQ. Same thing. Holy crap. I cracked the code.
I sit back, grinning. With all the Smiths and Taylors in the world, that’s still a lot of figuring. But it’s a start.
My phone buzzes and I glance over, groaning as soon as I check the caller ID: Tacey. Probably wanting to talk yearbook crap.
I toss it on my desk and head to the bathroom to wash my face first. The day has not been kind. The mascara I put on this morning is smeared half an inch under my eyes. I scrub it off and brush my teeth, mentally preparing for a high-energy phone call. All Tacey calls reach a certain level of intensity. I return to my room to find my phone skating dangerously close to the edge of my desk.
The screen informs me that I’ve missed four calls.
“Are you kidding me?”
A text lights the screen as I pick it up. I open it with a huff.
Call me. It’s an emergency.
I call, rolling my eyes before she even picks up. “Tacey, I really think you need to ease off the caff—”
I cut myself off when I hear her crying. Hard. It sends my heart into my throat. I make a nervous lap around my room as I wait for her to speak.
“Piper…” She falters, sucking in a shuddering breath. “Stella’s dead.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I can’t really remember everything Tacey said. Just fragments. Phrases like “maybe her music was loud.” Words like “accident” and “train tracks.”
Tragic.
That’s what Tacey called it before she disconnected with a sniffle. People have been using that word a lot in the four days since that call. It’s been a blur of sentimental phrases and long sighs from my parents. They’re hugging me all the time too, stroking my hair back from my forehead, patting my hands. For now, all the quiet fights that simmer between them are forgotten. Buried because a girl they barely even knew is dead.
We didn’t go to the funeral, a private affair held at the church her mother pastors. I thought the student memorial service would be easier, but now that I’m pulling into the parking lot, I’m not so sure.
Manny, who followed me to the community center near our high school, parks beside me in the parking lot that separates the two buildings.
He adjusts his collar, looking beyond awkward in an ugly tie, no doubt from his dad’s meager collection.
“You look nice,” I lie.
“You look miserable.”
That’s because I saw Stella before she died. I saw her in the hallway after she was ripped to pieces, and I walked away. I shrug and look at the road, where a young couple is walking a pair of yappy Sheltie dogs. Like it’s any other normal day.
“Hell of a shock, right?” Manny says, the silence obviously getting to him.
“Is it?” I don’t know where that came from. I think I meant to say something agreeable. But now that it’s out, it makes me think. “Is anyone actually shocked about this?”
“If by this you mean Stella getting hit by a train, then yeah. I think people are surprised.”
“Maybe they shouldn’t be. That video of her went everywhere.”
Manny pauses for a minute, but we’re parked half a freaking mile away and there isn’t anyone nearby. He still leans close. “What are you saying?”
His voice sounds like a warning, but it’s not like I want to say any of this. It’s a terrible word, too much like cyanide or genocide. So, I press my lips together and hold it in.
Manny isn’t fooled. “You think she walked in front of a train on purpose?”
My breath escapes in a rush. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I think.”
“So, talk. Talk to me. Which you could have done any day this week if you’d picked up the phone.”
I bite my lip because it’s true. We texted a little, but I just wasn’t…ready. I’ve been processing all of this. Stella. That mess in the hallway. That stupid book and the things I found about Manny in it. For once in our friendship, I don’t know how to go there. But I know it can’t be now. And definitely not here.
But I have to say something. “I heard about the
video…”
“Yeah, you were saying that in the lab. What was with that?”
I swallow hard, but the sharp thing in my throat won’t budge. “People were talking about it in the hall before it even hit the website. I think it messed her up.”
“A lot of girls regret these things after the fact. That doesn’t mean they want to off themselves.”
I grimace. “But who walks on the tracks without paying attention? Even if her music was blaring, she should have heard. You know how loud those trains are.”
“And I know how loud my headphones are. Hell, it could’ve happened to me! I mean, she was upset, but Stella can handle herself.” He nods at someone walking past us and lowers his voice to a whisper. “The girl was not suicidal.”
“I know that, I just…” I sigh and the wind blows my hair into my eyes, so I tuck it behind my ears. “You weren’t there, Manny. You didn’t hear what they said to her.”
“Wait, people were talking to her about the tape? When?” His voice is different. Tighter.
“In the hallway. It was bad.” Tears well in my eyes, unexpected and unwelcome. “I was standing right there, Manny. Right next to her. I could have—I should have done something. “
Manny sighs, pulling me into a hard hug. “Hell, Pi, why didn’t you call?”
“I should have done something,” I say again, because I can’t shake it.
He squeezes my arm. “Quit it. You barely knew Stella, so stop going there. We all do what we have to do to get by. You couldn’t have known this would happen.”
I don’t say anything. Maybe what I did wasn’t wrong, but it sure doesn’t feel right. Not anymore.
“All that matters now is that we’re here,” he says. “To pay our respect.”
I don’t even know what that means, pay our respect. Like we’re all going to pull out our emotional wallets at some big funeral cash register. I blink away the absurd thought, wet lashes brushing my cheeks.
“And what about that video?” I ask.
“Look, I know you should respect the dead and all, but you and I both know Stella had a wild side. Maybe the video was her idea.”