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After the homecoming queen nomination prank, it was a rough few days for Simone—she shut down, withdrew, stopped participating. I took her aside one day in class and told her I was devastated for her, livid on her behalf. I told her I would give anything to body swap with a random seventeen-year-old girl—Freaky Friday style—so I could get back at every one of the little shit-bastard-assholes who was trying to make a joke out of her. And I think that conversation helped, because Simone told me she knew what she was going to do, that she was going to homecoming. I drove her to the Consignment Closet, in Hammitsburg, where we found a black lace and tulle dress that was beautiful and badass . . . just like her. Toby “Merman” Gessler escorted her onto the field the night of the homecoming game—and every one of my students was there with me, shouting and clapping and cheering her on. Simone didn’t win the crown that night, but she won the respect of every student in Lakeside—even the ones who tried to break her.
These days, Simone is taking cosmetology classes at night, at the local Vo-tech, and she plans to take business classes there over the summer. She doesn’t want to go to college, but hopes to work at and eventually own her own salon here in town when she graduates high school. Michael’s older brother had to drop out of college to go to rehab—his second stint. His love-hate of heroin started right here in high school, because, at least according to my students, there’s no drug they can’t get within five minutes in this building. You just have to know who to ask, and apparently, the entire student body seems to know who those people are.
It’s fascinating to me, how there’s this whole other teenage universe that operates in the shadows of adult awareness. It’s a school, but it’s also its own society, with its own rules and rituals—a condensed, mirror reflection of the outside world.
~ ~ ~
One night, while I’m sleeping at Garrett’s, we’re awakened by the sound of screaming fire trucks and police cars. It’s across town, but Lakeside is small enough that the commotion feels close—just a few miles away. Snoopy spins in circles and barks in panicked warning at the door. I call my parents, and Garrett calls his. It turns out there’s a fire—at Baygrove Park—a big one. The park, the swings, and the surrounding trees are reduced to ash. It doesn’t spread to the nearby houses, but it’s a close call.
By morning, everyone’s heard the news . . . the fire wasn’t an accident. It was set on purpose—someone in Lakeside is an arsonist.
Two days after the fire, I’m in the main office with Mrs. Cockaburrow, who is helping me make extra copies of the Little Shop of Horrors script for my class. The kids have school issued iPads, and the district has a Go Green policy, but for blocking and notes—only a hard copy script will really do.
“Thanks, Mrs. Cockaburrow,” I say.
She smiles and shuffles back behind her desk, eyeing Miss McCarthy’s closed office door the way researchers watch a volcano that’s overdue for an eruption.
I walk back to the auditorium, just as the school police officer, John Tearney, is approaching the door. I remember John from high school—not fondly.
“John? What’s going on?”
He pauses at the door, eyes raking over me, making me think of the medical shows my mother watches—the ones where patients always end up with some exotic worm crawling under their skins.
“Is David Burke in this class?”
I step in front of him, putting myself between him and the door.
“Yes. Why?”
“Gotta bring him in for questioning, about the fire.”
My stomach turns to a lead ball in my abdomen.
“Are you arresting him?”
“Not yet. For now, I just want to question him.”
I delve deep into my legal knowledge—most of which comes from watching Law & Order through the years.
“He’s a minor . . . do you have his grandmother’s permission to question him? She’s his guardian.”
Tearney’s jaw twitches with annoyance. “What are you, his lawyer?”
I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “No. I’m his teacher. And David’s in class right now, so you can’t have him.”
“This is a police investigation, Callie. Don’t tell me who I can and can’t have. Move out of the fucking way.”
I don’t move. I lean in.
“I know you. I remember you. I remember when you were a senior trying to slip roofies into freshman drinks at after-parties.” I get right in his face, hissing like a momma cobra snake. “I know you.”
His mouth twists and he leers down at me. “Wow. I guess you can take the girl out of Jersey, but you can’t take the bitch out of the girl, huh.”
“Hey!”
I turn at the sound of Garrett’s voice. His furious voice. He’s standing in the hallway, a few feet away, with a group of students behind him.
