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“I’m fine, Cabe.”
“’Kay. Love you.”
She laughs. “Is that it?”
“I’m trying to behave like a good cop.”
“He’s tricky. I’m heading home. You wanna stop by for the details?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m calling Baker now, and then Captain. I’ll see you at my place.”
Janie makes the calls and reports the events, and Captain makes sure she knows this is a classic case of “fucked-up authoritative egomaniac syndrome.”
She made up the term herself.
And then Captain says, “I’m not too worried about the chem fair trip since you’ll be with Mrs. Pancake all the time, but be very careful at that party, Janie. I’m guessing he gets off on getting the girls drunk, maybe taking advantage of them then, while the party’s going on. Keep your wits about you.”
“I will, Captain.”
“And do some research on date-rape drugs. I’ve got some pamphlets on it that I want you to read.”
“Yes, sir.”
9:36 p.m.
Janie arrives home, steaming with a new hatred for Mr. Durbin. What a manipulator. She’d like to get inside his dream sometime. Turn it into a nightmare.
Ten minutes later Cabel slips in and looks at her all over. Gives her a hug. “Your shirt smells like his aftershave,” he says, eyes narrow. “What happened?”
“I did my job,” she says.
“And what did he do?”
“Here. Sit here. Pretend you’re working on chemistry formulas.” She acts it out for him.
“Fucker.”
“And then he tried to tell me I was a bad girl to think he’d ever want to touch me. Even though he just did.”
Cabel closes his eyes. “Sure,” he says, nodding. “That’s how he keeps them quiet.”
“That’s exactly what I thought as he patronized all over me while leaning against the door so I couldn’t get out.”
Cabel paces.
Janie grins. “I’m going to bed. You can let yourself out when you’re through with that.”
February 17, 2006, 7:05 p.m.
Janie sits on the living-room floor of Desiree Jackson’s house for the study date. A handful of Chem. 2 classmates surround her. They get right down to work on formulas.
Whenever anyone brings up Mr. Durbin’s name, the other girls gush over him. Janie fakes it, easing questions about Mr. Durbin into the conversation as carefully as she can. But nobody has anything bad to say about him.
10:12 p.m.
Janie packs up her books and notes, sighs, and goes home with nothing new besides rave reviews of Mr. Durbin. Everybody loves the guy.
A night of studying, wasted. She knows this stuff by heart.
ROAD TRIP
February 19, 2006, 12:05 p.m.
It’s snowing.
Hard.
The chemistry students pack their project and their overnight bags into the fifteen-passenger van in the school parking lot while Mr. Durbin paces outside, his gloved hand holding a cell phone loosely to his ear. His hair is thick with snow. He talks in spurts, his words dying in the blustery wind.
Everybody tumbles inside the van, excited and nervous. The students congregate on the front three bench seats.
Except Janie.
Janie takes the fourth bench seat.
Alone.
Shivering.
Mrs. Pancake, shrouded in a full-length, lilac, puffball, goose-down winter coat, peers anxiously out the front passenger window at Mr. Durbin and the blowing, drifting snow.
“We should cancel,” she mutters to no one in particular. “It’s only going to get worse the farther north and west we go. Lake effect.”
The students speak in hushed voices.
Janie pleads with the weather to lighten up. As much as she hates these class trips, she knows she needs this one.
Finally Mr. Durbin blows into the driver’s seat with a gust of snow and freezing cold wind. He starts up the van.
“The fair’s secretary says it’s clear and sunny up north,” he says. “And the latest weather reports show this band of snow is isolated to the bottom half of lower Michigan. Once we get past Grayling we should have clear skies.”
“So we’re going?” Mrs. Pancake asks nervously.
Mr. Durbin winks at her. “Oh yes, my dear. We’re going. Put on your seat belt.” He puts the van into drive and plows through the snowy parking lot. “Here we go!”
The students cheer. Janie smiles and checks her backpack for supplies. She has everything she needs to get her through the next thirty-six hours. She pulls out Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, along with her book light, and dives in.
5:38 p.m.
It takes more than five hours to get to Grayling when it should have taken three. But at least the snow has stopped. The school van limps into a Wendy’s parking lot.
“Eat quickly and get back in here,” Mr. Durbin hollers. “We have six hours to go. We’ll have to set up early in the morning—they’re closing the gymnasium at midnight, reopening at six a.m. I suggest you try to get some sleep in, people.”
Janie perks up.
Stays far away from Mr. Durbin. She’s still pissed about the other night at his house, although she knows she has to get past her contempt. Funnily enough, Mr. Durbin seems to hover around Janie even more when she tries to avoid him.
He slips in step with her as they enter the restaurant, but she ignores him and heads for the bathroom.
Everyone else heads for the bathroom too.
Janie calls Cabel.
“Hi, uh, Mom,” she says.
Cabel snorts. “Hello, dear. Did you make it through the blizzard?”
“Yeah. Barely.” Janie grins into the phone.
“Anything yet?”
“Nope, not yet. We still have six hours to drive. It’s going to be a long night.”
“Hang in there, sweets. I miss you.”
“I—I love you, Mom.”
“Call me when you get a chance. If anything happens.”
“I will.”
“Love you, Janie. Be safe.”
“I will. Talk to you soon.”
Fifteen minutes later they are back on the road.
Nobody sleeps.
Figures, Janie thinks.
She takes a nap while she can.
12:10 a.m.
In the hotel room with Janie are three other girls. Stacey O
’Grady, Lauren Bastille, and Lupita Hernandez. The four of them chat and giggle softly for a few minutes, but growing tired, they fall into bed, the alarm set for 5:30 a.m.
1:55 a.m.
Janie is sucked into the first dream. It’s Lupita, her bed mate. Janie can feel Lupita, twitching in the bed next to her.
They are in a classroom. Papers fly around everywhere. Lupita frantically scoops them up, but for each paper she picks up, fifty more fall from the ceiling.
Lupita is frantic.
She looks at Janie. Janie stares back, concentrating.
“Help me!” Lupita cries.
Janie smiles encouragingly. “Change it, Lupita,” she says. “Order the papers to come to a rest in a pile. It’s your dream. You can change it.”
Janie concentrates on delivering the message to Lupita. Slowly, Lupita’s eyes grow wide. She reaches out her hands to the papers, and they float gently down into a neat stack on Lupita’s desk. Lupita sighs, relieved.
Janie pulls herself out of the dream.
Lupita is no longer twitching. She is breathing steadily, deep, calm breaths.
Janie grins and rolls over.
Waits patiently for the one she needs.
2:47 a.m.
It’s Lauren Bastille this time.
They are in a room of a house that looks vaguely familiar to Janie. Folding chairs are set up in a circle. People are sitting and standing all around. Some are laughing and falling over. Everyone is drinking some sort of pink punch; some dip their hands into the punch bowl and slurp.
All the people, except Lauren, look fuzzy. Janie can’t see any faces, no matter how hard she tries to focus.
Lauren dances in the center of a circle. Her shirt is off and she twirls it as she stumbles around, laughing, wearing just a black bra and jeans.
Someone joins her.
He strips his shirt off and grabs Lauren.
Everyone claps and cheers as the guy pulls Lauren to him. They kiss and grind as the music pounds in the background.
Hip-hop music.
Janie watches in horror as the guy removes Lauren’s clothing and shoves his jeans down to his knees. The guy pushes Lauren to the floor, falling on top of her, their drinks spilling everywhere, and the rest of the group begins making out and tearing off one another’s clothes. Then they pile up on top of Lauren until people are stacked to the ceiling. Lauren is screaming, muffled. She’s being crushed to death.
