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“How’s everybody doing now. Better?”
Again, she didn’t respond, though this question appeared to be more from the heart. Since Carmen’s death and the others’ various injuries, the whole school had been in a state of shock. Certainly, the senior class had.
Ellie thought back to that night. Coming home to Mom and Oliver. Mom bursting into tears when she saw Ellie’s damp, bedraggled form. She’d tried to convince herself, apparently, that her brainiac daughter hadn’t been one of those “dope-smoking degenerates,” as Oliver put it, that Ellie had been at work like she’d said when all the terrible things went down at the party. But it was clear by how Ellie had acted that her mother’s hope was unfounded. Carmen Proffitt’s death was a terrible tragedy, yet Ellie had sensed that the real tragedy for her mother and stepfather was that Ellie’d been any part of the debacle at all.
But through all the grounding, and “talking to,” and general disappointment from her mother and Oliver, and the overall shock and horror of losing a classmate, Ellie had carried the memory of having sex with McCrae as a kind of talisman against misery. She would think back to those moments over and over again. He might hardly remember them, but she did. And yes, though there had been some discomfort in the feel of the grass and small sticks against her back as she and McCrae—Chris—rolled around on the ground for a while before he undid his jeans and she took the moment to pull hers down and kick them away.
“Ellie . . . ,” he’d said, sounding way too sober. Sensing he was about to change his mind, she’d yanked her bathing suit bottoms off as well and pulled him down atop her.
Unbelievable now. Especially with the events afterward. She’d been shocked when Tanner yelled he was going back in the water. And a bit rejected when McCrae, who’d hovered kind of near her after they’d returned to the party from their secret tryst, seeming torn about how to behave, had suddenly charged after Tanner along with the other guys. She hadn’t wanted to go back down to the beach, but very quickly she realized she’d be the last one left if she didn’t. She’d clambered down to the spit and stood on the shore awhile, her gaze searching out McCrae, but also Tanner, who’d turned out to be the real problem.
What had possessed him to go under the rope? What the hell was the matter with him? Nihilistic behavior, for sure. Ellie had jumped in the water after them. A kind of knee-jerk response, as if she’d thought she could save them somehow.
As if he could read her thoughts, Oliver said, for about the fiftieth time, “Lucky for you that young teacher pulled you out of the river.”
Ellie ground her teeth together. Miss Billings hadn’t helped her all that much, though she’d certainly taken the credit for saving “one of the students.” Principal Kiefer was especially proud of her, and though she pretended to be shy and humble, Miss Billings had clearly basked in the praise these last few weeks.
“She’s a student counselor,” Ellie corrected him.
“At least someone was using their head that night.”
It was clear that Oliver found Billings memorable, and not just because she’d been such a savior. Meanly, Ellie said, “She didn’t save Carmen.”
“Ellie,” he said in rebuke.
Ellie shrank down in her seat. She should be grief-stricken and sad and sober, like all the rest of them, mourning the loss of a friend and classmate. And it wasn’t that she didn’t feel sick about losing Carmen; she did. It was almost impossible to comprehend. But everything had gone to hell since that night in so many ways. She couldn’t keep mourning Carmen the same way some of the others were, especially Bailey. It was nearly too hard to keep pushing forward with her own life. These last few weeks of school, with the grief counselors, and the talks with the police and the general horror and malaise . . . it was a nightmare. The Five Firsts had cracked apart like a broken egg. Amanda and Delta weren’t talking because of Tanner, who’d spent a few days in the hospital but seemed to be okay now. Bailey was completely destroyed, losing her best friend and maybe lesbian crush—it was still hard to tell on that—and basically had broken with Carmen’s family, who kind of blamed her as the bad influence, which was crazy too, but Reverend Proffitt was a strict disciplinarian who allowed no room for error. Bailey had split from the Proffitts and, as a by-product, her own mother, who’d left the family anyway apparently. She’d aligned with her father and had actually spoken at one of the grief meetings they’d been forced to attend and announced that she was going into law enforcement herself.
Great. Knock yourself out.
Ellie caught herself up, surprised by her callousness. Bailey had damn near killed herself trying to help Carmen.
And Zora . . . her parents were divorcing, and it was getting really ugly, apparently, although Ellie almost envied her. She would be delighted if Mom and Oliver called it quits.
They’d held a school assembly, a candlelight vigil, and then the funeral. Reverend Proffitt had talked about his little girl, so pure, so innocent, so . . . ripe to be taken advantage of, and he’d looked straight at Bailey. It had been terribly unfair of him. Ellie and most of the other kids surmised he’d heard the lesbian rumors, which really was a crime for Bailey. Made her grief twice as hard.
Now, however, most of that was behind them, and there were just hours left until graduation. Tanner had recovered and was going to walk with them. Freddie, the aide, was on crutches, but he was back at school and being hailed as a hero because he’d been responsible for keeping Tanner’s head above water after he’d knocked himself out in the rapids.
Woody Deavers, Justin Penske, and Brad Sumpter, the first guys to follow after Tanner, had been counseled and counseled by Miss Billings and professional psychiatrists as well. Ellie could have told them there was nothing wrong with them. They’d followed the most popular guy in school. Stupid. Rash. But not unexpected. It happened. It was a bad deal, but it just was. Ellie had interviewed them herself, in a kind of casual way, with her own sort of journalistic method, along with all the kids who’d been at the barbecue. She’d talked to Coach Sutton and Miss Billings and Freddie and written it all down in a report. She’d done it for herself, but she’d shown it to McCrae, and he urged her to send it into the West Knoll paper. She’d been surprised. She’d mostly done it as a means to gather her thoughts, and then she’d used it as an intro to talk to McCrae, who’d been hard to get close to since their night together. She’d feared he’d been purposely avoiding her, but when she finally buttonholed him and practically shoved the report into his hands, which he’d initially tried hard not to take, and then learned his reaction, her heart had warmed. Maybe he was a little embarrassed about what had happened. Or maybe Carmen’s death had tainted everything for him. It had for her, so maybe it was like that for him a bit too.
The high school paper wouldn’t print it. There were lawsuits hovering around the Forsythes and the school. With that, she’d done as McCrae—Chris—suggested and taken it to the city paper, which was printed once a week, and the West Knoll Sentinel had published it without a qualm. It brought Ellie a bit of notoriety and even helped thaw Mom and Oliver a bit.
Of course, Bailey was keeping a journal now too. A copycat? Ellie had been pissed, though she’d realized Bailey was using her writing as a coping tool.
Ellie slammed the door on Oliver’s “Enjoy your last day,” which sounded a bit ominous, like he was warning her that things were going to be different from here on out. They undoubtedly would be. She was going to make them be. But it still put a shiver sliding down her back like a cold drop of rain.
* * *
Delta felt like she was floating . . . or on drugs . . . or something as she walked up the steps to the stage and accepted her diploma from Principal Kiefer.
They’d made it through the ceremony. One by one, walking up the stairs to the media-room stage, accepting their diplomas, shaking hands with Principal Kiefer, a short, wiry, gray-haired man with a wide smile that somehow worried Delta. There was just something anxious about him that she couldn’t put her finger on. Worse now, since the barbeque.
Or maybe she was flat-out crazy. The events of the past few weeks had sent her over the edge. Maybe her aversion to the principal was a symptom of a neurotic, paranoiac mind.
She walked back to her seat, clutching her leather-bound certificate, eyes on the myriad maroon gowns and mortarboards with their yellow tassels. They were the Cougars, and above, painted on the wall, a tawny, prowling beast came straight at the group, stealthily watching with cold, yellow eyes, although the paint was chipping slightly, which you’d think would render the image harmless but somehow didn’t. Delta had never liked sitting beneath the stalking cat, and today was no exception. Again, neurotic. Susceptible. Too imaginative. Although Amanda, once upon a time, had offered up a similar view.
“I hate that cat,” she’d said, jerking her head in the direction of the cougar mural.
“You do?” Delta had asked, thrilled that her friend felt the same way she did.
