puzzle are scrambled in my head, mocking me. Some of the edges are jagged, some are smooth. It seems like they should fit together, but I’m missing one piece—the most important piece.
I remember last night, how I bent down at my telescope, looking through the lens, peering at the perfect stars in the clear night sky. Something had poked me in the thigh, something sharp in my pocket.
The calendar page I’d been holding when I slid.
Holy shit.
The killer was at our house that day.
The killer . . .
Wait. The piece of paper is the biggest clue I have about who killed Sophie. I have to find it.
I toss the notebook aside and hurl myself onto the floor, searching frantically for the calendar page. There’s nothing by the telescope. Maybe I accidentally kicked it under my bed in all the commotion. I lower my cheek to the carpet and peek underneath. There’s nothing. Not even dust bunnies. Vanessa’s so anal, she routinely pushes our beds aside and vacuums underneath.
Vanessa!
Could she have picked up the page, thinking it was garbage?
I look in my trash can. Nothing but a Target bag lining the inside.
I race downstairs. Sometimes Vanessa empties the smaller trash cans into the bigger one in the kitchen. Crossing my fingers, I pull open the cupboard below the kitchen sink and tilt the garbage can to look in. Nothing but a banana peel. I’m just about to go outside and look through the recycling bin when I smell something burning.
No. Please, no.
But I only have to step into the backyard for my hopes of using the paper to find the killer to be dashed away. My father stands alone before a roaring blaze in our fire pit. He turns to look at me as I join him dejectedly.
“Seemed like a good night for a fire,” he says. The light from the fire bounces off his face, casting shadows on the side nearest me.
I n biology class on Monday, my eyes start to droop during a film about the cardiovascular system. It’s been hours since my last caffeine pill. On the screen, blood cells with wide eyes and smiling little faces do a dance and explain how they do their job. A heart bulges, filling with ruby-red fluid, then contracts, releasing the blood into the arteries.
I close my eyes and remember it all.
Her lips are parted as though she is about to say something, but she will never speak again. Black hair against white skin. The blood seeps into her bedspread, creating a red silhouette.
I wonder what her last thoughts were. I wonder whose was the last face she saw. The face I was behind. I can’t catch my breath. I swallow and swallow and swallow— deep, burning mouthfuls of air, but it’s not enough.
“Sylvia!” Mrs. Williams sounds far away. I feel her hands gripping me like vises, shaking me. A paper bag appears from out of nowhere, and I hold it up to my mouth to contain my panic.
Soon the fire in my chest is cooled, and I take the bag away. I look around and see a million eyes and gaping mouths.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Williams asks, leaning over me.
“Yeah, I just . . . didn’t sleep very well last night.”
Rollins, from across the room, catches my gaze, then quickly looks away. We haven’t spoken since Friday night, since I had the opportunity to open up to him but instead pushed him away. All weekend, I kept thinking he’d call me, especially after he heard about Sophie. But he never did. That’ll teach me to trust someone. Right when I need them the most, they disappear. Just like my mother did. Just like my father.
Suddenly, I feel the need to get away, to be by myself.
“Would you like to get a drink of water?” I know Mrs. Williams is offering me a chance to get myself together so I don’t look like such a crazy bitch. I’ll take it.
“Uh, yeah.”
As I rise from my desk to escape the stares, she puts her hand on my shoulder.
“We’re all upset,” she says quietly.
I nod and tear away from her. I feel everyone’s stares as I flee from the room. Now I am not only the
I remember last night, how I bent down at my telescope, looking through the lens, peering at the perfect stars in the clear night sky. Something had poked me in the thigh, something sharp in my pocket.
The calendar page I’d been holding when I slid.
Holy shit.
The killer was at our house that day.
The killer . . .
Wait. The piece of paper is the biggest clue I have about who killed Sophie. I have to find it.
I toss the notebook aside and hurl myself onto the floor, searching frantically for the calendar page. There’s nothing by the telescope. Maybe I accidentally kicked it under my bed in all the commotion. I lower my cheek to the carpet and peek underneath. There’s nothing. Not even dust bunnies. Vanessa’s so anal, she routinely pushes our beds aside and vacuums underneath.
Vanessa!
Could she have picked up the page, thinking it was garbage?
I look in my trash can. Nothing but a Target bag lining the inside.
I race downstairs. Sometimes Vanessa empties the smaller trash cans into the bigger one in the kitchen. Crossing my fingers, I pull open the cupboard below the kitchen sink and tilt the garbage can to look in. Nothing but a banana peel. I’m just about to go outside and look through the recycling bin when I smell something burning.
No. Please, no.
But I only have to step into the backyard for my hopes of using the paper to find the killer to be dashed away. My father stands alone before a roaring blaze in our fire pit. He turns to look at me as I join him dejectedly.
“Seemed like a good night for a fire,” he says. The light from the fire bounces off his face, casting shadows on the side nearest me.
I n biology class on Monday, my eyes start to droop during a film about the cardiovascular system. It’s been hours since my last caffeine pill. On the screen, blood cells with wide eyes and smiling little faces do a dance and explain how they do their job. A heart bulges, filling with ruby-red fluid, then contracts, releasing the blood into the arteries.
I close my eyes and remember it all.
Her lips are parted as though she is about to say something, but she will never speak again. Black hair against white skin. The blood seeps into her bedspread, creating a red silhouette.
I wonder what her last thoughts were. I wonder whose was the last face she saw. The face I was behind. I can’t catch my breath. I swallow and swallow and swallow— deep, burning mouthfuls of air, but it’s not enough.
“Sylvia!” Mrs. Williams sounds far away. I feel her hands gripping me like vises, shaking me. A paper bag appears from out of nowhere, and I hold it up to my mouth to contain my panic.
Soon the fire in my chest is cooled, and I take the bag away. I look around and see a million eyes and gaping mouths.
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Williams asks, leaning over me.
“Yeah, I just . . . didn’t sleep very well last night.”
Rollins, from across the room, catches my gaze, then quickly looks away. We haven’t spoken since Friday night, since I had the opportunity to open up to him but instead pushed him away. All weekend, I kept thinking he’d call me, especially after he heard about Sophie. But he never did. That’ll teach me to trust someone. Right when I need them the most, they disappear. Just like my mother did. Just like my father.
Suddenly, I feel the need to get away, to be by myself.
“Would you like to get a drink of water?” I know Mrs. Williams is offering me a chance to get myself together so I don’t look like such a crazy bitch. I’ll take it.
“Uh, yeah.”
As I rise from my desk to escape the stares, she puts her hand on my shoulder.
“We’re all upset,” she says quietly.
I nod and tear away from her. I feel everyone’s stares as I flee from the room. Now I am not only the
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