insisted.
She
held out her iPhone to her friend, who squinted at the online news feed. After
reading the first couple lines of the story, she took the phone from Amy's hand
and scrolled to the next paragraph. 'Wow. Is that where we were?'
'Yes,
that was our hotel. A girl was murdered there last night.'
Katie
blew the bangs out of her eyes with a quick puff of breath. 'It says here she
was drinking on the beach in the middle of the night. Jeez, not smart.'
'It
still sucks.'
'Of
course it does. Life sucks.'
Katie
handed back the phone and returned to the document on her laptop. Amy wanted to
talk more, but when her roommate was writing, you didn't interrupt her. Amy
reclined her head against the musty foam of her seat cushion and stared into
space down the dimly lit aisle of the bus. Her body jolted with the bumps of
the road. Her eyes felt heavy, but she couldn't sleep, unlike most of the other
girls, who were draped over the seats. It had been an adrenaline-packed week,
and she hadn't come down to earth yet. Her dance ensemble from Green Bay had
taken first runner-up in the competition - almost the winners, but not quite.
She figured they would nail the prize next year, because the hotshot team from
Louisville that beat them would be losing most of its first-string girls when
they graduated in June.
Amy
was a junior. One more year to go.
She
tried to clear her mind, but the image of the girl dead on the beach outside their
Naples hotel intruded on her brain. That was who Amy was. She was a psychology
major, always analyzing people and trying to figure out what made them tick.
When she thought about the girl, she imagined the world through her eyes,
seeing the empty stretch of Gulf sand. Here was a teenager four years younger
than Amy was, alone, assaulted, killed. Katie was right; it was dumb to go off
by the water and drink in the middle of the night. But Amy had done stupid
things too.
'Hey.'
Her roommate waved a hand in front of Amy's face, breaking her trance. 'You
OK?'
'Yeah.'
'You
still thinking about it?'
'Yeah.'
'You
can't take on the whole world's problems, you know,' she chided her.
'I
know.'
'So
knock it off.'
Katie
was the reporter, who looked at the world like a black-and- white encyclopedia
of facts. Amy was the eye candy with the soft center, the one who felt too
much, laughed too much, and cried too much. She secretly believed that her
roommate would make a better therapist than she would herself, because Katie
didn't let people get to her. She kept her distance, cool and objective. Amy
dove in head first.
'She
was from Wisconsin,' Amy said.
'Who?'
Katie asked, dragging her eyes away from her article. She'd tugged along with
the team to write about the competition for the Green Bay newspaper. It made
for a free spring break trip, with the
paper
picking up the hotel tab and her parents not worrying about what they didn't
know.
'The girl.
Glory Fischer. The one who was killed. She was from Wisconsin.'
'OK.'
'Door
County,' Amy added. 'That's not even an hour away from us.'
'Where
are you going with this?'
'I
don't know.'
'Did
you know her? Was she on one of the dance teams from the other schools?'
Amy
shook her head. 'No.'
'Then
what's up with you?'
'It's
just a feeling.'
Amy
took out her phone again and ran a Google search to see if any other newspapers
had picked up the story. She saw that the Milwaukee paper had already filed a
report on the murder. Local girl killed on vacation - that was big news back
home. The Journal Sentinel reporter had tracked down a yearbook photo of
Glory Fischer that was posted with the article. Amy stared at the dead girl's
face, and her sense of unease grew. She told herself that she'd made a mistake
and that she was confusing
She
held out her iPhone to her friend, who squinted at the online news feed. After
reading the first couple lines of the story, she took the phone from Amy's hand
and scrolled to the next paragraph. 'Wow. Is that where we were?'
'Yes,
that was our hotel. A girl was murdered there last night.'
Katie
blew the bangs out of her eyes with a quick puff of breath. 'It says here she
was drinking on the beach in the middle of the night. Jeez, not smart.'
'It
still sucks.'
'Of
course it does. Life sucks.'
Katie
handed back the phone and returned to the document on her laptop. Amy wanted to
talk more, but when her roommate was writing, you didn't interrupt her. Amy
reclined her head against the musty foam of her seat cushion and stared into
space down the dimly lit aisle of the bus. Her body jolted with the bumps of
the road. Her eyes felt heavy, but she couldn't sleep, unlike most of the other
girls, who were draped over the seats. It had been an adrenaline-packed week,
and she hadn't come down to earth yet. Her dance ensemble from Green Bay had
taken first runner-up in the competition - almost the winners, but not quite.
She figured they would nail the prize next year, because the hotshot team from
Louisville that beat them would be losing most of its first-string girls when
they graduated in June.
Amy
was a junior. One more year to go.
She
tried to clear her mind, but the image of the girl dead on the beach outside their
Naples hotel intruded on her brain. That was who Amy was. She was a psychology
major, always analyzing people and trying to figure out what made them tick.
When she thought about the girl, she imagined the world through her eyes,
seeing the empty stretch of Gulf sand. Here was a teenager four years younger
than Amy was, alone, assaulted, killed. Katie was right; it was dumb to go off
by the water and drink in the middle of the night. But Amy had done stupid
things too.
'Hey.'
Her roommate waved a hand in front of Amy's face, breaking her trance. 'You
OK?'
'Yeah.'
'You
still thinking about it?'
'Yeah.'
'You
can't take on the whole world's problems, you know,' she chided her.
'I
know.'
'So
knock it off.'
Katie
was the reporter, who looked at the world like a black-and- white encyclopedia
of facts. Amy was the eye candy with the soft center, the one who felt too
much, laughed too much, and cried too much. She secretly believed that her
roommate would make a better therapist than she would herself, because Katie
didn't let people get to her. She kept her distance, cool and objective. Amy
dove in head first.
'She
was from Wisconsin,' Amy said.
'Who?'
Katie asked, dragging her eyes away from her article. She'd tugged along with
the team to write about the competition for the Green Bay newspaper. It made
for a free spring break trip, with the
paper
picking up the hotel tab and her parents not worrying about what they didn't
know.
'The girl.
Glory Fischer. The one who was killed. She was from Wisconsin.'
'OK.'
'Door
County,' Amy added. 'That's not even an hour away from us.'
'Where
are you going with this?'
'I
don't know.'
'Did
you know her? Was she on one of the dance teams from the other schools?'
Amy
shook her head. 'No.'
'Then
what's up with you?'
'It's
just a feeling.'
Amy
took out her phone again and ran a Google search to see if any other newspapers
had picked up the story. She saw that the Milwaukee paper had already filed a
report on the murder. Local girl killed on vacation - that was big news back
home. The Journal Sentinel reporter had tracked down a yearbook photo of
Glory Fischer that was posted with the article. Amy stared at the dead girl's
face, and her sense of unease grew. She told herself that she'd made a mistake
and that she was confusing
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