The lawyer put a stop to the questions and got us all out of the room, through the hallway, then out the front door and back into the bright sunlight.

“You have nothing to worry about,” he said to me. “Talk to the police again, if you want to, but you don’t have to. I didn’t like the tone of that detective,” he said to my father, just before confirming their regular Wednesday morning eighteen holes at Piney Lakes Golf Club. Then he got into his car and drove away. My father got into his car. I looked around for my mother, but she was already walking away down the street. We all went in our separate directions.

I could have caught up with Mom and gone home with her, but I certainly didn’t want to do that. I couldn’t go to Casey’s. I didn’t know what to do with myself.

Then I remembered that the fair was on. I wasn’t in a fair-going mood, but at least it was something to do. I unlocked my bike and headed over to the fairgrounds.

The Galloway Fall Fair was always set up in Lion’s Park, an open space next to the cemetery, just in case one of the fairgoers should keel over from the excitement. It wasn’t much of a fair, but Galloway’s not much of a town.

I handed over a few bucks at the entrance gate, found a place for my bike, and started walking around.

Casey and I had always gone to the fair together, ever since we were small and fairs were a big deal. It was always the same—two steps and you’ve seen it all. Three or four kiddie rides, the same number of bigger rides, a few games of chance, booths of junk food. The prizes hardly changed from year to year. Even the baked goods and vegetables in the agricultural building looked the same.

I walked around, not really looking at anything. Several times I thought I saw Casey—once by the fishpond operated by the Lady Lions and another time by the snow-cone trailer. But of course it wasn’t her.

I kept hearing her name, though.

“They arrested that Casey White.”

“Charged her with murder.”

“Kids today. There’s something wrong with them. I mean, we used to get away with murder, but we never killed anybody.”

“Other children have disappeared not far from Galloway, you know. I’m not saying I have proof she was involved, but they say these people don’t stop at one.”

Stephanie Glass’s murder was the biggest event Galloway had experienced since the building of the new gas station two years before. Maybe it was my imagination, but people seemed to clutch the hands of their children a little bit tighter and were a little quicker to panic when their child slipped out of sight for a moment.

I stood by the kiddie boat ride, watching the little kids go round and round, trailing their little fingers in the water.

August 23

Day 2

“You’re not canoeing with the rest of the group this morning,” Casey tells Stephanie.

The other campers are bug-walking ahead to breakfast, while Casey and I hang back to deal with Stephanie.

“Disappearing on us, especially the way you did yesterday after swim time, was very wrong. We thought you had drowned! We were about to call the police!”

“You would have looked pretty stupid, calling the police when I wasn’t drowned,” Stephanie says. “They don’t like it when you make false reports.”

“I’m glad you know that,” Casey tells her, her voice still patient and calm. “Do you know what it means to reinforce a message?”

Stephanie knows. “You tell a dog to sit, then you hit him until he does. Doesn’t work with my dog. I probably don’t hit him hard enough.”

Casey and I glance at each other over Stephanie’s head. Casey’s face isn’t so calm anymore.

“You should never hit anything,” Casey says. “To reinforce the message that you shouldn’t run away and hide, you’re going to sit out this morning’s canoe lesson. You can sit with the group and take part in the safety talk on shore, but you and I will sit on a bench and watch the others take the canoes out into the water.”

Stephanie doesn’t say anything.

“I know you think we’re being mean,” Casey says, “but while we are on the bench, maybe we can talk about your favorite things to do, and maybe we can do some of them at camp this week.”

Stephanie turns her head, looks up at Casey and says, “You don’t know anything.”

I can see Casey start to respond. I try to catch her eye so I can signal to her not to bother, but she opens her mouth and keeps talking, not even caring that I might have an opinion about whether or not she should speak.

I leave her to it and race the other kids up the hill to breakfast.

I don’t care about the race and I don’t care about breakfast. Breakfast is just a sign that another damned day is about to begin.

Midmorning comes and we all trot over to the beach. The lifeguard leads everyone through the safety talk then has kids pair up on logs to learn how to hold a paddle.

Casey and I are busy—some of the kids can’t tell their left hand from their right. We don’t notice that Stephanie has slipped away from the group, gone to the dock and untied all the canoes, pushing them out into the water. The breeze blows them to the weedy part of the cove. Casey and I have to swim out after them, hauling them back to the dock one-by-one and using up all of the group’s canoe time.

“I didn’t do anything!” Stephanie claims when I accuse her. “Did you see me? No. So I didn’t do it.”

But she laughs as she watches Casey and me pull leeches off our legs. She tosses her long curly hair when the other campers moan about their lost opportunity.

“No place is safe anymore,” I heard a woman nearby say as she waved back at her kid in one of the boats.

“Casey used to babysit for us,” another woman said. “Never again. I’m going to take my kids to a therapist, have them checked out.”

“Did she give any signs?”

“Do you think I would have left my kids with her if she had? Is that what you think?”

“I mean, now that you think back on it. Was there anything that seemed strange about her?”

“Not that you could put your finger on. She was a perfect babysitter. Always on time, always reliable, left the house tidy, the kids liked her. I never had to worry about her having boys over when we weren’t there. You know, there’s something strange about anyone that perfect. She must have been covering up for something. Drugs, most likely. Doesn’t it always come down to drugs?”

My mother would have jumped down her throat. I just walked away.

I wandered over toward the sheep display, but was stopped before I got there.

“Pretty awful about Casey.”

Amber Bradley was standing by my elbow. We weren’t friends but we weren’t enemies, either. I’d worked on a geography project with her in the sixth grade, an Incan model of some sort. She was part of the cool crowd.

“Yeah,” I replied. “She’s missing all the excitement.”

Making derogatory remarks about the fall fair is part of the Galloway youth tradition.

“It’s like those boys who shot up that school,” Amber continued.

“Which boys, which school? And how is this like that?”

“If that little kid had carried a gun, she’d still be alive.” This came from Nathan Ivory, a guy with a permanent smirk whose parents owned the stationary store in town. He was the kid Casey had body-slammed for killing her praying mantis. He and several others, all part of the gang Amber hung out with, had sauntered over to us.

The thought of horrid little Stephanie with a gun sent chills down my spine, but I didn’t say that. What I said instead was, “Stephanie was eight.”

“You can’t start them too young,” Nathan said, and then he pretended to hold a machine gun and shoot it at people. He always looked like he was auditioning for a play when he was around Amber.

“About those boys,” Amber continued, tossing her hair. “Everyone said they were so normal.”

“No one said that,” I replied.

“You couldn’t say Casey was normal.”

“What do you mean by that?” I demanded.

“Oh, come on, Jess. I know she’s your best friend, but even you have to admit she’s weird. All that talk about bugs. You can’t say good morning to her without hearing about some bug.”

“She’s going to be an entomologist,” I reminded them.

“I’m going to be a surgeon, but I don’t talk about body parts all the time,” Amber said.

I had to laugh at that one. Amber didn’t have the brains to pass the first-aid section of the babysitting course we took together in the eighth grade.

“I don’t know if Casey has ever been on a date,” one of them said. “That’s weird. It’s not like she’s ugly or anything.”

“It would fit,” Nathan said. “The papers said some of Stephanie’s clothing was missing. Casey must be some twisted sort of pervert.”

“What?” I exclaimed, my mouth dropping open.

“Is she a perve, Jess?” Amber asked. “Because, you know, if anyone would know, it would be you, since you’re so close and all.”

“Yeah, you’re sorta like best buddies,” added Nathan.

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish out of water then turned on my heels and walked away.

“When’s the last time you had a date, Jess?” one of the kids yelled after me. Their laughter followed me out of the park. So, I’m sure, did every pair of eyes at the fair.

That night, I woke up again at two a.m. I took my bike out and rode around the sleeping town. I stayed away from the police station. Instead, I rode over to Lion’s Park where the fair was halfway torn down.

Underneath the dinosaur bones of the partially dismantled Wild Mouse ride, I got off my bike. Because I missed my friend, and because I hated to be left all alone, I sat down and cried.

I ended up falling asleep under the Wild Mouse. I woke up covered in dew and shivering in the early morning air. I remembered that it was the first day of school.

My whole head felt thick. I can’t do this without Casey, I thought.

And I wasn’t going to.

I pedaled home through thick fog. I didn’t even bother to shower or change. I got Mom’s car keys off the kitchen counter, unlocked the trunk of her car, and started loading up my camping equipment. Then I went into my bedroom and shoved clothes into my duffel bag. Casey and I were the same size—she was a little taller, but not much.

As I tied the bag shut I heard waking-up noises from my parents’ bedrooms, so I hurried. I scribbled a note to Mom that I had her car, put the note on the kitchen table, and left the house.

Casey’s first court appearance was scheduled for that morning. I wasn’t able to rescue her from the police station, with all those cops around; maybe I could rescue her from the courthouse. If I could get there early enough to get a seat in the front of the courtroom, I’d grab Casey as soon as she was brought in. The element of surprise, that’s what we needed. We’d be out of that courtroom and on the road before anybody could react. We’d disappear, camp, get jobs, lead new lives. We might even slip across the border someplace where it wasn’t guarded too well. I wanted to get her as far away from Galloway as possible. And I didn’t want to be there anymore either.

I was still half asleep.

The parking lot behind the courthouse was empty when I pulled in. I chose a spot that would make it easy for us to get away, and faced the car toward the highway. I turned off the motor, stretched out as much as I could behind the steering wheel and closed my eyes, just for a moment.

When I opened them again, the parking lot was full.

I was disoriented; for a second I forgot why I was there. But I pulled myself together and headed toward the courthouse door.

I could hear the crowd from the parking lot, and I saw them as soon as I rounded the corner by the entrance. Some of them carried signs: An Eye for an Eye, Justice for Stephanie—with a drawing of a noose on it. There were variations, but they were all calling for my best friend’s blood.

The media was there, too. I counted television cameras from four different stations. They seemed to be interviewing people at random. Some of the people talking into the mikes had no connection to Casey or, as far as I knew, to Stephanie.

Amber Bradley was there, talking into a TV camera, groomed as if she was about to step on the runway.

“We always thought she would do something like this,” Amber said, shaking her head to make her hair bounce around her shoulders. “None of us were really friends with her. She was just too weird.”

I walked past Amber and went into the courthouse.

It was easy to find the right courtroom. I just followed the noise.

Another crowd was gathered outside the courtroom door.

“Why can’t we go in?” someone demanded. “We have a right to go in.”

Detective Bowen was there, guarding the door. “The courtroom is full,” she said.

I pushed my way through the crowd. After what she’d put me through, twice, I figured she owed me a favor.

“Can I go in?” I asked her.

She didn’t answer. She just let me in through the narrow opening she made in the door. I left the noise out in the hall and entered the quiet of the small courtroom.

I squished into a bench at the back, at the end of a row of people I didn’t know. A few rows ahead, I recognized some people from our church. Casey’s mother and father were right up front. I should have gone up to say hello but I didn’t. I stared at the picture of the queen on the wall behind the judge’s seat and kept my arms folded across my chest.

The judge came in and we all stood up, then we all sat down again. Then it seemed like the chief activity of the court was the shuffling and passing of papers from one person to another. For the longest time, the two lawyers up front couldn’t find a piece of information—each insisted the other had it. The judge didn’t change his expression. He sat and looked bored until everything was straightened out.

“Is the Crown counsel ready?” the judge finally asked.

“Yes, Your Honor,” answered a tall, thin man in a well-pressed suit. “May we have Casey White brought forward, please?”

The court clerk stuck her head through a door behind the judge’s bench and called out, “Casey White!”

Casey was escorted into the courtroom by two police officers. I gasped at the sight of her. I could feel my heart thumping.

Casey’s long red hair hung down over her face. Her hands were shackled to a chain around her waist. Her feet were chained, too, judging by the way she shuffled. At the edge of the prisoner’s box, she was turned to face her escorts. The clicks and rattles of the handcuffs and chains being removed rang through the silent courtroom. She stepped into the prisoner’s box.

Casey, her hands free, pulled her hair back from her face. I gasped again. Her mother gave a little cry. Casey’s face was covered with scratches, and one of her eyes was puffy and turning black.

“Your Honor, what is the meaning of this?” The defense attorney sprang to her feet. “My client was taken into custody only two days ago, uninjured. We demand to know how this happened.”

“Your Honor, I’d be happy to explain,” the Crown counsel offered.

“Explanations can wait until after introductions,” the judge said. “Mr. Jack Tesler, I know you are here representing the Crown. Would the attorney for the defense please introduce herself to the court?”

“My name is Mela Cross. I have been retained to represent Casey White.”

“Very well,” the judge said. “Now, Mr. Tesler, please explain.”

“The accused attempted to escape police custody and officers had to use lawful force to restrain her.”

“There are video cameras all over that police station,” Mela Cross said. “Could the Crown attorney produce videotaped evidence of this lawful force?”

“Unfortunately, the video camera covering the area was malfunctioning that day,” Mr. Tesler answered.

“What a coincidence,” Ms. Cross said, without a hint of surprise in her voice.

“There are enough emotions being displayed outside the courtroom,” the judge said. “Let us try to let reason prevail in here. Ms. Cross, if your client is alleging police brutality, there are avenues for dealing with that. Mr. Tesler, if you want to add an escape custody charge to the docket, you know how to do that. If there are any further injuries to the defendant, there had better be clear tapes—and I want to see them, understood? We are here today to hear a plea and to hear arguments for and against bail. Ms. Cross, would your client like the charges read?”

“Those charges are completely ridiculous and yes, we would like them read.”

“Save the speeches, Ms. Cross. The clerk of the court will now read the charges.”

The clerk stood and read in a clear but expressionless voice, as if she were reading out a grocery list. Her words had nothing to do with my friend.

“That one Casey Anne White, on or about the twenty-ninth day of August, 2010, in the municipality of Galloway, unlawfully did intentionally kill Stephanie Glass and did thereby commit murder in the first degree.”

“Ms. Cross, does your client wish to enter a plea at this time?”

Ms. Cross turned to Casey. In a loud, clear voice, Casey said, “Not guilty.”

“Mr. Tesler, what is the Crown’s position on bail?”

“Due to the serious nature of the charges, and because the accused has already proven herself to be a considerable flight risk…”

He went on and on about how dangerous Casey was.

As he talked, Casey looked around the courtroom. I knew she was looking for me. First she smiled at her parents, trying to tell them she was all right. Then she looked at me. Our eyes locked, and for a second I felt my old strength coming back. She grinned at me, then, and snapped her finger and thumb together. She was Praying Mantis, snapping the head of the prosecuting attorney.

Everyone in the courtroom followed her gaze—the judge, the lawyers, the clerks, everyone. I could see them looking at me.

I should have smiled back. I should have grinned and waved and copied her hand signal. What would it have cost me? Nothing. But I didn’t do that.

What I did instead was look away. I pretended she was looking at someone else.

Bail was denied.

Casey was chained up again. I could hear the chains locked around her. I knew she’d be looking at me. I did not look up. I wasn’t watching when they took her away.

I forgot that I was supposed to be rescuing her until I was back outside the courthouse again. I drove Mom’s car home, put away my camping gear and took my bike to school. It was the first day of classes, but I wasn’t the only one who was late.

On the television news that night the Crown prosecutor talked about Casey grinning in court. Her grin had come while he was calling her a cold-blooded killer. It did not make her look good.