THE FRONT OF THE SCHOOL is dark. The pavement and lawn are covered with a thick layer of snow. People are gathered outside the building. They hold candles.
The scene is the vigil—the memorial they held for Emma.
The camera focuses on the Cawstons. All three lean into one another, as though only their combined effort can keep them upright. Mrs. Cawston holds a single white candle.
The camera shifts. It finds Quinn’s mother and father standing a few feet away. They are marble statues, all pale and ghostly. Neither moves a muscle. A neighbor—Mrs. Johnston—hands Quinn’s mother a bouquet. She accepts it mechanically.
The camera pans the crowd.
Most of the teachers have come. Mr. Mason’s shoulders sag. Ms. Giuliani’s head is bent. Señora Márquez’s body quakes. She sobs quietly, warm puffs of air lingering in the chill around her.
All the kids are there as well. Some hold hands. Some hug each other. Tears stream down some faces, dampening cheeks and collars.
Against the fence is a makeshift memorial. A girl from Quinn’s class breaks free from the crowd. It’s Becky Hewlet. She makes her way toward the fence and adds a small teddy bear to the growing pile of stuffed animals and flowers and cards and signs.
Quinn’s mother begins to tremble. Her knees buckle. Mrs. Cawston releases Josh and Mr. Cawston and lunges for her. The two women bury their faces in each other’s shoulder.
The camera rises to a bird’s-eye view.
Quinn stares at the screen. Something is wrong. Something is missing.
Then slowly, bit by bit, the scene begins to transform. The snow melts and the grass on the lawn grows green and lush. The sky brightens, like an eerie reverse sunset.
All the people remain standing, fixed to their spots, their candles flickering softly, but their clothes have changed. Boots and heavy coats disappear, replaced with shorts and T-shirts.
It wasn’t January …
Quinn’s heart beat quicker. Panic swelled inside her chest. She didn’t want to see any more of this movie. She stretched out her arm, dragging Kara along with her. But Kara was heavy, sound asleep.
She managed to get close enough to hit the power switch with the tip of her toe, but nothing happened. The movie continued.
The camera focuses on the fence. It zeroes in on the stuffed animals that surround a portrait.
Quinn jabbed the button again, this time harder.
The camera zooms in. Closer. Closer.
Quinn kicked wildly at the TV. She didn’t care if she knocked it down. She dragged Kara farther and punched the button again and again with her fist, but the film continued.
The picture is out of focus, but the portrait fills the entire screen. The background grows dark around the edges and the darkness begins to eat up the portrait, with the image growing clearer by the second.
Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, but there was no stopping it. She couldn’t erase what she’d seen. She crumpled into a heap beside Kara, trying desperately to breathe.
The portrait was not of Emma.
It was a portrait of Quinn and Kara.