RILEY
The next morning, as I get ready for another day on social death row, I’m welcomed by a breakfast that I would definitely choose to be my last meal—banana chocolate chip pancakes. It’s quite a step up from the normal knock-off cereal I’ve become accustomed to. I mean, the Fruit Rings, Happy Shapes, and Crispy Rice taste okay, but breakfast is not the same without the toucan and the leprechaun and Snap, Crackle, and Pop. It’s lame, but I really miss those guys.
Dad looks at me over his glasses and smiles. He quickly plants a kiss on my forehead and gets back to the stove. Instead of his usual morning routine of grading English Lit papers for his class, he’s cooking. And instead of rushing around getting ready for her day rounding up toddlers, Mom sits at the table with two monster cups of steaming coffee.
Yep, they know something’s up.
I sit next to Mom and she quickly turns over the newspaper. It’s too late. I’ve already caught the headline: Community Honors Slain Teacher. As if the newspaper will suddenly remind me that Ms. Dunn was murdered. As if I don’t think about her every day. She wasn’t just my teacher; she was so much more.
Mom pushes the paper to the side and hands me the coffee cup. I soak in the caffeine and it helps clear my head.
Mom gives me a few minutes before she dives in.
“So, do you want to talk about what’s been going on the past few days?”
“Not particularly,” I tell her.
“Riley, you’ve been so quiet and not eating. I’m starting to get worried.” She leans in and holds my hand. “Talk to me—maybe I can help.”
I shake her off and take a gulp of coffee.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“But, honey—”
“It’s okay.” I cut her off. My parents don’t know about Emma and I’m not about to play catch-up. Not that they wouldn’t understand—they’re pretty open about that kind of thing. Dad even has a few gay friends from the college. But I wasn’t about to come out to my parents before I was absolutely sure.
And Emma made me promise to keep us a secret. I did, because I wanted to keep her happy and I liked having her all to myself. I liked that I didn’t have to share that part of my life with anyone. I did at first, anyway. It was exciting. The soft looks that passed between us at school; the love notes she left in my locker; the way we held hands in her car when we snuck out for lunch. It was the first time I felt like someone could actually see me. The real me.
It’s hard to breathe just thinking about it.
“I’ll tell you everything, Mom,” I assure her. “Just not now, okay?”
From the corner of my eye I can see Dad motioning to Mom. He’s pushing his hands down—the universal sign for take it easy.
I offer up a silent thank you for giving me a dad who understands.
“Okay, Riley.” Mom sighs. “You’ll come to me when you’re ready?” We both know it’s not a question. It’s an order.
“I will,” I reply, happy to say anything that will get her off my back. For the rest of breakfast, we play a normal family—we make small talk, eat banana chocolate chip pancakes, and pretend nothing’s wrong.
At school, Dez and I spend first period hanging in the edit suite going over footage from one of my scenes. It’s a tiny, soundproof room. Three of the walls are covered with gray acoustic foam and the back wall is glass with a small sliding door. A computer used for digital editing, an old monitor, a table, and two rolling chairs take up the entire space.
We’re working on a short feature for the Midwest High School Film Festival, one of the most important events around here for film. Our school is hosting it this year, and a lot of the local colleges will be coming to hold interviews and auditions. This could put me and Dez on the map. Plus, the scholarship opportunity is huge.
This is the project that’s going to get both of us out of the Heights.
Alternate Realities is Dez’s baby. It’s a dark story about a strange girl who is the pariah of the school. She’s odd, awkward, and alone. So when she’s given the chance to enter an alternate reality where she’s beautiful, popular, and revered, she doesn’t think twice. Dez calls it the female version of Fight Club.
It’s really pretty brilliant.
We go through my scenes, starting with the footage we shot last month. Dez fast-forwards to a medium shot of me and Jonah in a classroom. Ms. Dunn’s classroom. She let us use her room to film that day. Her last day.
For obvious reasons, we haven’t gone through this footage yet—but we no longer have an option. We’re getting close to crunch time. My stomach turns as I remember that day, but I power through it and concentrate on Dez.
“Okay, this scene here.” Dez freezes the video and goes into director mode. It helps me focus. “This is what I’m talking about. See how scared you look?”
“Yeah.” I watch my face on the computer screen. I really do look completely terrified.
“I want more of this in the beginning.” Dez taps his finger on my video face. “Rye, your character has been picked on, snubbed, and abused for years. Going to school for her is like going to war. Every. Single. Day. Imagine what that would be like.”
I laugh. Of course I can imagine what that’s like. I’m living it right now.
It sucks.
“Shit, Rye.” Dez drops his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
He looks up and wraps an arm around me, and I close my eyes for a second. Dez is one of those people who just draws you in. Even before the latest dumping, Dez was always telling me I’m too good for the idiots at our school. Too smart, self-aware, original.
I have to laugh, because he must think the same of himself since he’s never dated anyone in the Heights. And he could. Any girl at school would be thrilled to have him.
“It’s okay,” I say, leaning into him. “Sometimes life imitates art, right?” I add, all drama geeky.
“Rye, believe me, you are not anything like this character.” He grabs the script and starts flipping through the pages. “Hey, if it’s too hard to play this part right now, I could do a rewrite. I still have time.”
“Um, no—you don’t. Plus, this is your masterpiece. Don’t worry, I’ll channel my pain.” I give him a quick wink. “Come on, let’s finish going through it.”
Dez hits play and we watch the scene. He continues to give direction, but I can tell he’s taking it easy on me.
I think about what he said: your character has been picked on and abused for years. I think about all the insults Tori has spewed at me. The jokes I’ve had to brush off. My horrible track record in relationships. Ever since I started high school, I’ve been dumped by both boys and girls—I’ve become an equal opportunity dumpee. And that’s all before things even get going. I’m a senior and I haven’t even made it to second base yet.
So, playing the part of a social pariah? Yes, this might just be the easiest role I’ve ever had.
Dez’s phone rings. It’s the theme to The Godfather. He picks it up and looks at the caller ID.
“Shit, it’s Jonah. This might take a minute.”
Dez motions for me to keep working while he heads out of the edit suite. I continue to watch myself—something I detest. I jot down a few notes until the scene is over. But once my face leaves the screen, the video keeps going. Looks like Dez forgot to turn it off during our break.
I remember how we left to get snacks out of the vending machine that afternoon. Dez bought a Snickers. Jonah chose a bag of chips. I got M&Ms. Of course I remember that day perfectly—I had to tell the cops about it over a dozen times because we were the last known people in Ms. Dunn’s classroom. She had a staff meeting that day, so we had the room to ourselves.
I’m about to fast-forward the video when I hear a voice.
“Hurry up, they’ll be back any minute,” the voice says through the speakers. I recognize it immediately. It belongs to Libby.
She walks into the frame and my scalp tingles.
What is she doing there? On our video?
I don’t think I want to see this. I don’t want to know this.
“Where did that bitch put it?” asks a different voice. A guy’s voice. It’s weirdly distorted. I stare at the empty screen while the conversation continues.
“In the desk,” Libby says.
“Find it. That shit can be linked back to me. I ordered it online.”
“Shut up and keep a lookout.”
I can hear the guy’s voice though he never enters the screen. The desk drawers open and close and there’s a rumbling of papers.
“If Dunn fucks me up because of this … ” the guy says.
“She doesn’t even know it’s yours,” Libby says. “I’m the one on the line here.”
“Fuck, they’re coming,” the guy says.
Libby’s body runs past the screen. And then they’re gone.
My heart races and I can’t begin to process what I’ve just watched. Instinctively, I hit stop. I need to know more, but I don’t want anyone else to see it. I need a copy.
I don’t have much time. I snag a DVD from the stack on the table. I shove it into the computer, convert the file to DVD, and click the start burning button.
I hear someone’s feet shuffle outside the door. The video is recording and I can’t stop it, so I stand up to block the monitor.
Just in time.
There’s a tap on the sliding glass door. Marcus smiles and peeks his head in. “Watching your girl-on-girl porn in here?”
I turn my head but keep my body angled, strategically covering the monitor. “What do you want, Marcus?”
“Just replacing the bulbs on these babies.” He signals to the lights. Marcus’ dad owns the only photo studio in town, and that means Marcus has complete access to all the lighting gear, backdrops, and props he can get his creepy little hands on. With our non-existent budget, Dez really had no choice but to let him join the crew. Strangely, he’s also a hard worker. So I put up with him, even if I hear “giggity” in my head after every one of his sentences.
“Well, don’t let me stop you,” I tell him.
“Okay, okay.” Marcus smirks. “I just thought you might be watching something interesting in here, that’s all.”
“Whatever.” I try to wrap it up, sure that Dez is on his way back. “Anything else? I’m trying to work.”
“Work? Oh … that’s what you call it?” He grins.
“Goodbye, Marcus.”
He shuffles away and I get back to the video. It’s almost done recording. Then I hear Dez’s voice; he’s still on the phone.
Come on, come on, come on.
The monitor finally goes black and the computer ejects the DVD. I stuff it into my bag, close the video file, and hit delete so it doesn’t end up in the wrong hands. I can’t risk Dez going back to look at it. I finish just as he says “later” into the phone.
“Sorry, Rye.” He pops his head in. “I’ve wasted all our time. Should we finish this after rehearsal?”
“No,” I say, a little too fast.
“Oh. Kay.” Dez tips his head.
“I mean, I think we should just re-shoot that scene. I know I can do it better.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Trust me.”
“Yeah, okay. We’ll reshoot.”
“Great.” I exhale. Guilt tears at me for lying to Dez, but I can’t tell him about this. His stepdad’s a cop, for God’s sake. Plus, he doesn’t even like Libby. Not after she tried to steal Reed—one of my many dumpers—out from under me sophomore year.
That’s Dez’s version of what happened, anyway. Libby swears it was Reed who came after her, but Dez isn’t convinced. He calls her Slippery Libby behind her back. Not that creative, but it stuck.
Right now, I can’t think about that. I don’t even care anymore. The only thing I can do at this moment is protect Libby, at least until I know more.
Oh Libby, what did you get yourself into this time?