23
LOU
LATELY HIS SWEETHEART sounds more like he’s talking to a small child. A small, stupid child. I’m not sure what changed between us, besides his ex popping up in, like, every news article ever, even though she hasn’t officially been arrested yet. (I keep waiting for that one!)
It’s not easy being Beck Rutherford’s girlfriend. Not most of the time. Not when he asks you to do things you sometimes don’t want to do. (No, not like that, you perv.) I mean—ride on the back of his bike without a helmet. Go for walks at 2 a.m., which requires sneaking out of the house. My mom caught me once, and now she thinks I need to see someone to talk about all the feelings I’m experiencing. My mom’s big on feelings, which I guess makes sense, since she listens to other people’s for a living.
You’ve probably seen Beck’s name tossed around online. It’s super frustrating. I don’t even know if he has seen it, since he doesn’t have social media (or much in the way of social skills, ha). He deleted his Facebook account after he and Tabby broke up.
He’s not great at responding to my messages. I think I already said that, right? Well, today has been even worse. I can’t get in touch with him at all, and he never came over last night like he was supposed to. I don’t think boys understand sometimes what we go through to get ourselves ready. Like me. Every time I get that text, you around, I take a shower. I shave everywhere. I rub on the body lotion I know he likes. I put on my makeup, even though I took it off to go to bed. Then I respond. I’m here!
(The exclamation mark is a bit much, right? My friend Tessa says exclamation marks are desperate. But Tessa has also been with the same boring boyfriend for four years and has only ever been in the missionary position.)
I’m stewing about it after school when the doorbell rings, and I know it must be Beck, here in broad daylight for once. Except when I open the door wearing just a tank top and my underwear, I realize it’s not Beck. It’s a policeman, a young one. His eyes go big, then back to normal as I hide behind the door.
“Sorry,” I say. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Louisa Chamberlain?”
“Yeah. What’s going on?”
Except I already know, don’t I? It must be something to do with Tabby. I knew they’d get to me eventually. They’ve already talked to a bunch of other people. Elle, Bridget, Beck (although good luck getting him to talk about that), even Mr. Mancini.
“Is your mother home, Miss Chamberlain?”
Well. I’m not expecting that. First of all, my mother is always at work, and also, this better not be the Guy. The one from her girls’ weekend. He has had so many different faces in my head. Ugly, handsome, bearded, blue-eyed, tall, squat. She never said his name, just refers to him as her mistake, like another possession she owns. I hate picturing it. My mother, drunk at a bar, probably screaming along to some terrible song from a band she saw in concert in the nineties, before I came along and made her practical. My mother, flirting with some guy, any guy who gave her a compliment and bought her a drink. My mother, going home with him.
“She’s not home,” I say flatly. “Why?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s way too young for my mom, but maybe that’s her type. Maybe any guy who isn’t my dad is her type.
“Actually, we wanted to speak with you as well. Regarding Beck Rutherford.”
A flush starts at my neck, which I know already looks blotchy, because that’s where I wear my emotions, in the space along my collarbone. Stress, embarrassment, lust, anxiety. All red and covered in welts—the world’s ugliest necklace.
“What about him?”
He reaches into his pocket, hands me his card. “Give me a call when it’s a good time for you. There are just a couple questions I have.”
I take the card. I realize he doesn’t want to come in, because I’m a teenage girl in my underwear, and also because he doesn’t need to come in. I did nothing wrong.
I tell him I’ll call him (I won’t) and shut the door. From the window, I watch him walk away. He has no swagger at all. His card says his name is Detective Blake Stewart. I forgot to see if he had a wedding band on, or maybe I didn’t forget, because it doesn’t matter. A little piece of metal does nothing.
I go back upstairs and open my laptop. I used to just check the Tribune for updates on Tabby’s case, but now her face is everywhere else, too. Perez Hilton made her into a meme. I can’t help but think she’d love the attention.
Then I found Sharp Edges Crime. Don’t ask me how. But now it’s, like, my new obsession. That sounds awful, but isn’t everything about this story?
There was a new post yesterday. Good girl gone bad? Like she’s an overripe avocado. Have you read it? It’s actually pretty good journalism.
I refresh the page, read the new comments. Tabby defenders. Gross.
Don’t believe what you read. Don’t believe what you see. Every time they show her leaving her lawyer’s office or whatever, she’s all buttoned up and big-eyed. (How do they know where she’s going to be all the time? Who are they, exactly? She’s orchestrating this entire thing, I’m telling you.)
She’s their darling. They’re determined to prove she didn’t do it. Remember what she told the Tribune? She was scared.
So scared. So scared that she bothered to put on her fake eyelashes. And they all fell for it. Her tears, the way her hands shook. She loves this, becoming infamous. Her Insta, before it got taken down, was public, all super-filtered selfies and those Marilyn Monroe quotes every basic bitch loves to plaster over their lives. If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.
But now, the truth is coming out. Now, they found a backpack and all those nasty texts, and it’s only a matter of time until they find the next bombshell. And all I want to say is I told you so.
PEOPLE.COM
September 26, 2019
Girl, 17, only suspect in Princeton student’s murder
By Talia Sims
The death of a promising young man, which rocked the community of Coldcliff, Colorado, is now shaping into a murder investigation. On August 16, Tabitha Marie Cousins, 17, and her boyfriend, Mark Forrester, 20, were hiking to a lookout point known as the Split. Cousins told police that Forrester lost his footing and fell over the edge, and that she could barely find her own way back out of the woods, as the couple had hiked to see the sunset but ended up out after dark.
However, when a backpack filled with rocks was found in Claymore Creek by police divers, Cousins was questioned by police and is now the only suspect in her former boyfriend’s death. She maintains her innocence. A statement by her lawyer said that Cousins had no knowledge of the contents of the backpack, or why Forrester got so close to the edge.
A police search of the text message history between Cousins and Forrester, who had been dating for approximately one year, revealed a tumultuous relationship, with jealousy and accusations coming from Cousins. Sources close to the couple say that in the months leading up to Forrester’s death, things seemed better between them, when Forrester was home in Coldcliff for his summer break from Princeton.
“They literally seemed perfect,” said a source, who requested to not be identified. “You’d never guess there was anything wrong.”
Police are continuing their investigation, with District Attorney Anthony Paxton stating there is sufficient evidence to prove Cousins is guilty.
Forrester was due to enter his third undergraduate year at Princeton. He planned to take the LSAT exam that fall, his brother said. Friends describe Forrester as studious, loyal, and generous.
“He’d give anything to you,” said Forrester’s best friend, Keegan Leach, 20, also of Coldcliff. “The guy would give you the shirt off his back, even if you’d just met. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
In addition to his academic achievements, Forrester was a gifted swimmer, receiving several scholarship offers before turning them down to attend Princeton, his father’s alma mater. He swam competitively for Princeton, earning NCAA championships in his freshman and sophomore years. He was heavily favored to win the 100-meter freestyle in this year’s event, but failed to advance to the finals.
“The stress got to him,” said a teammate who wished to remain anonymous. “It’s true, what everyone is saying. It was her. Always on him. I knew there was something wrong.”
Cousins, a high school senior, has been called the “Blue-Eyed Boyfriend Killer” as media scrutiny increases around her. She is expected in court next week to hear the charges against her.
COMMENTS
Kiley_R_Loves_B: omg she totally did it, look at that pic of her. she looks sooo guilty
XmanCometh: Because she’s wearing makeup? How can you tell if someone is guilty from a photo?
MsPenn: I tried to look up her Instagram but it’s gone, so is his. I’m so curious about what happened. Girls don’t just kill their boyfriends. He must have done something to deserve it.
Swifty01: One does not simply go hiking with a backpack full of rocks.
HeadPerson: She goes to my high school!!!! And I know at least 5 people who slept with her
BeeYoTiful: Maybe he killed himself? Just because they had angry text messages doesn’t make her a murderer. I mean if the cops found what my hubs and I sent each other they’d probably lock us both up.
Kenn-A-D: I used to know this girl. She definitely did it.