I can’t sleep.
Each time I close my eyes, a cacophony of images and noise assaults me. Mr. Werner screaming my name. My own ragged breath ringing in my ears. And that horrible wet sound of the branch stabbing into his eye. I put my fingers in my ears and sing-shout a Billie Eilish song until Anya thumps on the wall and shouts, “Shut up! I’m trying to sleep!”
Yes, well, Anya, some of us are trying to shake off the trauma of their first homicide. But I stop anyway, because there’s nothing worse than a noisy neighbor. Except for a murderer as a neighbor. Though I’m thinking, at this point, Anya would choose a murderer for a neighbor, as long as she’s quiet about it.
After a while, I put in my earbuds and find the shittiest, noisiest music on YouTube. I crank up the volume until my ears are physically cringing, and then I lie there and try to let the music drown me. At some point, despite all the noise, I actually doze off.
When I awake, it’s morning. My earbuds have fallen out onto the bed. Tinny music flows out of them. I grope at my side table for my phone and turn it off. Silence. Sweet, sweet si—
“Lia,” shouts Mr. Werner.
I jerk out of bed. Breathe out. And in. Out again. Don’t think of Mr. Werner. Don’t think of that branch, sticking out of his eye. Definitely don’t think of that.
I put on my uniform carefully, making sure there are no wrinkles on my white shirt, taking the time to get my tie on just right. I wrestle my thick, black hair into a ponytail. I stand in front of the mirror and nod at myself. I look very prim and proper and not at all like someone who has just killed her teacher.
Time for class.
Except as soon as I come out of my room, I realize something’s off. I try to figure out what it is as I walk down the hallway. A couple of rooms have their doors open, and I see girls in there, just chilling on their beds, listening to music, chatting with each other. Why aren’t they getting ready for class? I walk past Elle’s room, and she and Arjuna look up at me and burst into peals of laughter.
“What’s so funny?” I snap. I really shouldn’t engage the trolls, but I’m really weirded out by the fact that no one else seems to give a crap about classes.
“The fact that you’re such a little kiss-ass that you wear your uniform even on weekends,” Elle says.
“Say ‘cheese’!” Arjuna says and takes a picture of me.
I walk off in a daze. Weekend? Huh. Yeah, of course. It’s Saturday. My phone beeps. A DD notification. It’s the picture Arjuna just took of me, with my face blurred out. Underneath that is the caption: When you literally have nothing good to wear, so you resort to wearing your uniform on Saturday. #sosad #parasite
Already there are replies.
Reply from @TrackQueen:
That is literally the saddest. Someone please take that thing to Goodwill already.
The post and its comments should bother me, but they don’t. Not even in the least. Compared to what happened yesterday, troll posts on DD seem so trivial. It is trivial, you teens are nothing if not trivial, Mr. Werner’s voice whispers. I run back into my room and slam the door.
I really, really need to get my shit together. I shrug off my school blazer and fling it across the room. Start pacing. Okay. Get shit together. Okay.
Except I don’t know how to do that, exactly. My mind keeps swinging wildly from thinking up the most inappropriate, irreverent jokes to sudden violent images to wanting to sob uncontrollably. Everything is a mess. Everything.
Make a list. Right, okay. Yeah, doing lists helps me. I sit down at my desk and take out my notebook. Here we go.
HOW TO GET SHIT TOGETHER AFTER KILLING SOMEBODY.
1. Do not write lists where you basically admit to killing somebody.
Now I totally realize, of course, that I need to burn this piece of paper right away. I don’t have a lighter, so I tear the written part out and shove it in my mouth.
And that’s how I find myself literally eating paper on this fine Saturday morning.
But never mind that. Moving on. New list.
HOW TO GET SHIT TOGETHER.
Good title. Generic. Could refer to just about anything. Okay.
1. Make sure there’s no
I almost write evidence when I realize that’ll also mean I’d have to eat this piece of paper as well.
1. …thingy.
I sit back, biting the end of my pencil, and consider everything that might be evidence. I’ve cleaned up his car as best as I can. I’m going to wash yesterday’s clothes as soon as possible. I’ve told everyone I spent yesterday in my room with stomach flu, and nobody saw me leaving and coming back to campus, so I think I’m okay. Phew.
2. Motive?
This one’s a problem. Anyone with half a brain will know that I have a motive for wanting to get rid of Mr. Werner. But Mr. Werner was shady AF, and surely that means he made lots of enemies. Like Sophie, for example. I think about the way she died for the millionth time, alone and vulnerable and scared. He did that. Well, not directly, but he caused it to happen, and all for what? To earn more money so he could take his own kids away from their mother. For the first time, I get this feeling—not glad, exactly, I’m not a monster—but sort of vindication for killing Mr. Werner.
The moment I think that, I’m almost overcome by a wave of revulsion toward myself. How could I think that? What kind of monster am I? But it was self-defense! I mentally shriek at that horrible, guilty part of myself. Self-defense. And you know what? He was an authority figure. He was supposed to be looking out for us, his students, instead of taking advantage of us, no matter how wealthy everyone else is and how badly he needed the money. He tried to ruin my life, then he tried to kill me, all while being driven by Danny’s racist parents. It. Was. Self-defense. And it was justified.
By the time I’m done mentally arguing with myself, I’m a little out of breath.
I need to get my shit together. Okay, focus on this. Point two. There are others who have motive. His ex-wife. His ex-students who couldn’t afford to pay for their grades. And then there’s SiliconBrains, who, for whatever reason, wanted to help me in their own way.
SiliconBrains.
Realization hits like an asteroid. My skin bursts into gooseflesh. I grab my phone, scroll through the list of registered students, and make a call.
“Meet me at the Narnia hole,” I say. “Now.”
***
Halfway to the Eastern Gardens, I get a text: What’s the Narnia hole?
Argh, right. I forgot that I came up with that name and not everyone calls it that.
The hole in the hedge. In the Eastern Gardens. The one everyone uses to sneak out of campus.
There’s no answer. I walk on anyway. Just keep walking, just keep walking. Act normal. By the time I crawl through the Narnia hole, I’m so sure no one would come that I half wonder what I’m still doing here. I stand under a willow tree and scroll through the posts on DD. The one that Arjuna posted of me has a whole string of replies by now. Wonder which poor sod this school used to pick on before I came along.
A rustling makes me look up. I stuff my phone in my pocket and approach slowly, cautiously. I don’t know why; it’s not like I’m expecting a honey badger to climb out or anything.
Stacey peers out and glowers at me. “I hate this goddamn hole.”
“Thanks for coming,” I say, helping her up. “SiliconBrains.”
Stacey takes her time brushing leaves off her jeans. Finally, she says, “Took you long enough to figure it out.”
“Yeah, well. I was somewhat distracted after finding, you know. Sophie.” It still hurts to say her name out loud, like I’m betraying her somehow. But I’ve avenged her, in a way, haven’t I?
Stacey looks down at her jeans, still refusing to meet my eyes. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “That was…god, poor Sophie.” She takes a sudden, deep breath then raises her gaze to meet mine. She looks tired and sad. “Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“Um, well.” I gesture vaguely. “About you being SiliconBrains, obviously!”
“What about it?”
“Why were you doing it? Why did you message me? Why did you help me? Why everything!”
Stacey frowns at me. “Isn’t it obvious? Because I don’t like bullies.”
A mirthless laugh bursts out of me. I can’t help it. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
The frown on Stacey’s face deepens. “What’re you talking about?”
“You’ve been bullying me since like, the first day we met!”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have.” My voice comes out angrier than I expected. It’s all just too much. Everything that’s happened, Mr. Werner, Sophie, and all the girls who submitted those false claims about me harassing them. And now she’s denying it like none of it ever happened. “At least have the backbone to own up to it,” I sneer.
“No I—” She stops herself. Takes a breath. “Okay, how have I been bullying you, exactly?”
I flap my arms. “Uh, let’s see. When we first met, you were questioning me really aggressively.”
“What?” she cries. “When we first met, I was really friendly! I even joked around with you!”
“How were you joking around with me? By saying, ‘Oooh, we have a drug test every two weeks, you got anything to hide, you trashy meth head?’”
“I didn’t call you a trashy meth head!”
“You might as well have!”
“I was joking around with you, you huge nong, because I thought you were cute!”
What? All the anger suddenly melts away, leaving nothing but confusion in its place. Wait. Hold up. I had one of my trademark stupid retorts ready, but now all thoughts disappear, and I just stand there, gaping at her stupidly.
“Did you just call me a nong?”
She shrugs. “My cousins in Australia say that a lot. I like it.”
We’re quiet for a while, both suddenly very interested in our shoes.
“So…” I mumble.
Stacey sighs. “You don’t have to be so awkward about it. I’m not expecting you to like me back or whatever. I know you’re straight. I’m used to having unrequited crushes. And anyway, I’m pretty much over it.”
“Right. Sorry, you just—I mean, I wasn’t expecting—what I’m trying to say is…” Stacey watches me warily. “You’re really bad at flirting.”
Stacey’s eyes go wide, and then we both start laughing like crazy. It’s as though a huge weight has suddenly been lifted, and I don’t even try to stop my laughter. It’s a shrill, brittle laugh, teetering on the edge of sobs, but for now, it feels good.
“I really am,” she cries, in between laughter.
“And you kept smirking at me at like, the worst times!”
“Those are supposed to be supportive smiles, like ‘hey, you got this, it’s going to be okay’ smiles!”
By this time, I’m laughing so hard, I double over and end up falling over onto the grass. Stacey slumps down beside me and buries her face in her hands. Slowly, our laughter dissipates, leaving us spent on the grass. I take a few deep gulps of air. For the first time in days, I feel like I can actually breathe.
“God, why am I so bad at it?” she moans.
I turn my head and crook a small smile at her. “To be fair, I’m half to blame for interpreting everything you did in the worst possible way.”
“Oh yeah, totally. I mean, you know how horrible you were? I’d smile at you, and you’d just give me this bitch face and look away, like jeez, woman, sorry for trying to be nice.” She rolls her eyes at me, and we both laugh again. “I even warned you about taking Mandy’s place on varsity.”
“What?” I sit up and stare at her. “I thought you were threatening me!”
Stacey raises her eyebrows. “If I were threatening you, I’d be like, ‘Don’t take Mandy’s place, or ELSE.’” She pauses. “I guess I did sort of say that, huh?”
We both cackle crazily once more.
“I don’t know why Mandy has such a hard-on for varsity—it’s not like she needs a track scholarship to go to college,” I say when we’ve calmed down a little.
“Her two older sisters attended Draycott before she did, and they were both on varsity. Won a crap ton of medals. Her parents put a lot of pressure on her to compete as well.”
I make a face.
“I’m not telling you so you feel bad for Mandy. I’m just saying that’s why she’s so desperate to stay on varsity.”
“How do you know all that stuff about her family?”
Stacey shrugs. “We used to be close. Then I came out to her, and things got really awkward. She tried to be tolerant or whatever, but it was never the same after that.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.” And I am. I’m also slightly ashamed of myself. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own problems that I never once thought that Stacey could be going through something like this. I’d just assumed that everyone else was cruising through, having the time of their lives.
“Meh. Anyway, I overheard her telling Elle that you’re in Mr. Werner’s class. Mandy was all happy about it because it meant she could get you kicked out of varsity. I wasn’t sure what she meant, and then I heard the news about you being off varsity ’cause you’d failed a class, so I hacked into Mr. Werner’s computer and looked up his test questions.”
“You what now?”
“I’m a computer genius, what can I say?”
“Holy shit. How did you hack into his computer?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Don’t be a snob. Pretend I’m not entirely stupid and tell me.”
Stacey laughs. “I am a snob, aren’t I? Okay. I used a keylogger and got his user ID and password that way. Once I got those, I could log on to his computer and all his teaching records. I could even access his local drive.”
“You used a keylogger? Like, one of those USB drive thingies? How did you keep him from finding it?”
“Dude.” Stacey rolls her eyes at me. “Not a physical keylogger. What is this, the nineties? I sent a virus to his computer. The virus automatically gathers all of his data and sends it back to me.”
“Ah. I see.” And then suddenly, I do see. And shit, it’s bad. It’s really, really bad. Because Mr. Werner is dead, killed, and the cops will find him, and they’ll probably check Mr. Werner’s belongings, which means they’ll check his computer, and if they find the virus and trace it back to Stacey, she might end up as a suspect. I may have cleaned up all evidence pointing to me and tied up my loose ends, but Stacey may end up going to prison for a crime she didn’t commit.