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BRIGHT AND EARLY THE next morning, exhausted students woke up and rubbed the sleep from their eyes as the sun rose. They’d remember, mostly, the party from the night before. The loud music, the gossip, the drinking. But not much else. No matter, for all they needed to do today was drag themselves from bed, pack a duffel bag, and take a ferry to the mainland to see eager parents for a much-needed break. Their families would have too many questions, fawn over them excessively, and generally make too big a deal about everything their very, very special children did, are doing, can do, and will do.

The stillness almost translated to one of the black box theaters where rehearsals could be scheduled for the lucky few chosen to be in the showcase and work through the vacation. The performance space itself was just a large square with seating on three sides. The stage was elevated a few inches off the floor. The walls were a dreary puke yellow, completely covered with thick, velvety black curtains that rendered the room faceless, which was the point. That way it could become anything a performer desired.

Backstage were two simple dressing rooms, one for the boys and one for the girls, each equipped with makeup tables, chairs, lights, and racks to hang costumes. The ceilings in each room were constructed to dampen acoustics, with a sea of holes in the perforated gypsum tiles, an older method of sound absorption that many on the staff felt needed to be redone in order to modernize the space. Students couldn’t care less, as it gave them ample opportunity to pass the time with a game as old as the tiles themselves.

A muffled thwack sounded as the tip of a red pencil struck a hanging yellow one, knocking it to the ground. The hollow sound of the cedar wood hitting the floor was drowned under giggles.

“All is fair in love and pencil darts,” Nancy said. She was wearing a leotard and was sprawled out on the floor of the dressing room, her head touching Layna’s. “One more and I’ll remain the ruler of the universe.”

“You have a very small universe,” Layna said. “And for God’s sake let’s not talk about love.”

Nancy wriggled and took the bait. “Ooh, is Lady Juliet having trouble with Romeo? Do tell, and keep in all the juicy, sexy details.”

“You’re going to be massively disappointed,” Layna offered. “He moped for about an hour afterward and barely said a word to me. Whatever.” She tried to sound cavalier, but she knew it sounded like the lie it was. She cared. Of course she cared.

“Typical guy,” Nancy said. “But let me tell you, Maxi boy needs to think long and hard about trying to start break by screwing his only chance to get screwed.”

“Shut up!” Layna shouted through a laugh. Nancy could be crude, Layna thought, but it’s what made her Nancy.

Nancy threw her last red pencil to the ceiling with laser focus. It stuck. Three red to two yellow. “Ha! I rule. Utter ruleage. Call it, babe.”

Layna cocked her head as if it would give her a better vantage point or change the outcome of the game. It did neither, so she just shook her head. “You must have had detention a lot as a little girl. And ‘ruleage’ is so not a word.”

Nancy propped herself up on both elbows so that Layna stared up at her. “Losers weepers,” Nancy stated. “Accept it. I’m the berries, and there’s no need for further explanation.”

Layna blew Nancy’s dark hair out of her own face. “Just remember, it’s not over until I get you to sing.”

The girls laughed. A knock at the door made them turn. “Please tell me you ordered a pizza,” Nancy said, causing them to laugh harder.

Max poked his head into the room. “Get yourself together. No sign of Syd. D’Arcangelo’s giving her five, then you’re up.”

“Thank you, Mister Stage Manager,” Layna said, trying to be perfunctory, even as she worried why Max was acting so workmanlike.

Max pulled his head back and shut the door. Layna saw that Nancy sensed the weird vibe between her and Max. She waited for her friend to do the cheering-up thing, but the door opened again before Nancy could offer any pearls of wisdom. Max peeked in, winked at Layna, then grinned. The door shut again.

“Looks like the Capulets and Montagues are gonna be all right,” Nancy said, grinning. “My work is done.”

“Have you seriously ever read Romeo and Juliet?” Layna asked. “Max and I are not from warring families. And, spoiler alert, they both end up dead.”

“I saw the movie, duh,” Nancy said, “and what I do know is your relationship with Max is filled with more drama than Shakespeare could ever have dreamed up. But, rewrite, just minus the death thing. It’s so tragic.”

“You’re a disaster.” Layna looked at her watch, turning thoughtful. “Where is Syd, for real? She schedules this tacky, early rehearsal and can’t even make it to suffer with us?”

“Stop complaining. It’s not like anyone kept you up late.” Nancy said as she raised her eyebrows playfully. “If you know what I mean.”

Nancy stood over Layna and offered her hands. “Just roll with it, babe. I mean, it’s been four years of you standing in her shadow. Take the chance to play if she’s gonna give it to you.”

Layna moved to the makeup mirror. The bright lights showed her clear, porcelain complexion. She stared into her own eyes, and Nancy became a blur behind her.

“These magical people, who are supposedly going to make some of us stars, aren’t coming to the showcase to see the understudy,” Layna admitted. “But, for better or worse, as Mrs. D’Arcangelo always says—”

Nancy grabbed Layna’s shoulders from behind. “What’s your malfunction? Mrs. D. is a posh high school drama teacher whose own faded hopes and dreams for stardom were dashed after she didn’t make it big in some soap opera, or commercial, or whatever. It’s totally clouded her ability to see true talent.”

Layna nodded. “I’m a little confused. Could you clarify your feelings on that, please? Come on, be nice,” she pleaded. She really did like and admire the drama teacher’s care and tenacity. “I really don’t see it that way. And Mrs. D. treats everyone fairly.” Layna believed what she was saying, even though she knew Nancy, and others, didn’t.

“Fine, not sorry,” Nancy said. “But, let’s not forget, dahling. You are the scholarship girl. You have your own clique where money is no object.”

Layna bit her bottom lip. Scholarship girl. Ick, she thought. “You make it sound like I'm Demi Moore in that Robert Redford film where he bought her, or whatever.”

“Um, no!” Layna protested. “And how did you so hastily take me from a realtor slash housewife—romanced by a suave middle-aged billionaire—to hooker? Although, to be honest, Julia Roberts was a pretty amazing hooker.”

“I know, right?” Nancy wrapped her arms around Layna’s shoulder. “But I see what you mean, so from now on you will not be the scholarship girl.”

“I wish people would stop bringing it up,” Layna said, downhearted. “That free ride is just a reminder I’m a poor, talented girl from the wrong side of the tracks whose mother died when she was a baby and whose grandparents somehow wrangled a scholarship out of this place.” Nancy’s eyes widened. “Wow, I am a total ball of laughs right now, huh?”

“Always, babe,” Nancy said, shaking her head. She grabbed a piece of teal fabric from around the neck of an otherwise naked dress form, turned Layna back toward the mirror, and draped it over Layna’s back.

Layna could only wonder what Nancy was up to as she tried to back them both away from a depressing precipice.

“I decree there’s a new superstar in town,” Nancy said, ruffling the makeshift cape. “Look! Up in the sky! She’s young! She’s beautiful! She’s desperate!”

The gag worked. Layna turned to Nancy, their faces close. “You’re a good friend. I want you to know that.”

Nancy smiled coyly and slid the fabric around her own neck. “Oh, sweetie, you’re adorable when you’re right.”

“Still, it’s not like Syd to miss rehearsal,” Layna said, then added under her breath, “or a mark. Or a line.”

“Come on. Once you’re out there, people will appreciate what they’ve been missing. It’s totally gonna be, ‘Sydney who?’” Nancy ran her hands across the fabric before putting it back on the dress form.

“And return them scuffed. Scuffed! Seriously, who does that?” Nancy asked, now serious. “Sydney Miller, the Sydney Miller, Queen Bee Sydney Miller, that’s who.”

Nancy was preoccupied with the dress form and simply nodded. “Thank God you get it.”

“No word?” Layna asked. Max shook his head. Layna cast a concerned glance toward Nancy, who simply motioned with her head toward the stage.

Nancy rubbed Layna’s shoulder. “You don’t need it. Now go show Mrs. D. you earned that free ride.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She lied. She wasn’t fine. She had doubts. She wanted to know if she could pull off the performance. Was this really her shot? Did she truly deserve it?

Not by any student, most of whom had left campus or were waiting on the docks to do so. It was discovered by a member of the custodial staff that Sydney thought didn’t exist.

Had anyone been able to see, they would have witnessed an older Chinese man, a member of the greens department, unlock the door to the conservatory and enter with a bucket of fertilizer and a hose. They’d have noticed him filling the bucket with water to create a food mixture for the exotic plants. And they’d have seen him wonder at a small shard of glass on the ground as it reflected direct sunlight from above.

Like every other employee of the school, the sweet Chinese man in the gray coveralls had signed a strict confidentiality clause about what he saw and heard. As he noticed the glass and looked up, bucket in his hand, his eyes widened at the sight of the shattered ceiling and twisted metal. His gaze returned to the floor, and he leaned forward, peering around a table filled with orchids. His mouth dropped open as he let go of the bucket, which hit the expensive, marble floor with a thud, tilting on its side, its chemical contents oozing out. He peered through the delicate white petals of the flowers and saw the pool of blood surrounding Sydney’s twisted body. He took a tentative step forward and saw the girl’s head lolled to one side, with its ashen face and wide-open eyes.

The nice man with a kind face and a wife on the mainland screamed at a pitch higher and louder than should have been possible.

IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG for school officials to converge on the conservatory and then Sydney’s room. And that swiftness was matched by how fast it was decided to keep things hush-hush. The Chinese man had been worried that he would be fired when he came to and reported the grisly mess to security, but he was told to take a week off, with pay. And to keep his mouth shut.

Two privately hired, nondescript paramedics wordlessly tended to the body in the conservatory. No yellow tape. No fanfare. Not even a marked emergency vehicle. The paramedics were instructed to take the necessary photographs, deliver the camera’s memory card to the school, remove the body, clean up, and leave.

The school had already inquired about having a forge master and glazier come to repair the damage to the conservatory’s magnificent metal and glass. But, those craftsmen were with absolute certainty to come next week.

In the hallway outside Sydney’s room, there was considerably more activity. Leading the charge was Alfred Parker, a plainclothes detective in his mid-thirties, from the mainland. Although his build was slight, he was strong and handsome. And he was serious. If there was an answer, he would find it. And in his mind, there was always an answer. He ran a hand through a short-cropped head of prematurely salt-and-pepper hair.

Parker was escorted from the hallway into Sydney’s room by Trask’s head of campus security, Daniel Henderson, who explained to Parker that he was a recent graduate from Oregon, eager to take his first assignment in some sort of law enforcement that didn’t require him to pull a gun on a kid from the wrong side of the tracks. Daniel talked about having seen too many stories where, even if the shooter was able to walk away scot-free after the investigation, it was not without considerable damage to his reputation or the community he ultimately had to leave. Parker listened. Such considerations, he thought, made Daniel seem almost too serious about his job.

Daniel stopped talking, and Parker stopped listening, as they brushed past a nearby photographer. The young woman, also from security but not a resident on campus, was snapping photos. A lot of photos all bound to end up locked away with all of the school’s other secrets, Parker thought.

“I’d like copies of those when you have them,” Parker said in her direction. She stopped and looked up, but not at Parker. Daniel nodded, and she continued.

“Most have already made it to the mainland,” Daniel said. “The rest took the late run and should be docking soon. I have to confirm who, but there are only a handful of students staying on campus.”

Parker rubbed the back of his neck with a cool hand. “I never thought I’d say it, but thank God for spring break.”

The flash of more pictures made Parker squint. Fully inside the room, he could see it didn’t reveal much. A teenager’s messy enclave and an open window. He noticed a framed photo of Sydney on an oak desk.

“So young. So pretty,” Parker said, mostly to himself, as he made his way to the window. He looked out and down to the shattered glass dome of the conservatory. Sydney’s body, the blood, and the glass were already gone. Parker shook his head, lamenting the speed with which things were cleaned.

“Seven years bad luck, huh?” Daniel said, pointing to the open umbrella next to the bed.

“That’s breaking a mirror,” Parker corrected. He looked around the room and sighed.

Parker cautiously regarded the sixty-six-year-old Dean of Students. He knew that the man had no plans to retire anytime soon, or at all, if it were up to him. The board was happy with his ability to keep students in line, deliver results to parents, and keep the money on the far side of the black. His motto was to lean on the rod because every child is spoiled, for he was one of the spoiled children a long, long time ago. His family was old money.

“Detective, may we speak outside?” McKenna asked, not offering a hand or stepping any farther into the room. Daniel looked at Parker as if he had better listen to the dean. Parker did so, not because he respected the man, but out of professional courtesy.

McKenna stepped into the hall, and Parker followed. McKenna eyed the door. Parker took the cue and shut it.

Parker answered with a closed-mouth smile. The dean could really be an ass when he wanted to be.

McKenna waved a pale, veiny hand. “This is not an alumni luncheon,” he uttered. “How much longer do you need to be here? The faster we put this poor girl’s tragedy behind us, all the better.”

Parker replied, coolly, “It would’ve been more helpful had I been given more time to look things over and—”

“Figure out why this happened?” the dean finished. “These young adults are under far more pressure than most. From the school, but also from home.”

McKenna blanched for the slightest of moments, but recovered and continued more tersely. “There are a few hundred students on this campus, each one here to be judged, not just to be good, but to be the best. The competition never ends. It will cause cracks in even the most sturdy. Coupled with adolescence, what can one expect? You see it as tragic. Others claim it is the price of chasing fame and, for the lucky few, fortune.”

Parker was visibly agitated. “Well then, it sounds like you have it all figured out. Kids so stressed they party themselves to death?”

“Exams are done. Spring break is here. Perhaps in their excitement, some pushed a tad too far,” McKenna said. “There is nothing malicious in that.”

“Seniors,” McKenna said with an odd sense of pride. “Allowed to stay if they wish and prepare for the showcase. It is a rather big event for us here. People, important people, come in from all over.”

McKenna seemed to be getting bored. “Just myself and Lillian D’Arcangelo. She teaches drama and acts as a counselor, and the students love her. We live here on campus. And you have met Daniel. He watches over us all. I know you are terribly busy, but I must ask again, when are you leaving?”

Parker opened the door to Sydney’s room and entered. He closed it behind him, leaving Harlan McKenna to stare at the star shimmering with the name of his dead student.

MAX SHIFTED ON THE concrete bench outside the theater where Sydney was supposed to have rehearsed. He and Nancy played rummy, but his concentration broke each time he heard Alice pop her gum. He gave her a look. Crosby lay on the ground, a long blade of grass between his teeth, and stared at the sky, flipping a coin between and over each of his fingers.

“I thought she did pretty good,” Nancy said. “Not that I thought she wouldn’t.”

Alice popped another bubble and smacked her gum as she spoke. “Please, you know you thought she’d bite it.” Max gave her another look. The look: give it a rest.

“You can tell her how you think I feel when she comes out here, how about that?” Nancy said, reaching for Alice’s next bubble. The gum stuck to her finger, and she pulled back, grabbing the wad from Alice’s mouth and sticking it in her own. Everyone groaned.

“You know she kisses you with that mouth,” Max said to Crosby. “You might as well make out with Alice.”

Crosby smiled. “Sign me up. There’s enough of me to go around. Keep it in the family, you know.”

“Anyway,” Max said, “word on the street is the party last night was kinda close to awesome. Gotta give grade nine props.”

Crosby snapped his fingers in support. “Shattering the conservatory is an A-List event in my book, freshman or not. Glass was everywhere.”

“A little birdie told me your plans to make a cameo were vetoed when you went all agro on Dillon,” Nancy said, batting her eyelashes at Max.

“Who knows what really happened,” Alice said before turning her attention to Crosby. “And just how do you know glass was everywhere?”

Max wondered the same thing. Crosby just rolled his eyes. Which was not an answer at all, Max thought.

Crosby got up and sat next to Nancy. He planted a heavy, wet kiss on her face, looking at Alice while he did. “More than Lionel Ritchie, baby.” He turned back to Nancy and began tongue-wrestling.

“Gross,” Alice said. “Well, that conservatory was like their baby. The Dean’s totally gonna kill whoever trashed it. Seriously dead.”

Nancy pulled away from Crosby, a thin line of saliva breaking between their lips. “Thank you, film at eleven gal.”

Max’s attention was elsewhere. He noticed Layna finally stepped out from the theater and stood in its lobby. But she wasn’t alone. With her was Mrs. D’Arcangelo, her mane of wild dark hair held up with a white sash.

The conversations dimmed. Max watched with interest as the teacher embraced Layna, who seemed to fall into the woman’s arms with resignation. He could tell that Mrs. D’Arcangelo’s gesture was designed to give Layna strength, but it seemed as if no hug could have been enough.

Something is wrong, Max thought. “I’ll be right back,” he said to the others and got up.

“You’re all crazy, and we’re done,” Max joked. “I’ll be right back.”

He stepped toward the theater as D’Arcangelo exited the lobby. She moved with purpose, then slowed when Max raised his arm in a half-hearted wave. The drama teacher gave a slight nod, then put her head down and continued on her way.

Layna began crying. Max hugged her. He could see she wasn’t ready to talk, so he put his arm around her and walked her back toward their friends.

“Isn’t there a statute of limitations on the amount of making up you can do?” Crosby asked.

Nancy slowly shook her head, concerned. “I’m not sure that’s what this is.”

Max looked into Layna’s red, watery eyes. “Layn, you’re scaring me.” He squeezed her hand, hoping to reassure her. “I’m sure you did just fine. Forget what D’Arcangelo thought.”

Max was confused. “Babe, what’re you talking about? We just saw her leave the lobby. Strange as ever.”

Layna sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. She swallowed deep, sucked in a breath. “Sydney. Sydney is dead.”

What happened?

What are you talking about?

We just saw her!

Are you sure?

Nancy rushed to Layna, bent over, and held her hair as she vomited up a runny puddle of egg and orange juice.

PARKER HAD SEEN SYDNEY’S body and the location of deadly impact in the conservatory, and he was left with an uneasy feeling. Especially after his encounter with Dean McKenna. There were to be no minced feelings about the man. Parker did not like him.

As for Daniel, who had gone with Parker back to the conservatory, Parker wasn’t exactly enamored of the security guard’s abilities. Still, it seemed evident the young man had a good heart, a good head on his shoulders, and a willingness to do what Parker needed him to. That was important. Parker wanted to be left alone on this, and he knew the school administration was going to poke its nose in wherever and whenever it could.

He surveyed his surroundings, both admiring and loathing them. The stone wall that seemed to go on and on. The fence, smaller than the main gate and made of black metal plates, closed. Taking a few steps toward the wall, Parker pulled out his cell phone and dialed. When nothing happened, he took the phone from his ear and grunted.

“When you said no service earlier,” Parker replied, “I thought you meant in the dorms.”

Daniel smiled. “No, the island. There are no towers here, and we don’t pick up signal from the mainland.”

“It’s all a part of the school’s mission to immerse the students in a sea of learning,” Daniel said. “The Dean has the only residence here. Other faculty and students stay in dorms. School owns from shore to shore.”

“It’s kind of nice, I think,” Daniel went on. “Kids today are too connected. Brings back the good old days, in a way.”

“Sure,” Parker said. The good old days for Daniel probably meant DSL. Parker continued to survey the expansive campus. Perfectly manicured lawns. Well-managed buildings. A place for everything and everything in its place. “A suicide and a secluded private school. Film at eleven.”