She Lies Alone: An utterly compelling psychological suspense novel, page 19
“What the hell, Elena! Didn’t you hear anything I said to you the other day? You should have asked her first. Then you should have gotten approval from Jefferson.” My voice was strung tightly. The tacos and coke gurgled in my stomach, a flash of pain stretching through my skull. I massaged my forehead and stood up from the bench, the bass of the DJ’s music starting up and pounding in my ears. I could tell by the way Elena’s mouth stretched back that my words had left her stunned. I didn’t care.
Elena’s easy-breezy attitude had lost its charm. She pushed too many buttons, ignored too many warnings. No one questioned her intentions. It was her methods that were the problem. She’d made a bad habit of leaving too many loose ends lying around, and she didn’t seem to care who tripped over them.
I turned away from her and edged through the gap in the food trucks, throwing away my cup and plate with more force than necessary and checking back over my shoulder. Elena moped in the opposite direction toward the haunted graveyard, hands shoved deep inside her pockets. When I turned back around, Phoebe and Rowan stomped toward me in the distance. They wandered toward the food trucks, attaching themselves to the end of the Taco Loco line. Rowan leaned close and said something to Phoebe. A smile flashed across Phoebe’s lips before she let it fade.
My gut told me to chat with them, to resuscitate her elusive smile, to mention her poem before she found out about it from mean girls ridiculing her or an overzealous parent committing her to the psych ward.
The blistering pain seized my head again, my hands flying up to my temples to try to contain the agony. The throbbing was getting worse. I needed to go home before I couldn’t drive. I needed to take some medicine and lie down. As much as I wanted to soften the blow to Phoebe, this wasn’t the time to be doing Elena’s job for her. Maybe it was a good thing to let everyone see Phoebe’s pain so she could get the help she needed. Maybe Elena deserved to have one of her reckless decisions blow up in her face.
Squinting my eyes and moving my feet as fast as they’d go, I looped the long way around the food trucks, avoiding unwanted conversation with a growing crowd of students and parents. The guests blurred in my peripheral vision—Phoebe and Rowan; a group of boys on the varsity soccer team; Jefferson and another teacher from the English department; McKenzie, Simone, Grace, and Dawn; Amy Granger; Principal Albright; Vice Principal Mittal; Lydia; Annie. I ignored them all and made a beeline for my car, the pain from my head reaching into my bones. Everything in my body screamed the same dire message: this night wasn’t going to end well.
Twenty
Amy
Juice dripped from the bottom of Amy’s taco as she took another bite. The tiny square napkin balanced in her hand underneath, saturated and disintegrating. She chewed quickly, a mixture of sweet and smoky spices emerging with each mouthful. No wonder Taco Loco was so popular. Two kids shoved past her, jogging to meet a friend in the distance. Amy took one last bite and tossed the remains of her tortilla into the nearest trash bin. She wiped her palms together, trying to rid her hands of the stickiness.
The DJ’s voice blathered over the loudspeaker from the side of the school. He said something about getting out on the dance floor, although Amy could only make out every other word through the static. She headed away from the noise, pacing across the grass in her high leather boots, avoiding the crowds on the sidewalk. She made her way back to the Taco Loco food truck, where the line had doubled since she’d been there fifteen minutes earlier. A metal box of napkins sat in an open window near the back. She plucked a few from the canister, relieved to be able to clean the mess from her hands.
A fluttering noise drew her eyes upward, where an enormous banner rippled in the wind above the front entrance of the school. Geeks and Goblins, Wednesday, October 25th, 7–10 p.m. Amy stared at the sign, mesmerized. The big night had finally arrived. Thankfully the main banner didn’t list the sponsors, the way the smaller one between the food trucks had. She’d temporarily lost her appetite when she’d spotted Granger Rentals printed in bold letters across the top, written in a font three times as big as all the other sponsors. Scott’s donation was all for appearances. He hadn’t even bothered to show up tonight.
“Hello, Amy. Enjoying yourself?”
Amy flipped around to find Principal Albright behind her, a navy sweater covering his button-down shirt, blue eyes sparkling. He held a half-eaten piece of pizza on a paper plate.
“Yes. It seems like a great turnout.”
“Everything’s on track.” He raised his pizza. “Cheers to the planning committee. The food is top-notch.”
“I’m going to go take a look at the student work inside in—”
“Uh-huh.” Principal Albright interrupted, his stare caught on something in the distance, smile flattening.
Amy stopped talking and followed the gaze of the distracted principal, which led directly to Elena Mayfield. The slender English teacher stood beyond the picnic tables, nose-to-nose with Annie Babcock. Annie reached toward Elena’s necklace, and Elena batted the other woman’s hand away, a death stare on her face. Annie held her palms in the air and shrugged, then turned and strode toward the school. Elena stood in place as she fiddled with the pendant on her necklace. A moment later, she let the necklace fall back to her neck and crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest.
Principal Albright blinked and turned his head, realizing Amy was looking at him. He swiped the back of his hand across his glistening forehead.
“Nice to see you, Amy. Have a great night.” He waved toward a tall couple on the sidewalk, striding toward them with his plate of pizza. “Hi Maria! Hi Pete! Nice to see you!”
Amy remembered Lydia’s comment about Elena skating on thin ice. The teacher created drama wherever she went. Her three-day leave of absence had been an appropriate punishment, as far as Amy was concerned. During the last few weeks in the office, Amy had witnessed a constant stream of emergency meetings between the head of the English department, Jefferson Sebold, and the principal, all concerning the actions of Elena Mayfield. Amy’s chest tightened, but she ignored the strain, instead focusing on blending into the crowd. She took a breath and wandered in front of the other food trucks, pretending to be fascinated by the menus, all the while scanning through the clusters of kids and parents for Phoebe.
She’d assumed Phoebe would ride to the event with her, but when Amy had suggested they leave, Phoebe had made a face like she’d smelled rotten eggs.
“Sorry. I’m getting a ride with Rowan. He’s picking me up, and then we’re walking over from his house. He lives right behind the school.”
Amy had flinched at the mention of Rowan’s name, at the memory of the scene in the Camry. She’d taken a moment to compose herself, realizing she couldn’t object without revealing what she’d witnessed in the parking lot. “Make sure you’re home by 10:30.”
Phoebe had rolled her eyes back into her head. “Fine.”
While there was still no sign of Phoebe, Amy located Simone, Dawn, Grace, and McKenzie standing in line in front of the ice cream truck, all dressed in leggings, ankle boots, and different versions of the same denim jacket. The girls huddled together, talking and laughing. A hot flash of anger pierced through Amy as she wondered which one of them had written the notes. Or had they all done it together? The hurtful words emerged from a shadowy corner of her mind. LEAVE US ALONE OR YOU WILL PAY! Yes. The “us” clearly implicated more than one person. Someone brushed past her, and Amy drew back her shoulders, wondering how long she’d been staring at the girls. She turned and wandered away to find a seat.
Her feet halted as she approached the picnic area. Elena sat about fifty feet away at a table across from the chemistry teacher, Jane Bryson. Curious, Amy slipped behind a tree, observing. Elena furrowed her eyebrows and drew her pink lips into a pucker. Her slender fingers twisted a silver chain that hung from her neck. Jane said something to Elena, who responded, but Amy was too far away to hear the words.
Amy remembered the flirtation between Elena and Nick in the office, along with Lydia’s confirmation that the rumors had been true. Had Nick been fooling around on Elena with Annie Babcock? Maybe she’d just witnessed the moment of confrontation between the jilted lover and the other woman. Heat expanded in her chest as memories of her moment of realization with her ex-husband surfaced. It was horrible to feel blindsided and betrayed. The plate had been sitting on the counter, and she’d thrown it at Scott’s head. It missed and crashed against the wall. What else was she supposed to have done? To her surprise, she felt a moment of solidarity with the English teacher. Before Amy had time to examine the idea further, Elena lunged from the bench and marched up the hill toward the school. Jane wandered in Amy’s direction, cradling her head in her hands and stumbling toward the parking lot.
Amy hovered for a moment longer, her mouth dry. She debated whether to approach Jane and start a conversation. Lydia slurped from a straw at a nearby table. An equally nondescript woman named Sue, who worked part-time in the copy room, slouched on the bench across from the uncouth office manager, three plates of food arranged between them. She couldn’t bear to make small talk with them.
The bright lights glowing from within the school offered Amy an escape route. It was nearly 8:30 p.m., and she hadn’t browsed the student exhibits yet. She turned from the deflated chemistry teacher and trudged up the hill, recognizing a few faces of parents she’d met through her work in the office. She waved and continued walking. About halfway up the hill, she glanced back, relieved to find two familiar faces drifting among the fields of people. Phoebe and Rowan slouched inside their oversized jackets, tacking themselves to the end of the line behind the Taco Loco food truck. At least tonight Amy knew where her daughter was and what she was doing.
A series of low moans interspersed with cackling laughter surrounded Amy as she strolled past the haunted graveyard. Steam rose from the ground, lending an eerie realness to the painted-cardboard tombstones. Nick stood guard at the makeshift gate, collecting tickets from students who dared to enter. He looked handsome in the bomber jacket that hugged his broad shoulders, a muscle in his square jaw flexing every so often. She could understand why Elena and Annie had been arguing over him. Whatever had transpired between the two women didn’t seem to affect Nick at all. He joked with each student who entered and made small talk with one of the parent volunteers.
Amy continued past, thanking a boy who held open the door of the student entrance for her. Poster board exhibits lined the hallway. She strolled until she found one labeled Poetry Club. She stepped closer and began reading, her abdomen squeezing at a poem called “The Death Joke.” Her entire body tensed when she saw Phoebe’s name written next to it.
She forced her eyes over the lines, the dreadful words knocking her off balance. She stumbled backward, sucking in air. Was this really Phoebe’s poem? “Two parents who hate each other?” It must have come from someone else. Her eyes retraced the display, confirming her daughter’s name written in glittery, purple marker next to the block of lines. Was Phoebe having suicidal thoughts? Frantic, she searched the maze of hallways for Phoebe’s face but came up empty. She’d last seen her down at the food trucks, but there’d been too many people there. Panic overtook her. Heart hammering and mouth dry, Amy fled the scene feeling like she might vomit.
Twenty minutes later, Amy pressed her back against the rough bark of an oak tree, her butt touching the cold earth. She hugged her knees against her chest, the DJ’s music thumping in her head as she waited for Phoebe to reply to her last two text messages. Eyes squeezed shut, she tried to disappear into the blackness of the night. The life she had worked so hard to build was crashing down around her. She couldn’t wrap her head around the agonizing words of Phoebe’s poem, couldn’t grasp the full meaning.
Amy gouged her fingernails into her arm, wondering why Elena felt entitled to dig into everyone else’s personal life whenever it suited her.
Two girls strolled past, unaware of Amy’s presence next to the shadowy tree.
“Did you see Phoebe screaming at Ms. Mayfield?”
Amy froze, holding her breath.
“I know. She ripped up her poem in front of everyone. She was crying and everything.”
“Her weird makeup was smeared all over her face.”
Amy hunched forward, hugging her knees tighter. Had Phoebe ripped up her poem? The horrible realization exploded inside of her. Phoebe had never agreed to put her poem on display for the whole school. Her teacher had blindsided her.
The mossy scent of the night air swirled with the drifting aromas from the food trucks—pizza sauce, garlic, and cumin. Bile rose in Amy’s throat, the morbid lines from Phoebe’s poem stained on her mind.
The joke’s on them—
In death
she wins.
Nicolette had been right. Phoebe needed professional help. She’d talk to Phoebe about the poem tonight. Or maybe tomorrow morning, after the fire had been put out and the smoke had cleared.
She opened her eyes. A crowd bobbed up and down on the dance floor. She focused on her breathing and tried to remember what it was like to be the mother of a happy child.
A familiar voice spoke behind her, a loud whisper sounding from a nearby patch of trees.
“Why did you let her post that poem?” Albright’s normally cheerful voice was angry.
“I didn’t know. It wasn’t there when I checked her display earlier. I swear!”
Amy swiveled her head, spotting Jefferson Sebold’s angular elbow poking out from behind a tree trunk.
The principal huffed. “She is absolutely out of control. Our school is headed toward a lawsuit we’ll never get out of.”
“I’ll start drafting an improvement plan. I’ll go over it with her tomorrow.”
A curt laugh escaped the Principal’s lips. “She’s not going to listen to an improvement plan, Jefferson. You know that as well as I do.”
“Shouldn’t we follow protocol?”
The two men walked away, heads down, mumbles fading into the night. Amy released her breath, relieved they hadn’t spotted her. She wouldn’t have known what to say.
At last, a text from Phoebe popped through her phone: Rowan is driving me home.
No more information was offered. Amy forced her fingers to type a response: Okay. I’ll meet you there, followed by a red heart.
The DJ played a different song, warning partygoers that there were only a few minutes left before the event ended. Amy yearned to go home and comfort Phoebe, tell her that things were going to get better, and everything was going to be okay, but the lava that had been pulsing through her veins had solidified, weighing her down.
Movement beyond the dance floor caught Amy’s eye, two figures trekking over the ridge above the soccer field. It was too dark to make out any details, but she could tell by the slumped shoulders and messy outlines of hair against the purplish sky that the silhouettes belonged to Phoebe and Rowan. They were holding hands, and they moved in the direction of the woods.
Amy fought her instinct to run after them. The wooded path led to Rowan’s neighborhood. They were walking back to his house to get his car, just as Phoebe had told her.
Legs shaky, she raised herself off the ground and wiped the moisture from her eyes. Waves of people flowed in the direction of the parking lot. As if in a trance, Amy placed one foot in front of the other, keeping her face still as she trudged down the hill. In her dazed state, she loitered near the picnic tables, ducking beneath the shadows as the rest of the world swirled around her.
A couple of minutes later she hurried toward her car, feeling exposed in the open parking lot. A mom of one of Phoebe’s former friends offered a sympathetic smile.
“Have a good night.”
Amy waved, but she’d seen the flash of judgment in the woman’s eyes. “Good night.” She retreated to the cover of her car, hugging her purse to her side, and turning the ignition. As her car idled behind a long line of vehicles, an odd mix of anger and fear congealed inside her.
A text alert buzzed on her phone. Amy stole a glance at the message. It was from Valerie:
Guess what? Tim and I got engaged!!! June 15 Wedding. Save the date!
Amy stared at the words, eyelids stinging and throat parched. “Fuck you, Valerie.” Amy swiped across the message, deleting it. She adjusted her seat belt and followed the cars in front of her, turning in the direction of her home.
Twenty-One
Jane
I lay on the couch next to Craig, drifting in and out of sleep while he watched Netflix. The multiple Advil pills I’d taken had eased my headache, the anti-inflammatory effects of ibuprofen kicking in almost immediately. My head sunk into the soft cushions, a blanket warming my body.
“What else can happen this week?” Craig had asked when I’d barged through the door two hours earlier, clutching the sides of my head and screaming for drugs.
My phone vibrated on the coffee table, jolting my eyelids open. Craig reached forward and passed me the phone. A message from Elena glared up at me: Where are you? Can you meet me at the soccer field ASAP? It’s important!
“Ha!” I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, right.”
Craig leaned toward me. “What is it?”
“Surprise, surprise. Elena has another emergency. She wants me to meet her at the soccer field.”
“Right now? It’s nearly eleven.”
I’d already told Craig about the drama between Elena and Annie, and how Elena had posted Phoebe’s personal poem without asking her, but now I silently wondered which disaster she was texting me about. My fingers typed my response: I left early. Bad headache. You can fill me in tomorrow.
A few bubbles appeared under my message but then disappeared. I plugged my phone into the charger and collapsed into bed.
