The Girl in the Park (14 page)

In the lobby, I see Rima sitting on one of the long benches outside the administrative office. Her legs are crossed, her hands flat on the blue silk of her skirt; she looks like an elegant doll. She’s humming, but I can’t quite make out the tune.

I say, “Hey, Rima.”

Breaking off her song, she says, “Rain, hi. God, how are you?”

Surprised by her eagerness, I say, “Good. What are you …?” I gesture around the lobby.

“Oh.” Annoyed, she glances at the office door. “Meeting with college advisor.
Avec
parents. Apparently I’m not working up to my potential.” She rolls her eyes, then says brightly, “But I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

Er, you might not say that if you knew I just royally pissed off your best friend, I think. But Rima pats the seat and I sit down.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry I was such a horror the other day.” The edge of her dark hair cuts across her cheek as she looks down. “What I said—the whole ding dong thing—not cool.”

“I understood.”

“I totally thought I was past it, but then when …” She shudders, then shakes it off. “Anyway, I’m sorry she’s dead and I’m
really
sorry I took my crap out on you.”

“I’m really okay with it,” I say. And I am. If anyone has a reason to be mad at Wendy, it’s Rima.

All of a sudden, I remember Wendy in the hallway. How I told her she was making a mistake going after the top girls; she had to start with their friends, the second-level girls or even third-.

Maybe I should take my own advice.

“I was just talking to Sasha upstairs,” I say, praying Rima doesn’t ask what we were talking about.

“Working on her piece?” I nod. “She’s such an obsessive.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Sasha doesn’t do halfway.”

“No,” says Rima. My imagination, or does she sound a little sad?

Tentative, I ask, “Are she …?” I shake my head. “Actually, none of my business.”

Rima looks curious. “No—ask.”

“Are she and Nico serious?”

“She is, anyway,” says Rima. “Unfortunately.”

“You don’t think he’s so great.”

“I think he’s scum,” she says harshly. “A total user.”

I feel tingling at the back of my neck. “Why?”

“He’s just into her for what he can get. Clothes, connections. The whole status thing. He even—”

She breaks off.

Guessing, I say, “Did he ask for her E pin?”

Rima stares. “How’d you know?”

“I saw him wearing it,” I lie.

“Oh, God, Sash’ll freak. She made him promise not to wear it at school.”

“Why’d she give it to him?”

“He said he wanted it for college interviews. He thinks he’s getting into Brown, can you believe that? I told Sasha, any decent college is going to check. But she said if it gave him some extra confidence, why not? She was like, ‘It’s all ridiculous anyway.’ ” Rima shakes her head. “She’s got this whole Genet beautiful criminal thing going with him. Like somehow because he’s
not rich, he’s more ‘real.’ I keep telling her he’s bad news, but she says I don’t understand. Like, yeah, I don’t understand when he gets violent and high. I don’t understand when he cheats on you. I mean, look at this insanity with Wendy Geller. What she’s going through because—”

She breaks off, crossing her arms. “God, sorry, I didn’t mean to dump. Sasha says I’m still not over the Seth thing. That I’m ‘bitter and suspicious.’ Maybe so,” she says softly.

This reminds me of what Taylor said to me after Wendy’s funeral. “Maybe you just know things Sasha hasn’t learned yet.”

Rima makes a sad face, then frowns. I look where she’s looking, see her parents coming down the hall. Getting up, I say, “Thanks, Rima.”

“For what?”

“Being real.”

I don’t speak. That’s what I think as I walk home. It’s what people like about me. They can talk—about anything—and I’ll just listen, nod, say little things like I understand and Of course. I don’t say things like Are you crazy? Or You did a terrible thing. And I never tell anyone else what I’ve heard.

Never.

But now I have to.

It all happens much faster than I thought it would. At four o’clock the next day, I am waiting in Mr. Farrell’s office to speak with the police. I didn’t really want to wait that long—but I wanted to be sure no one was around when I talked to them. I still can’t quite believe I’m doing this.

Now I look up at Mr. Farrell, who’s standing behind my chair, and ask, “Do you think they’ll believe me?”

“Yes.” He looks down, squeezes my shoulder.

“Is it weird if I hope they don’t?”

“Not at all.”

I can’t feel my legs. I wiggle my feet to get the feeling back. They tingle, itch—but the sense that I’m about to float away doesn’t ease. I can’t breathe and my whole body feels buoyant with unreleased air. It is not a nice feeling.

To orient myself, I look at the plain white walls of Mr. Farrell’s classroom. At all the empty chairs. At the clock, which says 4:02.

“They’re late.”

“Only two minutes.”

“I don’t think I can do this.”

“You can,” he says. “You can.”

If I say No, I can’t, again, Mr. Farrell will listen to me. He will
let me go. He will let me not do this. But only for today. Tomorrow, the next day, he will find me and he will ask, Have you thought about what you told me?

First thing this morning I told him that they found an E pin near Wendy. That Nico had one. That he left the party close to the same time as Wendy.

His finger curled in front of his mouth, Mr. Farrell admitted, “I knew about the E pin. The police asked us about it.”

“So you knew it was someone from school,” I said. “When I came to talk to you?”

He nodded. “That’s why I felt so strongly that you should talk to the police. I knew you were right, even though I couldn’t tell you. The police were anxious to keep the discovery of the pin a secret. They felt there was a real risk Nico would run if he knew they had solid evidence.” He hesitated, then added dryly, “And of course, Mr. Dorland was anxious to keep the fact that the murderer went to Alcott a secret for as long as possible.”

When he asked if I wanted him to contact the police for me, I said Yes. And Yes again when he asked if I wanted him there when I talked to them.

“What about your mother?” he asked.

I thought of my mom, smiling, reassuring, protective; somehow I didn’t want that now.

“I’ll be okay,” I told him. “I can do this.”

And now here we are. And I seriously think I’m going to throw up.

“I think—” But that’s as far as I get. The door opens and Detective Vasquez comes in, followed by an actual policeman in uniform. At the sight of the policeman, my stomach twists. I’m breathing, gulping. Mr. Farrell puts both hands on my shoulders.

“It’s okay, Rain.”

Detective Vasquez sits down, says, “Hello, Rain.” I want to ask him to lower his voice when he says my name. Not everyone has gone home, and nobody can hear that I’m doing this. “It’s nice to see you again.” He glances at Mr. Farrell. “I understand from Mr. Farrell that you have something more you wanted to share with us.”

Share. Do I want to share it? I want him to have it. And once I do give it to him, it’s his. I never have to think about it again.

“I …” I don’t know how to start. Why didn’t I plan that, what to say? Because somehow I hoped I wouldn’t have to.

I look up at Mr. Farrell, who nods.

I mumble, “I don’t know what you’re thinking these days about who did it.…” I check the detective’s face for a sign he might say, but it’s blank. “I know you talked to Sasha about Nico …?”

“Sasha Meloni,” supplies Mr. Farrell. “Nico Phelps.” The detective nods.

Twisting my hands, I say, “So—you know …” The detective waits. I drop my hands.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m doing this really badly.”

“You’re doing fine, Rain,” says Detective Vasquez.

I’m not, I want to tell him. I may talk like an idiot, but I know what sounds right and what doesn’t.

Mr. Farrell comes to my rescue. “Detective, you told me about an item you found at the crime scene. Something with an E.”

“That’s right,” says the detective.

“At the time, all I could do was confirm that the school gives out E pins and give you a list of the students who have received them. But Rain has learned something that changes the story somewhat.”

They’re waiting. The pressure to speak gathers on my chest like a weight. I feel like the curtains have parted, the spotlight’s hit, and I’m blinking and stupid in the glare.

I’m looking at the floor. Police like it when you look them in the eye. Otherwise they think you’re lying. I raise my head.

“You know, right, that Sasha has two E pins?” It’s not as bad if they already know it, I think. I’m not really telling them anything. “And you know she’s dating Nico?”

“We understand that to be the case.”

“Well, sometimes …” I duck my head, let my fingers pull at one another. “People who are dating, if they’re serious, they give their boyfriend or girlfriend their E pin. Not everybody, but …”

On the verge of the first real thing I have to say, I fall silent.

“Take your time,” says the detective.

But I don’t want to take my time. I want to have this over with. In a rush, I announce, “Sasha gave Nico one of her pins. He wanted it for college interviews. It was about a month ago. Her best friend told me.…”

My teeth seize on my tongue. Why? Why did I say that about best friend?

Detective Vasquez gets out his notebook. “What’s this best friend’s name?”

Panicked, I look at Mr. Farrell. “Do I have to say?”

Mr. Farrell hesitates. “I’m afraid so, Rain.”

“Rima Nolan,” I say miserably. Now Rima will hate me. Even if she thinks Nico’s guilty, she won’t want to be the one who gave the police the crucial piece of evidence. Sasha will hate her.

No, I realize, Sasha will hate me. Because I’m the one who went to the police. Rima and Sasha both. My life is about to become a living hell.

Detective Vasquez must sense my panic, because he says, “This is very helpful, Rain. Is there anything else you can tell us?”

“I know Nico left the party to be with Wendy.” In my head, I hear Taylor say, “Uh-uh …” and change it to “I mean, he left the party right after her. That’s why kids told you she left alone.”

The detective is checking his notebook. “But you can’t tell us if he actually did meet her.”

I hesitate. “No, I don’t know that.”

The detective nods like that’s not a problem. “That’s fine,” he says.

“You believe me, right?”

He looks surprised. “I have no reason not to. I sincerely appreciate your coming forward.”

“This was not easy for her,” says Mr. Farrell.

“I’m sure it wasn’t.” Detective Vasquez stands up.

“What happens now?” I ask.

“I’m afraid I can’t say just yet. We will certainly be contacting some of the people you mentioned.” My stomach tightens. “And we will probably need to contact you again. If you could give us your information one more time.”

I do, feeling strangely vulnerable as I write down my name, address, and phone number.

When I’m done, I say, “Can you …” I’m about to ask him not to tell people about me. But Rima will know. The second they ask about the E pin.

“I think Ms. Donovan would appreciate if her name could be kept out of it,” explains Mr. Farrell. “I’m sure you understand.”

The amazing thing about Mr. Farrell, I think, is that he does listen. Even when you don’t speak, he hears you.

“Absolutely,” says the detective. “And thank you again, Rain.”

When he’s gone, Mr. Farrell sits down next to me. I feel numb. Even his nearness means nothing. “How are you?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I feel …”

He reaches out, takes my hand. “What, Rain?”

“I feel like I did something really bad.” My voice twists, and I bite my lip as if that will stop the tears.

“Why?” he asks. “Why?”

“I don’t know. I just … all this stuff is going to happen because of what I said. I wish I hadn’t told them anything, I wish they’d just figured it out.”

“But they weren’t going to,” he says gently. “I think they were suspicious of Nico. But they didn’t have him at the scene until you told them about the E pin.”

This is meant to make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Talking to people, finding things out about Nico, reporting them—it all feels weak, somehow.

I remember when I saw him in the park. Just standing there. As if what he’d done could never touch him. He could take life, but nothing could be taken from him. I remember how I wanted to scream at him, to shriek. Shatter his security.

“I wish I’d confronted him,” I say, only half aware I’m talking out loud. “Like, I’m terrified he’ll find out I talked to the police, but at the same time? I want him to know …”

That I did something back, I think. I got him back.

I sit up. This isn’t about me, it’s about Wendy.

Farrell says, “When things get tough? I want you to remember that you have done a very good thing for your friend.”

I look at our hands intertwined.

“Okay.”

The next day is Saturday. It is impossible not to remember that last Saturday, I was wondering what would happen at Karina’s party. What would Wendy do? How crazy would she be?

My mom has a matinee. I think of staying indoors, then decide, No, out. I don’t want to be near the things that will tell me if Nico’s been arrested: the phone, the computer, the TV. I want to be away from all of it.

I haven’t hung out with Taylor since Wendy’s funeral. Dialing quickly, I say, “Hey.”

“Oh, hi.” She sounds not pissed off. I’m relieved.

“Idea,” I say.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Movie? Lunch?”

“Sounds good.”

I hesitate. “No Wendy talk?”

She laughs. “Even better.”

We pick a serious movie, something political, playing at the art house that’s underground near Lincoln Center. As we wait to go in, I think, This is a movie Wendy would never see.

I try to focus on the movie, but it’s hard. At one point, I feel
my phone buzz. I take my hand off my bag. Try to pretend it didn’t happen.