The Girl in the Park (17 page)

Because you don’t have the guts, says a voice.

“This is a hard time,” I hear my mom say. “But honey, please. Don’t play with this.”

“I’m not playing.” I say it fiercely, unsure whether it means that I’m not doing anything with Mr. Farrell or that my feelings are real.

My mom says, “Is this about your …?” Then goes silent.

Because she was about to say my dad. And that’s something we never talk about.

The silence is awful, everything we’re not saying jagged and spiky between us. Wanting a way out, I take the newspaper out of my bag. Opening it, I find the headline,
EXCLUSIVE! EVIDENCE PUTS NICO AT THE SCENE OF THE CRIME!

Stella, just as I thought.

“Oh, God, don’t read that trash,” says my mother.

I feel a flare of anger. Don’t talk to this person, don’t watch
that, don’t read this, don’t know anything. If my mother had her way, my life would be one closed box, with me locked inside.

My cell rings and we both jump. “Probably Taylor.” I slide off the chair, glad of the chance to end the conversation.

On the way to my room, I check who it is.

Stella Walcott.

Two thoughts flash in my brain: No way am I answering this, and Something’s happened, I have to know what.

Clicking, I answer, “Hello?”

“Hello, Diner Girl. Or—should we make it Rain?”

Hearing Stella say my name is strange, but I think I prefer it to Diner Girl. “We should.”

“I was just wondering if you had any reaction to the arrest.”

Whatever I say to Stella, I say to the world, so I have to be careful. “If he did it, I hope they find him guilty.”

“I hear the girlfriend attacked you. True?”

“It was no big thing.”

“She thinks he’s innocent, I gather.”

“Guess so.”

“You read my article?”

“Um-hm.”

“I didn’t mention you, right? You can trust me, you know.”

Remembering that awful, leering picture of Wendy, I decide to let that one sit.

“How’s Nico?” I ask.

“Lawyered up. Not talking. Except to say, Never saw her, never touched her, didn’t do it.”

“Does he know about the E?” I want to know if Nico knows I’m involved.

“The police told him they found one at the scene. At first he
said he didn’t have one, but they told him they knew the girlfriend gave him one.”

I hold my breath, somehow expecting her to say, “And they told Nico YOU told them that, Rain!” But she doesn’t.

“What’d he say to that?”

She snorts. “He claims he lost it.”

I hesitate. “Do you think they’ll find him guilty?”

She pauses. “I think the defense is going to work real hard to make the victim seem guiltier.”

“Maybe you could not help them with that.”

“Maybe. Look, I have to go. Do me a favor? Don’t spread it around that I told you about the little silver thing. This is a big story for me, and I don’t want my source knowing I share info with teenagers.”

I must be tired. Nothing computes. “What little silver thing?”

“The—” Stella lowers her voice “You know. The E.”

I think of the ring on Sasha’s finger, that flash of black and gold. I wait for Stella to say,
Oh, wait, sorry, gold
. Because it has to be gold. Black and gold are the school colors. That’s why the E pins are black and gold.

Dread takes hold of me like cold hands: maybe what they found wasn’t an E pin.

“What does the E look like?” I ask, trying to sound casual. “I mean, is it an earring, a—”

I hear a phone ring. Stella says, “Hold on, Rain.…”

A click. A moment later, she’s back. “I gotta go, kiddo. Hey, listen. Be happy—they got the guy who hurt Wendy.” The line goes dead.

But, I think. But. But. But …

Maybe they didn’t get the guy.

Frantic, I assemble all the evidence against Nico: Wendy’s obsession, the scratches, the surveillance camera. He left after she did. He’s a liar. He hurts people.

And I am not the only one who thinks he killed her, I think wildly. Mr. Farrell thinks so. Rima thinks he’s evil. Jenny doesn’t like him.

But not liking him is not the same as thinking he’s a murderer, I remind myself. And until the DNA tests come back, the only thing that links Nico to the crime is the E pin.

That you told the police was his.

But if what they found at the scene was silver, then it can’t be the E pin Sasha gave to Nico.

Which means I lied to the police. The realization knocks the breath out of me. Whether or not I meant to, I put an untrue thing out in the world. Other people do it all the time—
She’s retarded. He sells his mom’s Xanax. She fools around with her brother. His parents paid to get him into the school
. I’ve always hated that, the ugly things we say and think about each other not caring if they’re true or not.

I
did
care, I think desperately. It wasn’t that I didn’t care. I did all this because I cared about Wendy.

Only, that doesn’t make it right.

“Mr. Farrell?”

He looks up from the library table. “Rain. It’s very early.…”

I fiddle with my bag strap. “I know you’re working on your book, but could we talk? I was going to call you last night, but it was late, and I didn’t want to … It is actually important, I promise.”

Immediately, he starts gathering his things. “Of course. Let’s go to my room.”

As we walk into his classroom, Mr. Farrell closes the door and says, “You should know that the school decided that Sasha would take a two-week leave of absence.”

I wince.

Mr. Farrell misunderstands, saying, “I’m sure after two weeks, enough will have come out about the case that she’ll realize that …” He trails off. “… she made a mistake.”

“She didn’t,” I say, sitting down.

“How do you mean?” He sits too.

“Sasha didn’t make a mistake. She was absolutely right to be furious with me. Mr. Farrell—what I told the police? It wasn’t true. I thought it was, but …” I dig my fingers into the table
edge. “I’ve done something really wrong and I have to make it right.”

“Rain, slow down. Start at the beginning.”

“So, this reporter? Who told me about the E pin?” He nods. “Last night she called me again, wanting more dirt on the case. I didn’t give her any, but just before she hung up, she said the E pin was silver.”

Mr. Farrell just looks puzzled. I explain, “They’re not silver, they’re gold. Black and gold, right?”

He nods slowly. “The school colors.”

“If it’s silver, it’s not Sasha’s E pin. Which means the police don’t have anything to tie Nico to the scene of the crime. Which is kind of a big deal, right? I have to tell them.”

Now Mr. Farrell will tell me what an idiot I am, that we have to go to the police right now and I’ll be lucky if they don’t charge me.

But instead, he sits back, says, “Let’s think.” He sighs as he does so. Then says, “Well, for one thing, this woman is a tabloid writer.”

“So?”

“How reliable is she? Can you really trust her to remember a detail like gold or silver?”

For a moment, I’m stumped. I had expected Mr. Farrell to agree right away.

I say, “She’s the one who told me about the E pin to begin with. She obviously knows things.”

“But if what you’re saying is true, then it’s not even an E pin. Why would you trust the person who gave you the wrong information?”

“Because …” I struggle. Then think of something. “Did the police show you what they found?”

He shakes his head. “They described it, asked if we had any idea what it might be. I said I couldn’t possibly be certain, but the school did give out pins with
E
’s on them for achievement. We gave them a list of current students who had received one. We did ask them not to mention the pin unless it was absolutely necessary. We didn’t want to start a rumor flood.”

“But they must have seen it,” I say. “Talking to people. They have to know—”

Then I remember Sasha dropping her rings into the cup. The little bump under Lorelei’s shirt. The clean strap of Peter’s bag. Taylor telling me she didn’t have her bag when she talked to the police. All those people I talked to, I didn’t see the pin once. The police would have had to ask to see it. Which Mr. Dorland basically asked them not to do.

“You should know: Nico is out on bail,” says Mr. Farrell abruptly. “As of late last night.”

Nico free—possibly knowing I accused him. I fight the feeling of panic.

“Do you really think Nico Phelps is innocent?” Mr. Farrell asks gently.

Nico standing at the playground, no expression on his face. His finger in my mouth, twisting, hurting.

“No. But I still need to tell the police. I have to make my part of it right.”

“Rain, your part of it is right already.” Mr. Farrell leans forward. “It’s understandable that you’re having doubts, especially after what happened yesterday with Sasha. But Nico has lawyers,
very good ones. If there’s a flaw in the case, they’ll catch it. Do me a favor. Think about this. The trial isn’t happening tomorrow.”

But it’s happening every day in the papers, I think. This morning on my way to school I saw a headline: CLASSROOM KILLER.
HOW NICO PHELPS WENT FROM MONEY TO MURDER
.

Also: IT’S A MATCH!
SKIN FOUND UNDER WENDY GELLER’S FINGERNAILS MATCHES NICO PHELPS’S DNA!

Which means he probably did kill her, I think, feeling suddenly exhausted. Mr. Farrell is right: I don’t know what I know anymore.

“Just sit and think,” says Mr. Farrell. “Is there anyone else who could have murdered Wendy? Really think. And if you can think of someone and you want to go to the police, I will go with you.”

From his expression, I can tell, Mr. Farrell doesn’t believe I’ll come up with anyone else who could possibly have killed Wendy.

Now is probably not the time to tell him I already have come up with someone. Because the thought of it makes me ill.

Last night, after I hung up with Stella, I thought long and hard. If they didn’t find a school pin, what does the
E
they did find stand for? Probably a name—but whose?

I thought of Nico’s name in the yearbook. Nicholas Andrew Phelps. Not a single
E
anywhere. So, who of Wendy’s friends had an
E
initial?

When it came to me, I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it before. It seemed so obvious. But I didn’t see it because I didn’t want to. I was too hung up on Nico.

I opened Wendy’s Facebook page. Searching for the
E
’s in
her life, I found Elodie, a friend from Long Island, who weighs maybe ninety pounds, and a cousin Etan, who lives in California.

And Ellis, of course. Everybody’s guy. Who’s been just a little off since this happened.

Yes, Rain, maybe because a girl he loved was murdered.

Or maybe something else.

Ellis and Wendy started dating in September. But when I opened Wendy’s page, I saw that they were flirting at the end of last year. In May, Ellis posted
Ellis likes this
about one of Wendy’s pictures. In June, Wendy complained about having to work in Amagansett and he answered, “Aw, poor Wens! Try the summer with your mom and aunties in Ahmedabad.” They back-and-forth about the ending of a movie, “Awesome!” “Sucked!” and compete to see who loves
True Blood
more.

Then in September, Wendy wrote:

Everybody sit down or you may faint from shock. I have a boyfriend! No, really. And he’s an official Nice Guy. (I know, what’s he doing with me, right?) Check him out
.

Pictures of Wendy and Ellis snuggling in the rec room—or wreck room, ha ha—at school. In Bendel’s, wearing silly hats. A nice one of Ellis sitting at Wendy’s kitchen counter.

The friends approved, chorusing, Love this! OMG—you’re doing single guys now? I gotta sit down. Jealous! Hate you, bitch. Nah, just kidding …

For a few weeks, it’s all Ellis. He’s her “sweetie,” “the best.” They do everything together. Wendy moans about her mom complaining about the text bills.

Then,

Feeling low. Turns out nice guys are not for me. Hope I wasn’t a bitch about it
.

One friend writes, “I’m sure you were!” Another, “Knew it! I win the poll!” But mostly, it’s “Oh, no!s” and “Big hugs!”

Then a week later,

Advice, please, bitchettes. I’m not into do-overs. But recently, I saw someone I “knew” a few months back—I’ll call him The Hot One. There was a definite connection, but he said the little woman wouldn’t understand, blah, blah. I was kind of pissed, as you may remember. Today he gave me that look. Should I? He is sex on a stick. Of course, there is a wifey
.

The Hot One is Nico. Wifey must be Sasha. So Wendy’s flirtation with Nico probably started before she dumped Ellis. But she didn’t want to say so in case Ellis was still reading.

Things moved pretty fast from there.

Met up with The Hot One outside school. I have the feeling he’s tired of what he’s getting at home
.

Five-star day! Saw The Hot One
.

No-star day. Hot One sticking with wifey. Didn’t stop him getting some in the park
.

I thought, If I am Ellis reading this, I am not having fun.

Her friends weighed in. “Been there, done that. Move on, babe.” “Dump the loser.” “Hey, here’s a wild idea! Try someone without a girlfriend.”

Wendy wrote back,
Yeah, can’t do that. This is kind of real
.

Then a week later, Wendy posted COMMITMENT! with a link to a video. I clicked on the link, saw Wendy in Jenny’s room. They’re rolling around on the floor, holding the phone up, laughing hysterically.

Wendy gasps, “Okay, I’m making it official. I want Nico Phelps! Nico, you hear? I want you!”

“Girlfriend alert,” giggles Jenny.

Wendy fake frowns. “Oh, yeah, gee. Oh, wait, I don’t give a crap. Sorry, Sashy. Nico’s mine. And I don’t mean in that bathroom quickie way, I mean for real. Because you don’t get him, and I do. So he should be mine. Step aside, girlfriend.”