Lurker

oozing those words through the microphone, that soft undistinguished misery grew solid and sharp edged.

Beside her, both Laurel and Drew threw their hands over their faces. Sobbing. But Mandy couldn’t do that. It was a joke. She didn’t believe it. Just another one of Naughty Nic’s silly jokes. Any minute, Nicki’d come dancing into the gym with a big smile. She’d say something like, “Who died?” and everyone would laugh, and her friends would stop crying. Everyone would stop crying.

“We will certainly miss Nicolette,” continued Mr. Thompkins, wiping a handkerchief across his forehead. “For now, I would like you all to report to your homerooms. You will be excused from there. No one is to leave the school grounds alone. Those of you who need to arrange a ride with a family member may use the phone in the administration office. When you are excused, you are expected to return directly to your homes.”

An arm snaked around her neck, startling Mandy. It was just Laurel, pulling her in to join her friends in an embrace. The three of them huddled together on the bench, hunched with heads touching. Entwined with Drew and Laurel, Mandy felt the sickness in her belly turn to an ache.

“This can’t be true,” she whispered.

She remembered things about Nicki, tiny things that she had no business remembering. Earlier that year, Nicki had worn a T-shirt to school that said Good Eats, and was sent home by Mrs. Fletcher, the biology teacher. The summer before, Mandy had seen Nicki in the park, lying in the shade of an oak reading an old book called The Bell Jar. Once she’d announced to the lunch line that the meat-loaf was excellent because “They ground the cats coarse, so it’s reeeeeal savory.” Last Friday, she had worn a black sweater over a white blouse and earrings that looked like tiny thumbnail moons.

Then Mandy realized she would never see Nicki again, never laugh at one of her quick remarks. The sickness that had become an ache exploded and sent shattered bits of pain to every nerve in her body. She sobbed because her denial was gone. It was true. Naughty Nic was dead.

“How?” Mandy asked between sobs, pushing closer to Laurel, tightening her grasp on Drew.

How?

Speculation ran rampant in the homerooms of Lake Crest. It was Mr. Thompkins’s fault, because he’d simply announced the death but given no indication of its cause. As a result, fertile minds blossomed with possibilities.

I’ll bet she OD’d on crystal meth.

It wasn’t an accident. No way. She killed herself. She was always talking about it.

She probably got hit by a car or something.

Maybe she slipped in the tub. That kills a lot of people.

Shut up, Brian. She didn’t slip in the tub.

I think one of her boyfriends killed her. She hung out with a lot of Hannibals.

In Mrs. Fletcher’s homeroom, Mandy, Laurel, and Drew also speculated. But they thought it less likely that Nic’s death had been accidental. Through the window that looked out on Lake Crest Drive, they saw two police cars parked in the front lot. That told them Nicolette had not slipped in the tub or choked on a bit of chicken; she had not stepped in front of a racing car. Every few minutes, Mr. Price, the assistant principal, would stick his head in the room and give a list of names to Mrs. Fletcher, who would then clear her throat and excuse another four students to follow Mr. Price to a different part of the building. The students must have gone home from there, because they didn’t come back.

At the front of the room, Mrs. Fletcher, a woman with short gray hair jutting away from her face in ragged chunks, cleared her throat for the tenth time. She adjusted the collar on her blue blouse, scratched the back of her neck, and then returned to staring out the window, allowing the students to chat quietly.

“She could have killed herself,” Drew said, her voice a high squeak. “The police would want to know if anything was bothering her. They’d ask us.”

“No way,” Laurel said, eyes shimmering with the remnants of tears. “They wouldn’t come rolling in here like SWAT. They’d send a counselor or something. This is something else. Something bad.”

“You don’t know that,” Mandy said, though she’d been thinking the same thing herself. “Let’s just see what they tell us. It’s probably…”

“Oh, this is some Megan’s Law shit,” Laurel piped in. “Nicki got herself snatched and buried. The freak probably licked her all over and chopped her into little bits and there’s no way…”

“Stop it,” Mandy said through a clenched jaw. “Just stop it. You don’t know any more than we do.”

Laurel’s normally pretty face scrunched into an ugly mask, and she leaned back in her chair. “Whatever.”

Mandy suddenly wished Dale was with her. Maybe she shouldn’t have dissed him in the school parking lot. It wasn’t an issue of forgiveness, just one of security. Usually, Dale drove her home from school. He played on the first-string football team. He was fast and strong, and though she didn’t know if he would be a match for some psycho-perv, she suspected that a psycho-perv wasn’t likely to reach into Dale’s car and grab her. But no, the jerk had to cruise chat rooms, had to be a big shot for other girls. Girls from our school! God, how humiliating. She was angry at herself for thinking about him, especially now, but the idea that someone might be out there, just waiting for her to take a wrong step, chilled her.

“If they call you guys first, wait for me,” Drew said, her voice trembling. “Okay?”

“My dad’s already on his way,” Laurel said. “He’ll probably lock me in the house until I graduate or something.”

Mandy looked out the window and saw two boys she recognized as sophomores walking past the police cars in the lot. One of the boys punched his friend’s arm, and they both started laughing.

“Maybe it’s not so bad,” Mandy said, nodding toward the window.

Laurel and Drew turned their heads to see just as the classroom door opened. Mr. Price poked his head in, looked around as if to see if the coast was clear, and walked to Mrs. Fletcher’s desk. He handed her a note, which she promptly unfolded. He turned to the class, tried to smile, but it was one of those phony smiles that looked like he had just stubbed his toe.

Mrs. Fletcher cleared her throat. The first name she read was Mandy’s. That sick feeling returned to her stomach.

Laurel and Drew both stood up and hugged her tight.

“Wait for me?” Drew whispered anxiously.

“I’ll wait,” Mandy said, then gathered her books and joined Mr. Price. She waited until the other three students were called and came to the front of the room. Then Mr. Price opened the door and led them into the hall.

She was led down the hall toward the administration office. Ahead, Mr. Price marched authoritatively, though his head was down. Farther down the hall, another group of kids followed Mr. Thompkins. This group turned right at the school’s lobby and disappeared, though when Mr. Price reached the lobby, he guided them across the shiny linoleum. When her foot came down on the face of Wally, the school mascot painted on the floor, another chill ran down Mandy’s back. Wally was a shark with big eyes and a single row of pointed teeth. One of his fins was raised in a fist and the other tipped the sailor cap on his head. Mandy’s foot came right down on his mouth, and the sight of her shoe floating between those sharp teeth unnerved her.

Mr. Price turned right at the end of the lobby and led the small group of kids toward the math classes. Outside the first door, a row of desks had been pushed against the wall.

“Mandy, come with me,” Mr. Price said. “The rest of you have a seat. This won’t take long.”

She watched her classmates sit in the chairs, a knot of anxiety pulling tight in her stomach. Next to her, Mr. Price opened the door and swept his hand to usher Mandy over the threshold. The classroom was empty except for a plump woman in a blue uniform sitting behind the teacher’s desk. A plastic chair faced the desk, and the woman extended her arm toward it, indicating that Mandy should take a seat.

“This is Mandy Collins,” Mr. Price said. Then he turned to her. “Mandy, this is Officer Romero. She’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Okay.”

Mr. Price left them alone, and Mandy looked at the woman, whose blocky body pushed against the too-tight fabric of her uniform. She had a pretty, darkly tanned face with large green eyes.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Officer Romero said.

“I’m not,” Mandy lied, feeling the jitters run through her like little electric currents. She sat down.