Lurker

“No. I mean, not unless it’s Kyle from biology class.”

“This isn’t his username.”

“Say hi.”

Mandy shrugged.

MC9010025: Hi

Kylenevers: Kewl profile.

MC9010025: Thnx. Do I know U?

Kylenevers: Probably not.

“Check his profile,” Drew said. “He might be hot.”

“Have you ever met anyone who put ‘hideously deformed’ in their profile?” Mandy asked.

“Well, he might have loaded a picture.”

“I’m just not caring right now. He’s probably some looz surfing keywords or something.”

MC9010025: This isn’t really a good time.

Kylenevers: Oh sorry. Take it easy. BFN

MC9010025: U 2

Mandy closed the window.

“I’ll bet he was hot,” Drew said. She stood from the dressing bench and returned to the bed, where she dropped down hard on the covers. When she stopped bouncing on the mattress, she rolled onto her back. “What if he was like this absolutely perfect guy? And it was fate that he messaged you, and now you’ll never know because you deleted him, and he’s gone forever?”

“Happens all the time.” Mandy clicked on her away message so she didn’t have to deal with any more instant messages. “I’ll have to find some way to live with it.”

Mandy’s mother returned home from work an hour early. She didn’t usually get home until six, but Mandy heard the key in the lock, startling Drew into another yelp. Mrs. Collins walked into the den, where the girls were waiting for the news to come on, and put her handbag down on the edge of the glass-topped, lacquered cabinet. The act was unheard of in the Collins household. That glass top was reserved for a family portrait secured in a crystal frame and a large black crystal bear. Nothing else touched its surface. Ever. Her mother had to be really upset. It didn’t show in her face, though.

“Hello, Drew,” Mandy’s mother said, running a hand through her blond hair. She crossed the den, threw a glance at the cocktail table—a reflex, Mandy knew, checking to make sure the girls were using coasters for their coffee mugs—and leaned down to kiss Mandy’s cheek. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

Mrs. Collins’s lips twisted into a tight smile and her eyes grew doe soft, like she was looking at Mandy after a successful operation: concern, relief, and pity mingled in her expression. “Are you?” she asked, a bit too seriously.

“Yes, Mom,” Mandy said. Normally she would have added a Jeez, chill out, but this wasn’t the time for attitude. Her mom was worried and Mandy got that. “We came back here after school.”

“Has there been any news?” Mrs. Collins asked.

“It’s just coming on.”

“Drew,” Mandy’s mom said, “does your father know you’re here?”

“Yes, Mrs. Collins,” Drew said quietly. “My father knows. He’ll be home at five-thirty.”

“Well, good.”

Mandy watched her mother’s uncomfortable hovering. Clearly, she didn’t know what else to say and had no fresh excuse to remain with the girls, but she didn’t want to leave. Her worry warmed Mandy; it made her feel a little awkward, but good.

“You can watch the news with us if you want,” Mandy said, sliding closer to Drew on the sofa to make room for her mother to sit. “It’s coming on now.”

“Maybe I will,” Mrs. Collins said, lowering herself to the cushion.

The three settled in and Mandy retrieved her mug from the table, holding it to her lips. The flashing graphics of the local news program came on. Drew pushed closer, her leg bouncing nervously against Mandy’s.

“Another car bomb rocks the Iraqi capital,” the African American anchor with the thick mustache said. “And, is Britney Spears pregnant again? These stories coming up, but first, tragedy strikes a local youth….”

“Oh,” Drew moaned tearfully.

A picture of Nicki suddenly appeared to the right of the anchorman. Her black hair hung to her shoulders in a neat wave; her eyes sparkled. From the mottled blue background, Mandy could tell it was a yearbook photo.

She’s so pretty, Mandy thought. And she’s dead. A fist of sadness punched her belly.

The picture of Nicki disappeared, replaced by a video showing the corner of a blond brick building, a field of tall, brown grass, and a stand of trees beyond. “That’s the library,” Mrs. Collins said, practically sighing out the words. A half dozen men, some in police uniforms, some in suits, and one in a white smock coat, walked through the dry grass, looking intently at the ground.

The anchorman’s voice accompanied the images.

“This morning at about three a.m., police found the remains of seventeen-year-old Nicolette Bennington in a wooded area behind Elmwood Public Library. Bennington, a Lake Crest High senior, was abducted from her home last night by an unknown assailant.”

A thin-faced man with gray hair appeared on the screen, standing in front of the library. The man was the chief of Elmwood’s police department. Beside him, a woman in a police uniform stood with her hands clasped behind her back. A flash of recognition struck Mandy as Officer Romero looked up at the camera. The policewoman looked just as serious and as concerned as she had when speaking to Mandy that morning. Her eyes were sad, but her jaw was set with determination as she listened to her boss speak.

“Our hearts go out to the Bennington family,” said Police Chief Dean. “At this time, we’re combing the area for forensic evidence. No suspects or persons of interest have been currently identified, but we’re following a number of leads. We know that we’ll bring Nicolette’s killer to justice soon. That’s all we have at this time.”

“Nicolette’s parents had no comment for us, but local residents are in a state of shock,” the anchor continued.

Another familiar face appeared on the screen. Tracy Renquist, a girl who shared the same P. E. class as Mandy, Laurel, and Nicolette, hugged herself tightly. She stood in front of Lake Crest High, eyes red from crying.

“My God, that’s Tracy,” Drew announced. “She’s in my English and Poli-Sci classes. We went to camp together.”

“It’s horrible,” Tracy cried into a microphone. “Nicki was just so great. I can’t believe this.”

“When were they at school?” Mandy asked. She hadn’t seen any news vans when leaving the school grounds.

“They must have come after we left,” Drew said. “Look, there’s Mr. Thompkins, and, oh my God, Dale.”

“My eyes work,” Mandy said. As Mr. Thompkins expressed his condolences to Nicki’s family, behind him, on the steps of the school, Dale stared at the walk, looking dazed and sad. Seeing him tugged at Mandy’s chest. She wanted to be with him. He’d hold her close and make some of the sadness and fear go away.

Why did the jerk have to pick last night to pull such a lame stunt?

After the report ended and the anchorman turned his attention to Iraq, Drew was crying again. Mandy’s eyes stung, but she didn’t break down. Instead, she held Drew. Her mother patted her leg, then excused herself.

“I’ll fix some dinner, so we can make it to the park by seven.”

Apparently, her mother already knew about the candlelight vigil.

3

Mandy looked around the crowd, over her shoulder at the fountain, and into the dark band of trees on the far