Wish You Were Dead

chapter 18

Tuesday 1:07 P.M.

“HAS ANYONE READ this story?” Mr. Osmond held up the local paper featuring a headline about the police bringing in an FBI profiler to help them with the case. A few hands went up. One of them was Tyler’s. This was the first time I’d seen him since we’d kissed. In the midst of all these terrible developments, I felt privately embarrassed that I’d spent so much time thinking about his lips on mine. But I was frightened and uncertain, too. He’d hinted that he knew something about what was going on. How was that possible? And why, I wondered, hadn’t he even looked in my direction since the class began?

“What did you think of it?” Mr. Osmond asked.

“Do we have to talk about this?” asked Reilly. “I mean, can’t we just for one class not think about it?”

Mr. Osmond sent a searching gaze around the rest of the class as if asking if we agreed.

“Doesn’t matter what else you talk about, we’re still gonna be thinking about what’s going on,” said Greg. “I mean, how can anyone not think about it?” He pointed out the window at the line of media vans parked across the street. Others around the room nodded in agreement. A shroud of anxiety, fear, and sadness had settled over the school. Teachers tried to get on with the normal task of teaching, students tried to learn, but mostly we were just going through the motions.

Mr. Osmond turned to Reilly. “If it would make you more comfortable, I can give you a pass to the library.”

Reilly sighed as if to signal her displeasure. But she didn’t take the pass.

Mr. Osmond pointed at the newspaper. “According to the FBI profiler, the suspect is almost certainly a male, probably in his twenties, white, and a loner.”

“Why does he have to be a male?” Sharon asked.

Mr. Osmond turned to the class. “Any answers to Sharon’s question?”

“Maybe because he had to be strong enough to subdue someone like Adam?” Jake guessed. “He was a pretty big strong guy.”

Greg raised his hand. “Don’t you mean, Adam is a pretty big strong guy?”

This crisis had made people change in unexpected ways. Greg, who had always come across as a cutup who cared about sports and partying and little else, had become morose and thoughtful ever since his best friend disappeared.

“I think there are plenty of women who could handle Adam if they wanted to,” Sharon stated and glanced at Laurie, who nodded.

What a strange pair, I thought. Not because they’re a couple, but because one is so belligerent and the other so docile.

“Maybe it’s not one person,” Dave pointed out. “Maybe it’s two.”

Everybody assumed he was referring to Sharon and Laurie. Sharon made a face at Dave, who smiled back smugly as if he thought he’d won that round.

“So let’s talk about profiling,” said Mr. Osmond. “Clearly this FBI profiler is basing his assumptions on data gathered from past situations similar to this one, and on the suspects who were eventually apprehended.”

“But we still don’t know what happened to Lucy, Adam, and Courtney,” I said. “When you talk about past situations, you’re talking about serial killers, aren’t you? We don’t know if they’ve been killed.”

Again, I glanced at Tyler. He was staring straight ahead. Wouldn’t it be natural for him to look at me since I was the one speaking? Especially since I’d brought up serial killers?

“I agree with Madison,” Greg said. “If I was in their shoes, I think I’d be really ticked off by some of your assumptions.”

“Wait a minute,” said Dave. “Isn’t it possible that the cops know a lot more than we do? If they’ve brought in this profiler, isn’t it because they have reason to think that Lucy, Adam, and Courtney have been the victims of foul play? I mean, why else would they do it?”

“I’m sorry, but I think this is really sick,” said Reilly. “We have no idea what’s going on. We’re talking about our friends like they’re topics in some lesson plan, not real people.”

Mr. Osmond pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I understand what you’re saying, Reilly. I thought we might as well talk about this, since it’s what we’re all thinking about anyway. Personally, I believe the subject of profiling has implications that reach far beyond what’s going on here in Soundview. But this is a difficult situation for all of us. We don’t have to talk about it.”

The class was silent. I had a feeling that everyone knew that what Mr. Osmond said was true. No matter what we talked about, the only thing we would really think about was what happened to Lucy, Adam, and Courtney.

“We might as well talk,” said Greg. “At least it’ll make the time go faster.”

Reilly raised her hand. “Can I still have that pass to the library?”

Mr. Osmond went to his desk and wrote her a pass. “Does anyone else want one?” he asked.

No other hands went up, and Mr. Osmond returned to the front of the class. “So what do we make of this? Can human beings really be narrowed down to a predictable profile?”

The class was stony quiet. Mr. Osmond began to look around. I hastily tried to formulate an answer. I felt like I could have argued either way—for or against profiling. But then I thought about Tyler. He would almost certainly be against it.

“Madison?” Mr. Osmond called on me.

“I think it’s wrong,” I said. “It’s just like stereotyping.”

“But we all stereotype, don’t we?” Mr. Osmond asked. “How many of you have been in an airport and saw someone who looked Middle Eastern and felt nervous that this person might be a terrorist? Or walked down a block at night and saw a black man approaching? Or saw some guy come to school wearing a long black trench coat?”

Murmurs riffled through the classroom and eyes shifted toward Tyler, who raised his hand. “It’s my favorite coat.”

“What do you imagine people think when they see you wearing it?” Mr. Osmond asked.

Tyler shrugged. “I don’t care. Only, you know what? I actually do think you can profile people. I’ve done some reading about school shooters. And they’re almost always male and loners.”

“What about a trench coat–wearing male loner who isn’t a school shooter?” our teacher asked. “And all the Middle Easterners who aren’t terrorists? Is it fair to profile them?”

I raised my hand. “Maybe that’s the problem. Profiling is only reactive. You can look at someone after they’ve done something bad and see how they fit the profile. But there are so many others that fit the profile that you can’t really use it to predict.”

Tyler’s and my eyes met. It was difficult to read his expression. I wished he’d smile at me. I wanted to know that kiss had meant something to him. Something lasting.

“But profilers would argue that you can use profiling to narrow down the number of suspects,” Mr. Osmond said.

“To white male loners?” I almost laughed. “You could round up dozens from this school alone.”

“Maybe it’s worth it,” said Greg. “I mean, if it could save another … person from disappearing.”

“You can say that because you’re not a loner, Greg,” I countered. “But suppose you were? How’d you like to be rounded up just because you fit a profile?”

“Hey, if it meant saving a life,” said Greg.

“And suppose it meant you missing lacrosse season?” I asked.

Greg blinked, as if suddenly the real implications of profiling had hit home. Tyler nodded approvingly. That felt good, and I smiled back. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Very good, Madison.” Mr. Osmond turned to the rest of the class. “I know it isn’t easy to focus right now,