“Sorry, Mrs. Mayfair,” she says.
There’s no one behind her. I look around to see I’m alone. I wonder how long she’s been waiting for me. I keep walking toward my car, but she’s already standing between me and it.
She bends over and raises the ball. “I’m watching the boys’ soccer practice until Ms. Helton finishes up,” she says. “I might try out for the girl’s team in the fall.”
Another reminder Zoey has inserted herself into Marge’s life. I wonder what that means for next year. I guess with her mom out of the way, there’s no chance of her moving. As long as she’s in CPS custody, they’ll keep her in the district. Now, she leans against my car, making it impossible for me to open the door.
“Move,” I say, quick and stern.
She bounces the ball in her hands, staring at me like I’m a riddle. “I hope you have a nice summer, Mrs. Mayfair,” she says. “I can tell this has been a rough year.”
“You’ve been here a month,” I snap back. “You know nothing about me.”
I know I shouldn’t engage. I should be the bigger person and ignore her. But something about her makes that impossible for me. It’s like I’m a little girl fighting with my brother all over again. Fighting with Brian.
“I might know a thing or two about you,” she says, bouncing the ball. “I’ve always been into true crime stuff. But I’m not one of those who watches a program and forgets about it. I like to do my own research. Read old articles. Scan old photos. From the moment I saw your picture on the school website, I knew you looked familiar.”
“You’re a liar,” I say, defiantly. We’ve been dancing around this topic for weeks. I can’t let her think she knows. I’m reaching, desperately, for anything I can throw into Zoey’s face. “You told Bowles I confronted you. We both know that’s a lie.”
“Huh,” she says, looking down. “There are other things I could tell him, you know.”
“Is that some kind of threat?”
“You ever been to Sterling Cove University?” Zoey asks. She has the pride of a card player who has just won their hand. This is what she’s been waiting for. The moment to show me everything she knows.
“I—”
“Or is that where your brother likes to play around?”
I don’t have the poker face needed for this game. I take in a deep breath and hold it. One… two… three. Everything I’ve feared is happening. Zoey knows about my brother. She knows about Brian.
“Zoey, I don’t know what you’re trying to do.”
“I’m trying to be nice,” she says, tossing the ball again. “It makes sense why you would be on edge when it comes to me. On edge with everyone, really. Growing up with a serial killer? It’s a wonder you’re able to trust anyone.”
“Shut up,” I say.
“I mean, it really makes sense. All the wild theories you’ve been running by Principal Bowles and Ms. Helton and Ms. Pam. It all comes from a place of hurt. Because of your brother. He hurt people. Did he hurt you, too?”
“Shut the fuck up.” I step closer, the keys poking between my fingers like daggers. I no longer care that she’s a student or a teenager. She’s not respecting my role either. She never has. She’s openly threatening me. Poking fun at my past started out as a game to her, but I kept pushing back. Now she’s punishing me, the same way Brian punished Logan Hunt. The same way Brian punished others. Zoey is having fun with this.
“Mrs. Mayfair, that’s very inappropriate language to be using. It’s distracting.”
I look down and wipe hair away from my face. She’s under my skin now. Practically set up camp and living there. I can’t pretend I’m not bothered. It’s all I can do not to cry.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. Then, unconvincingly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“All right, cool.” She tosses the ball again. “We don’t have to talk about anything. You just stay out of my way, and I won’t let slip who your brother is. I’d hate to see how something like that could change the way people look at you.”
I reach for the car door and open it. Hard. The door hits Zoey’s shoulder. She moves out of my way, but the intensity on her face doesn’t budge. I get inside and press the lock. By the time I’m out of the parking lot, I can barely see through the tears.
Thirty-Seven
Spring 2006
I couldn’t sleep. There was too much going through my mind. First, I went through all the reasons why Brian wouldn’t be involved. He was my brother. A lot of people grow up with a mean older brother. It doesn’t mean they’re capable of murder.
Murder. My mind kept going back there, when no bodies had been found. Maybe all these girls did walk away for various reasons. Like the girl from my school who ran away. Maybe they had reasons for ignoring their families and friends, abandoning their classes. My mind didn’t linger there too long because it was unlikely. Something bad had happened to these girls. What I needed to know was whether Brian was involved.
I thought of the timeline. The first two girls went missing in November and December. Brian was still on campus then. He’d avoided returning home. None of the girls went missing during the Christmas holiday. I think that detail bothered me most. The minute Brian returned to campus, girls started disappearing again. Of course, if the person responsible was tied to the school—either a student or an employee—it would make sense that they had left campus during that same time period.
Why was I thinking this way? As though my brother could be responsible for the disappearances of five college students? Brian was gifted, but could he really pull something like that off?
Mila
