‘Girls, can I remind you that Miss Starcke and Mr O’Connor are available to speak to if you’re worried about this.’
No one listens to him.
While everyone is deep in conversation I zip over to Petra’s desk and grab her sheet of paper. Audrey is telling her how amazing her questions were and Petra is lapping it up as she always does.
‘I need to go to the bathroom,’ I tell Mr Wright and he can’t stop me.
Celeste the policewoman is still visible at the end of the corridor but I’m only interested in Petra’s piece of paper. I slump against the lockers to read it.
6 years ago—Lisa Wu—10 years old—abduction, 2 hours, returned safely, no connection to Balmoral?
5 years ago—Emma-Maree Jones—12 years old—attempted abduction, on waiting list for Balmoral
3 years ago—Karolina Bauer—14 years old—abduction, 20 hours, returned safely, exchange student at Balmoral
2 weeks ago—Yin Mitchell—16 years old—abduction, Balmoral student, still not returned
The list is so clinical, so unexpected.
I look at the words ‘returned safely’ next to Lisa Wu and Karolina Bauer’s names. Why is it different with Yin? Two weeks have passed, which is so much more than twenty hours, so why hasn’t she been released?
The bell must have rung because the corridor floods with girls. A pair of shiny shoes come into my line of vision. Petra stands with her hand out, a tight expression on her face.
‘Where did you get this from?’ I ask.
‘It’s mostly from the Cold Crimes website.’ She swallows. Her voice is barely audible above the clamour of locker doors slamming and people stampeding their way to the next class. ‘There are a lot of people interested in the case and they post and share information in online forums. I’ve been doing my own research. It’s been obvious from the start that it’s a serial offender, but it’s very significant that the police are making it official now.’
‘Cold Crimes.’ I file the name away. I hadn’t thought to look at any forums. ‘What are you, a girl detective?’
‘It’s wrong to assume we can’t do anything. Last year there was a group of high school reporters who interviewed their new principal and exposed her as a fraud. It turned out her resume was completely fabricated. So.’ Petra waits but I don’t respond. ‘Can I please have it back now?’
My head is busy, full, exploding. ‘No. I’m keeping it.’
Petra opens her mouth to argue but then closes it, perhaps remembering self-defence class. Instead of leaving though, she lingers.
‘What?’
‘Yin lent me her physics notes.’ Petra swallows hard. ‘You know, before she disappeared. Now I don’t know what to do with them…do you think I should give them to a teacher? Or her parents?’
‘Can’t you hang onto them?’
But I can tell from Petra’s face that she doesn’t want something belonging to a maybe-dead girl in her possession.
‘It seems wrong to throw them out.’ Pause. ‘She was so generous to loan them to me. Especially because we were—I mean, we are—neck-and-neck, grades-wise.’
I can picture Petra harassing the Mitchells or the police with this. ‘Give them to me if it’s bothering you so much.’
‘No, no, I’ll use them. We’ve got a test coming up.’ Petra has blushed from her toes to her scalp. ‘She was better than me. Nicer. And a better clarinet player too. Perfect tone.’
She’s being strange and I don’t like it. The vibrating restarts in my body, from the feet up.
‘Are you done?’ It comes out harsher than I mean it to.
Petra backs away incrementally, then turns properly. Audrey is waiting for her by the water bubbler, a snarky look on her face. I wiggle my fingers at her and smile wide and fake, because it drives Audrey wild with jealousy whenever Petra gets chummy with anyone who isn’t a boarder and who she can’t keep her big green eyes on.
‘Don’t worry—I’m not stealing your wife!’ I yell.
Somehow I’ve come down with a cold on the way home from school. My skin is on fire and my head aches so I put on my favourite soft-as-marshmallow pyjamas and light all of my candles all at once and can’t put down Picnic at Hanging Rock once I’ve started.
It’s the turn of the century and a party of girls and teachers from a ritzy private boarding school go on an excursion to Hanging Rock, which the traditional and rightful owners call Ngannelong because after what Chloe said I’m not going to be totally ignorant, and after lunch when everyone is sated and languid four of the schoolgirls walk off on their own.
Even though the language is outdated and there are descriptions that go on for half a page and the author is totally obsessed with ‘bosoms’, the school and the teachers in the book aren’t that different to Balmoral, not really. And from the moment the group of young girls go off on their own, my skin starts to tingle.
I can see them, in their long white dresses, pale and hopeless and weak, the opposite of angry modern girls. The massive Rock looms, wild and covered with trees, full of dark crevasses and winding tracks that lead nowhere. These floppy, flower-petal girls are no match for it, I can feel it already.
Something bad is going to happen to them.
Dylan Thomas slides under the covers with me, leaving only the tip of his tail poking out. I let the bad feelings I’ve been keeping at bay seep into bed with me too, a familiar pressing, hovering grey cloud.
Serial offender. Connected with the school. Detailed profile. Returned safely.
I breathe in the grey cloud and it’s a relief to give into the fog for once. Dylan Thomas presses into my side and rumbles like a tiny tiger.
The messages start at 9 p.m., while everyone is watching the late news. The police have held the predicted press conference and the profile has been released.
I click the link
