December Park(57)

“This is amazing,” Scott said, looking intently at me from across the table. He had his Orioles baseball cap cocked backward on his head, and for the first time I noticed a fine fuzz of hair across his upper lip—very faint but certainly present. “Her actual locket? I gotta see this thing.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Michael scolded. “It isn’t her locket. It’s gotta be a coincidence. The police would have found it and taken it as evidence if it was hers.”

“They wouldn’t have been searching for evidence at that point,” I informed him. “Her body wasn’t found yet, remember?”

“It still sounds like bullshit to me,” Michael grumbled.

“Yeah, well, I still wanna see it,” Scott said. He looked at Peter. “What do you think?”

“As much as it pains me to say it, Michael’s probably right. It’s just a coincidence.”

“A coincidence that Adrian found it just as she goes missing and in the same general area?” Scott countered. “Come on, guys. You’ve got to admit there’s a possibility this actually is that girl’s locket.”

“We’re not saying it isn’t possible,” said Peter. “We’re just saying it isn’t very probable.”

“You guys are no fun.” Scott grabbed his backpack off the bench and stood up.

“Hey,” Michael said. “Where’re you going?”

“To the library.”

“For what?”

“Research,” he said, turning his cap around to the front. He tugged the straps of his backpack over his shoulders, gave us a broad smile, then marched out of the cafeteria.

“Spoilsport,” said Michael.





In fifth period science, Scott came into the classroom a few minutes after the bell.

Mr. Johnson, who had been scribbling nonsense on the big chalkboard at the front of the room, glanced over his shoulder as Scott sidled between the desks until he plunked down in his seat. “You’re late, Mr. Steeple. I trust you have a hall pass?”

“No, sir.”

Mr. Johnson turned away from the blackboard and folded his arms across his chest. Not one for fashion, he wore shit-colored slacks and a similarly colored polo shirt buttoned all the way to the top. The highlight of his ensemble was the toupee that sat crookedly on his head. “Care to provide me with a suitable explanation as to why you’re late, then?”

“Well,” Scott said, sliding his textbook out of his backpack, “I had diarrhea.”

Murmured laughter greeted his response.

Mr. Johnson’s face tightened. “I suppose you think that’s humorous.”

Looking as earnest as I had ever seen him, Scott said, “God, no. You should have seen it.”

Full-fledged laughter erupted. In the seats behind me, Michael and Peter cackled like hyenas.

“Okay, okay,” Mr. Johnson said, taking a piece of chalk from the pocket of his slacks. “Settle down.” He bowed slightly in Scott’s direction. “Thank you for that humorous little interlude, Mr. Steeple. It’s quite refreshing to have someone other than your friend Mr. Sugarland performing for a change.”

“Cock knocker,” Michael whispered, leaning forward so that he was close to my ear.

I choked down a laugh and stared at my open textbook.

“Anyway . . . ,” Mr. Johnson went on, returning to the chalkboard.

Moments later, I saw Scott hand off a folded slip of paper to the girl beside him. He pointed at me and she nodded, passing the paper along. It eventually found its way to me when the fat red-freckled hand of Margot Clementine dropped it into my open textbook.

I glanced at the front of the classroom to make sure Mr. Johnson was suitably occupied, then unfolded the paper. It was a photocopy of the article detailing the discovery of Courtney Cole, the one that had been published in the Caller in October. I recognized it right away by the black-and-white photo of Courtney. In it, she smiled prettily, her hair done nicely in a dark cascade that framed her attractive face.

Someone—presumably Scott—had drawn an arrow in bright red marker beside the photo, pointing to a slender chain that hung from the girl’s neck.





“Big deal,” said Michael. “Half the girls her age wear necklaces. That doesn’t mean anything.”

The four of us were heading across the quad to our next classes, our coats zipped up and our breath leaving vapor trails in the crisp afternoon air.

“But what if the newspaper cut the bottom half of the picture off?” Scott said. “The half that shows she’s wearing a heart-shaped locket.”

Michael plucked a drinking straw out from behind his ear and popped it into his mouth. “Well, I guess we’ll never know, will we?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Scott. He held the photocopied newspaper article and stared at the dead girl. “This photo looks just like the school pictures we all take. I bet it came from last year’s yearbook.”

“And do you happen to have last year’s yearbook for Girls’ Holy Cross?” Michael said, chewing on his straw.

“No,” said Scott, “but I know where I can get ahold of one.”





For the remainder of the day, I anticipated Adrian’s arrival at school. It wasn’t until last period English with Mr. Mattingly, when Adrian’s desk remained empty, did I finally admit to myself that he wasn’t coming.