Falling into Place(11)

Meridian is a Small Town, the kind that’s as faithful to football as religion, the kind with a number of strange habits that define us and them, the kind with an unspoken and unyielding caste system. Popularity in Meridian extends beyond high school—it encompasses the entire community, the churches and stores and workplaces. There’s a clique of ten or so families that has been around for as long as Meridian, and they have spawned nearly all of the jocks, preps, and prom court members. A much greater percentage of the town falls into the social middle: those who live in the small gated community by the country club (because the elite does not, in fact, represent the economic pinnacle of Meridian, and is just the slightest bit resentful of those who do), and almost everyone else. And then there are the shamefully poor, the newcomers, the other anomalies; it is generally agreed that this group is not to be associated with.

Liz knew which group she would be in when she moved to Meridian. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but she was—she was certain that she knew how to be happy.

The dance team takes their places on stage, and Kennie looks around the crowd again for Liz’s face, or Julia’s, and she gives a small huff when she doesn’t see either. I’m more important than homework.

She doesn’t think about why she expects them, because her family belongs to the first group. Kennie is always surrounded by friends—her mother is a teacher at the elementary school and the high school track coach, her father is a church deacon and works at the bank and sits on the school board, and her great-great-great-great-grandfather’s face is framed in the municipal building alongside the other nine original residents of Meridian.

Liz, a relative newcomer, should have fallen into the last group. For that matter, Julia should have too—and she had, until Liz pulled her out. Kennie doesn’t pay attention to popularity much, because she’s always had it, but she’s suddenly very glad that Liz and Julia fell into the right group, hers, even if she doesn’t quite know why.

She can’t afford to think about it too hard, because the position she holds is an extraordinarily uncomfortable one and the music is about to start, but thinking doesn’t take too much effort. Liz is Liz. Popularity, Kennie decides, has a lot to do with confidence. And to Kennie, Liz has more confidence than the rest of Meridian put together.

Despite the fact that Kennie is one of the few people in the world who has seen Liz cry and lash out in frustration, who has seen the part of Liz Emerson that the rest of her tries so hard to hide, Liz is still invincible to her. Whatever Kennie’s life looks like from the outside, there is little stability where she stands. Liz is her constant. Liz keeps her steady when her parents fight and her grades dip and her world wobbles.

Kennie counts down the last beats, and bursts into the rehearsed spins and leaps and toe touches, and she doesn’t think anymore.



CHAPTER ELEVEN


The Junior Class


“And where did you say you were headed, son?”

“Costco,” says Liam. He faces the cop but watches the door out of the corner of his eye. It opens again, and this time the night carries in Lily Maxime and Andrea Carsten, who are undoubtedly here to confirm the rumors. They hate Liz Emerson because she ignored them. Their eyes are red, and they start sobbing when they reach the group of Meridian students huddled around a low table.

There are a hundred and forty-three students in Liam’s graduating class, and a good third of them are here tonight. He can’t figure out why. Liz Emerson slipped on the goddamn road—clearly tonight is not a night to be driving around in the dark.

“I was running errands for my mom,” he adds.

“And you saw Elizabeth’s car as you drove past?”

Liz Emerson, he corrects automatically in his head. She is always Liz Emerson to him. He doesn’t think he knows her well enough to call her exclusively by her first name. But then again, he doesn’t know her well enough to think of her as often as he does, either.

“Yeah.”

“How did you know it was her car?”

“I’d know her car anywhere.”

This he says without thinking, and regrets it when the police officer asks, “Were you good friends?”

“No,” says Liam. “Not really.”

Not at all.

The police officer gives him a strange look. Liam doesn’t care. He is watching his classmates again, huddled around each other and whispering, crying into each other’s shoulders. Not just crying—sobbing these awful sobs that made everything shake, and Liam wants to scream that she isn’t dead. She is alive right now, down the hall somewhere—not whole, but alive, and everyone is sobbing like she’s already gone.