In My Dreams I Hold a Knife(65)

What? The shock filtered through me. I searched myself, combing through memories, but I couldn’t find the break-in. There was a point in the night when the reel went black—utterly, utterly dark—so it was possible. It was possible, but it didn’t feel right.

No, it didn’t feel right. Not like thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

“If you say one more word, I’ll shut you up myself,” Coop said. “You don’t have the right to bring this up. It’s not yours to talk about.”

Caro looked at me with the strangest expression.

Rapist. Someone had written it, over and over. An accusation, a punishment. Who even knew, besides me? Were there other girls? The thought made me dizzy.

“It is mine to talk about. Because Professor Garvey was connected to Heather. He wrote her a letter—the recommendation that landed her the Duquette Post-Grad Fellowship. Ring any bells?”

“That’s right,” Courtney said, a faraway look in her eyes. “That award she won. She found out the day she died. I remember she was excited. She told me she’d applied on a lark.”

A lark. The words brought the pain back, as fresh and vivid as it was ten years ago. A knife straight through the heart.

Sixteen.

“February 14th, 5:03 p.m. Heather called our mom to tell her she’d won the fellowship. The Duquette version of a Fulbright, the highest honor any graduating senior could receive. My mom told her she was proud. It was the last time anyone in our family spoke to her.”

Coop couldn’t seem to help it. He turned over his shoulder, searching my face for a clue. His own was a mask of uncertainty.

“The people Heather beat for the fellowship must have been livid,” Courtney said, tapping her chin. “She wasn’t even an econ major and Garvey wrote for her.” She gave a puff of laughter. “She kept going on and on about how she didn’t even care, then she goes and wins it.”

“Funny you say that.” Eric smiled at me, and I knew what was coming. Mint and Coop turned, following the direction of Eric’s smile, and suddenly, all eyes were back on me.

“It turns out Professor Garvey wrote one other recommendation letter for the fellowship. But it took me nearly a decade to find out, because the evidence went missing from campus the night Heather died.”

“The first crime,” Mint said softly. “The one they said was only a campus issue.”

Eric nodded.

Lucky number seventeen.

“Who?” Courtney breathed.

She didn’t remember, of course, but the rest of them did. There had only ever been one econ major among us.

Caro turned to me, her eyes wide and frightened. “Oh my god. What did you do?”





Chapter 30


February, senior year

February 14: Valentine’s Day. I used to know that, used to dream about red roses, the Phi Delt Sweetheart Ball, a golden crown lowered onto my head. But this year, the day meant only one thing: the winner of the Duquette fellowship would finally be announced.

I sat in my pink dress for Sweetheart, refreshing the fellowship website over and over. I was intensely grateful that it was a Saturday, and I didn’t have to suffer through classes, hadn’t told any of my friends, keeping it clutched close like a treasure. Because what if I lost? No, my brain whispered, impossible. Still, it was better this way. This was a private dream, a private moment between me and my dad.

Four fifty-nine—one minute to go. I was so close, just a sliver of time away. With my high grades, thanks to Adderall and constant all-nighters, my essay, revised seven times until it was perfect, like my dad taught me, and my recommendation letter from Dr. Garvey, I had to win. It had to be me, for once.

Five o’clock. I took a deep breath and pressed the refresh button, closing my eyes. The butterflies in my stomach were on speed, banging around everywhere. I opened my eyes and blinked at the screen. The announcement was up.

We are pleased to congratulate this year’s winner of the Duquette Post-Graduate Fellowship: Ms. Heather Shelby.

Heather Shelby? I closed my eyes, rubbing them vigorously. Reality had blipped, gone sideways for a second, but all would be fine.

I opened my eyes and squinted.

Ms. Heather Shelby. It was still there, in black and white pixels. Like someone had dug into my nightmares and pulled out the worst possible scenario, the one that stabbed the deepest. It didn’t make any sense. Heather hadn’t applied for the fellowship. Had she? She hadn’t said a word about it. How was her name on the screen?

It hit me, sudden and fierce: I didn’t win.

I tried to step outside myself, to look from a distance, but the pain was too much. It kept me tethered to my body. I felt the loss like someone had cracked open my rib cage, thrust a hand inside, and squeezed my heart.

I’d failed again. Now my father would be nothing more than a body buried in a hole in that shithole town he hated. Forever a small, unimportant man. He’d fade away into nothing.

Everything I’d done to get here—none of it mattered. Dr. Garvey, his arms encircling me, pulling me down—

The door to the suite burst open. “Jess, you home?”

It was Heather. I sat frozen, the walls of the room closing in.

“There you are!” She practically bounced into our room, wearing a sparkly red sweater printed with Sweetheart candies, her idea of a cocky joke. But maybe she would get crowned Sweetheart tonight. Maybe she’d get everything. “Jess, I have the craziest news!”