Nice Girls(51)

Ivy League Mary was gone.

Now only Mary was left, and she only had herself to blame.

I could deal with the grocery store lights and the shitty customers. But I couldn’t be left alone with Madison. Not like that.

I slogged through the day until lunch. When I entered the break room, Dwayne was picking up a bag of chips from the vending machine. He saw me before I could leave.

“Hey,” he said sheepishly. “Mind if I join you?”

I nodded without thinking.

Neither of us spoke as we ate. I felt better when the volume rose and more people trickled in for lunch. The last time I’d spoken to Dwayne, he’d snapped at me over Kevin.

I wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Dwayne seemed to realize this, too. He said nothing, scrolling through his phone. Up close his green polo shirt was wrinkled, as if he’d left it too long in the dryer.

Past his shoulder, I noticed Ron’s dark hair. He was heating up his lunch at the office microwave, his back turned to us. I remembered the scene in the parking lot, and the anger stung all over again. I had let him scare me. I had let him call Olivia a missing slut. I had let him assume things about me and Dwayne. And Ron thought he could get away untouched—

“How have things been?” Dwayne asked.

“I’ve been fine.”

“Did you hear about what happened on Saturday? The thing about Olivia?”

“Someone leaked her nude at the park,” I said. “Apparently emailed a shit-ton of people.”

Dwayne shook his head.

“I couldn’t make the search, but honestly,” he said, his voice getting lower, “I’m kind of glad I didn’t go. You know how many people are talking about it?”

I shook my head, but I could guess. I assumed it was everyone. Olivia was being discussed everywhere—national news, cable news, Internet publications, gossip sites, forum threads, word of mouth. But the conversation had moved on from her disappearance. It was focused on her nude photo. It would inspire editorials and debates about sexual freedom, slutty behavior, purity culture. There would be discussions about what Olivia meant and what her nude photo represented in the current sociological landscape.

But there was less talk about how to find her.

“I just hope she’s okay,” I murmured.

Dwayne turned his bag of chips in my direction. It was an offering.

“This is my apology for last week,” said Dwayne, pushing the chips toward me. “I’m sorry for being a dick.”

“That’s a weak apology,” I said, but I felt a grin sprouting on my face. I reached out and took one chip. “I won’t talk about Kevin again.”

Dwayne scoffed, but he said nothing. He reached over the table and took my sandwich wrapper and his and crumpled them together into a ball. He reminded me of a little boy—he was distracting himself because he didn’t know what else to do.

“But is there a reason why you two aren’t cool anymore?” I asked softly. Dwayne shrugged, rolling the trash ball in his hands.

“I don’t know. I liked Kevin in high school. He used to pick up the tab for me whenever we got tacos or pizza. And he knew how to throw a good party. Never afraid to share his hot tub or his dad’s liquor cabinet.”

Back in high school, Kevin had lived in a McMansion on the border of North Hamilton. The house had a pool and a fancy grill in the backyard, along with a hot tub. After losing the election and his wife, Mr. Obermueller put more time into working. He traveled more, and Kevin often had the place to himself.

People made out at Kevin’s parties, threw up in Kevin’s yard, and hooked up in Kevin’s pool. His friendship came with many perks. It was why people like Dwayne and Olivia had tolerated him.

But everything I knew about Kevin’s parties was hearsay. In all four years of high school, Madison and I had never received a single invitation. I made up for lost time in college—the frat parties, the drugs, the booze, the sex. But by then, those things had lost the appeal, the taboo, that they seemed to carry in Liberty Lake. It was never as exciting.

Dwayne seemed to miss all of it. Why wouldn’t he, when high school had been so good to him?

“I thought you guys drifted apart,” I murmured.

“That’s one way to put it,” said Dwayne. He wasn’t looking at me. “I liked Kevin in high school. Yeah, he said some weird shit sometimes, but I let a lot of it slide back then. But then after graduation, Kevin went off to police school or whatever you call it.”

“Police academy?” I offered.

“Yeah. Police academy. He became a cop.” Dwayne hesitated, as if he were carefully picking his words. “I dunno. The vibe changed. Now he had a Taser and a gun. And it felt like he was on some sort of . . . power trip. He got bold. These weren’t the same old jokes anymore. He’d say some really fucked-up things . . . Shit, I didn’t want to talk about politics or any of that stuff with him. But he kept pushing it. And it felt like he was egging me on, you know? He wanted to piss me off. Like he wanted me to start something.

“And I couldn’t.” I watched as Dwayne took apart the wrappers in his hands. “I was supposed to just take it. One wrong move, and I was fucked. He could really do anything to me. Like I could piss him off, and he could arrest me, you know? He could literally start beating my ass, and he could make it seem okay. And if he killed me . . . not much would have happened.”