Pretty Girls Dancing(28)
Drolly, Janie responded. “I guess you’ve given it more thought than I have.”
Lifting a shoulder, her friend said, “It’s not as skanky as I was hoping for. Like something she took for Ferin. Or maybe he was the one behind the camera.”
“And then posted it on a site in the deep web?” Janie was skeptical. “He doesn’t strike me as tech-savvy enough to manage that.”
Alyvia’s cell chirped. She looked at it and rolled her eyes theatrically. “God almighty, I can hardly breathe. The FPs are yanking the chain already.” Rising, she added, “He could have sold the pics. He’s that much of a loser. Check out the site Bogart gave you.”
“The site is probably blocked on the school computer.” Janie got up and typed the URL that Cole had sent her into a search engine on her personal laptop. It was old, since the school had issued each student a laptop when she was in ninth grade and her dad had said they wouldn’t be updating her computer until she was heading off to college. Which couldn’t be soon enough. As she carried the computer back toward her friend, she made a mental note to check the mail to see if she’d heard from Stanford yet. She’d taken the SATs for the final time in August, and the colleges she’d targeted would have her test scores by now.
“Wow.” The screen successfully diverted her attention from thoughts of college admissions. The address Bogart had given her didn’t direct her to the entrance of a site. Rather, once she clicked on it, she was deep into a page with hundreds—no, make that thousands—of thumbnail photos. All of scantily clad or completely nude teenage girls.
“Holy shit.” Alyvia was momentarily taken aback. “Cole said he got Heather’s picture off this? What is this?”
Without clicking on any of the thumbnails, Janie scrolled slowly to the bottom, where she saw there were more than two hundred pages. “I don’t know.” There was a greasy tangle of nausea in her stomach. Again, she was struck by a nagging sense of familiarity.
Alyvia rose. “That is creepy as fuck. But I gotta go. I’ll text you from Bumfuck, Indiana, or wherever the hell the FPs are dragging me to.” Alyvia zipped up her coat and strode to the door. “Call me later. Especially if you find Heather’s picture on there. Maybe there are more. You think the cops know about that site?”
All too glad to set the computer aside, Janie walked her friend downstairs to the front door. “If they don’t, they should.” Because it was creepy. Perverted and demeaning and . . . a chill worked down her spine at the thought of looking more closely at it and seeing someone she recognized on the site.
Someone much closer to her than Heather Miller.
Claire Willard
November 6
6:30 p.m.
“Where’s Dad?”
“Working late.”
“He worked last weekend.”
Claire set the last dish on the table with deliberate care and pulled out a chair. Sank into it carefully. Was it Friday? Of course it was. She’d forgotten that when David had called earlier. The mind fog was so thick today, like sticky strands of gossamer that she couldn’t seem to quite brush away. It hadn’t been until Janie and her friend had bounced into the house that she’d even considered the time. David’s call minutes later had been met with relief; she wouldn’t have to come up with an excuse for the late dinner preparations. Because even she couldn’t explain where the day had gone.
She sent her daughter an overly bright smile. “Something came up. He’ll be home later, but it’s just the two of us for dinner. What are your plans for the long weekend?” Parent-teacher conferences were Monday. She wondered if David remembered. On the heels of that thought came another, and she searched her daughter’s expression carefully. There had been a time when just an upcoming weekend would have sparked a burst of anxiety from her daughter. The thought of all those hours to fill would have had her making note after copious note, each more heartbreaking than the next.
Watch two hours of TV.
Homework four hours.
Read one hundred pages in library book.
Talk to Alyvia . . . two hours total.
Send two e-mails.
To the unknowing, the lists would look like plans. Things to check off during a busy weekend before the days got away from her. But Claire knew they’d served to stave off her daughter’s anxiety about all that empty time to fill. Claire didn’t recall running across one of those notes for at least a year. Maybe it was better these days.
Or maybe Janie was just getting more adept at hiding it. Like she was with the cigarettes that she must smoke in her car, the faint stench of which clung to her clothes. Whatever her daughter’s plans for the weekend, Claire could be fairly certain that they wouldn’t include leaving the house. Janie didn’t have a social group. She had a longtime friendship with Alyvia that Claire had never pretended to understand. Their relationship had troubled her for years, until she realized that Janie wasn’t interested in making other friends. Now she accepted Alyvia gratefully, one constant in her daughter’s otherwise turbulent life.
Janie picked up the bowl of rice and helped herself to a heaping serving that she then topped off with the sweet-and-sour pork that Claire had prepared. David despised the dish, but with any luck the roast she’d thrown in the oven after he’d called would be ready when he did come home later that evening.