Page 78 of For Your Own Good

“Would you come with me please?” She starts walking away, no doubt assuming he will follow.

He does.

She leads him down the hall and around the corner, away from the classrooms. Ms.Marsha doesn’t stop until they reach the last door. She opens it without knocking.

The room is tiny, with no windows and barely enough room to fit a metal desk and a few chairs. Like a closet that’s been turned into an office. Two men Zach has never seen before sit on the same side of the desk. Neither one looks like the type to work at Belmont.

“These are Detectives Tate and Oliver,” Ms.Marsha says. “They’d like to ask you some questions about Mrs.Benjamin.”

Zach looks at them and then at Ms.Marsha.

“If you’d prefer to have one of your parents here, I can call them,” she says. “It’s up to you.”

Holy Jesus, no. He’d rather talk to a hundred detectives alone than have his parents in the room. “This is fine,” he says. “I’m good.”

She nods and shuts the door. Zach introduces himself, shaking hands with both men before sitting down.

“Thank for you agreeing to talk to us,” says Tate. He’s the older of the two, with that same grizzled look detectives always have in the movies.

Thinking about movie detectives reminds Zach that he shouldn’t talk to them without a lawyer. His mom has said that a thousand times. It’s practically her own Ward-ism. “Ms.Marsha said this is about Mrs.Benjamin?” Zach says.

“That’s right,” says Oliver. He’s not as old or grizzled as Tate, but he’s getting there. “We were told you edit the school paper, and she was the faculty advisor.”

Zach nods. He almost says he took over after Courtney was arrested, but that seems like too much information.

“How well did you know Mrs.Benjamin?” Tate says.

“About as well as any teacher, I guess.” Zach shrugs.

Oliver has a notebook, and he writes that down.

“What did you think of Mrs.Benjamin?” Tate says. He looks bored.

“She was a good teacher,” Zach says. “I learned a lot from her.”

“What kinds of things did you learn?”

Zach groans inside, knowing he’d opened himself up to that one. His mom would be disappointed. “How to lay out the paper, how to make the articles fit. That kind of thing.”

Tate nods. Oliver writes.

Zach has an urge to ask them what this is about, and what’s going on with Courtney, but he knows better.

“Did you see her the day she died?” Tate says.

“Yes. I saw her at school.”

“Do you remember when?”

Zach does remember. He met with Mrs.B in theBugle’s office at lunchtime to talk about the paper. “It was either in the halls or in theBugle’s office. Maybe both.”

“But on that day,” Tate says, “do you remember when?”

“Not really. I saw her every day.”

Oliver writes that down.

“Is there anyone who didn’t like her?” Tate asks.