Page 90 of Good Girls Lie

Not a surprise. He was a juvenile when his father committed the murder. I doubt even the American papers are so callous as to name an innocent child in a report.

I try again.Murder at Goode School.

The hits are immediate and extensive. I’m still amazed I didn’t come across the stories when I looked at the history of the school in the first place, over the summer, when the idea of attending Goode had been presented to me. I never thought to look to see if any of the students had died. Who does that?

It’s beautiful and old, and you’ll get a fine education. Be able to write your ticket to any college you want.

“Go away,” I say to my ghosts, and begin to read.

* * *

The afternoon bells have long finished tolling when I stop and stretch. I don’t know much more about the murder than what the rumor mill and Rumi himself told me, outside of learning an eyewitness at the scene helped prove the guilt of Rick Reynolds. That, and a detailed listing of the body parts found on his living room mantel. It wasn’t just the eyes. He took her breasts, too.

Fucking freaky shit.

Reynolds is serving a life sentence in maximum security at Red Onion down in Wise County. I look at the map I carry in my bag—it is in the far southwest of Virginia, on the border of Kentucky. He is very far away. I wonder if Rumi ever goes to visit? I never asked how he feels having a murderer for a father. I should. See if it compares to my experience at all.

I haven’t thought much about the rest of the country, but looking at the map, I see the vast spread of the United States, pushing westward away from my spot in tiny rural Virginia. What would it be like to get in a car and drive? I’d like to see the mountains of Colorado, the ocean along the California coast. One day, I will.

These thoughts are getting me nowhere, so I pull on my trainers and slip down the stairs to the back door. Yellow crime scene tape blocks the courtyard behind Main, and the shadow in the middle of the concrete slab must be the leftovers of Camille’s blood, permanently scarring the gray circle. The thought makes me feel queer, slightly dizzy and nauseated.

I backtrack and head down one more flight to the basement door, which opens out on the plaza leading to the gym. I take a deep breath to clear my lungs of the rotting air of the dorm, suddenly cloying and unwelcoming, and jog off toward the arboretum. I have no idea what the rules are today, but getting some fresh air and exercise seems like the proper thing.

But even deep in the woods, halfway to town, alone except for the squirrels and birds, I feel like I’m being watched.

54

THE SCHISM

I’m in luck. Rumi is at the coffee shop.

I mean, I was hoping to run into him, but I don’t realize how much until I see him, and my heart does a quick little dance in my chest. He is wearing a Goode baseball cap, looks as tired and wrung out as the rest of us, but he gives me a weak smile when I hurry in.

“If it isn’t our little Brit. Want some tea?”

“Espresso. Or...something stronger? If you have it.”

“Not sure that’s such a great idea today, Ash. The town is crawling with sheriff’s deputies and cops. Plus, the dean’s mother is back and on the warpath.”

“Oh. Right. Then, just the espresso.”

He makes me a cup, sets it on the counter. The china clinks on contact.

“Are you okay? It was your roommate who died, yes?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. She and I weren’t close. Did you know her?”

Is it my imagination, or do his eyes shutter when I ask what seems like an innocent question?Camille wouldn’t fuck a townie.

His answer comes quick and vehement. “I don’tknowany of the students at Goode.”

“You know me.”

“You’re different. You’re new. An outsider.”

“An outsider. Goodness, thanks ever so much.”

“Ash, sorry. That didn’t come out right. I meant it as a compliment. You seem, I don’t know...above all of this. These girls, they’re so wrapped up in their money and their prestige, stacking the blocks of their lives against theredbrick wallso they can climb over and escape. And escape to what? More privilege? More wonderful experiences and perfect families and insane wealth? None of them are real. You aren’t like them.”