“Oh! So sorry! You’ll have to forgive me, honey. I tend to disappear sometimes.” Snapping, she brings her thumb to her mouth and chews on the tip of her nail while surveying the room.
“Christian, raise your hand.”
A hand in the middle of the room shoots into the air. Mrs. Wallace points in that direction and says, “Take the seat beside him, and I’ll get you a workbook and a copy of the book we’re reading.”
I head toward my seat with another stiff grin, mindful of the kids packed in tight rows to not hit them with my bag. Taking the work from Mrs. Wallace’s hands, I mutter my thanks and open Animal Farm to the page she has on the board.
“Hey. I’m Chris,” the guy next to me whispers, introducing himself with a slow smile. His teeth twinkle under the heavy beams of light, and his eyes, a rich amber-brown, are the kindest I’ve ever seen. The warm mocha of his complexion darkens as I offer a grin in return.
He holds his hand out to me, a gesture I didn’t know guys still did, but I take it and shake it firmly. “Scarlett.”
His hand drops mine after a moment, but his gaze never leaves my face, not even when I look away.
Mrs. Wallace jumps right into chapter five, and since I’ve already read this book, I zone out, counting down the minutes until the day is over.
Lunch is as wild as in any high school. Kids crowd the open space of the quads while others find a quiet area inside the school. I choose to wander the cobblestone paths circling around the campus. Finally, somewhere in the middle of building A and D, I stop and rest under a Black Oak tree.
I don’t see Chris on the other side of it until I set my stuff down.
“Oh! Sorry. I didn’t see you.” Grabbing my bag off the ground, I prepare to leave, but he calls out my name and asks me to stay.
Glancing around, I find that we’re alone. I guess no one wants the solitude this little grove brings.
“Where are you from?”
Dropping my bag again, I fold the hem of my skirt over my ass and take a seat.
“Northern California,” I say, pulling a small bag of frosted animal cookies out of the pocket of my backpack.
“Oh yeah? That’s cool. Why’d you come this far east?”
“My father is a detective for Harriston County. He was transferred to the homicide division.”
His low whistle makes me laugh. It isn’t a surprising reaction. Most people are impressed by my dad.
“Yeah. He’s taught me a lot.”
“Like what?”
This line of questioning isn’t new, but usually, I don’t divulge into this topic unless I know the person a little more. I’ve barely just met Chris. But blame it on first day jitters and wanting to make a friend.
“Like… not all murders deserve justice.”
Chris seems taken aback by my statement, dropping his chocolate-covered biscuit in his lap before saying, “What do you mean?”
Wiping the sugary residue off my fingers, I scoot closer and get lost in one of the worse cases my father ever shared with me.
“About a year ago, there was a murder-suicide in the town neighboring ours, high in the California mountains. My father said they found tapes… pictures of what a group of men were doing to this one girl. It was disgusting. He came home… darker that day.” I pause, thinking back to the moment I saw my father walk through the door. He looked the same, but he wasn’t my father. “Finally, after a few days of isolation, he pulled me to the side and said not all victims are victims, and not everyone deserves retribution. He told me the men he found in that apartment weren’t a casualty, but fate finally delivered.”
It’s exciting to see Chris as engrossed in the story as I was. My other friends never cared to hear about the gritty details.
“Shit. Well, fuck. What case was it? What was the girl’s name?”
“I don’t know. My father never shared that information.”
I like to believe it’s out of courtesy to the real victim, the girl in the pictures that he spent days having nightmares of. I know she impacted him. She might have even changed him forever.
The bell announcing that lunch is over chimes throughout the courtyard. Quickly, I clean the crumbs off my skirt and dust the dirt off my ass.
