“Drop Dez with me if you need to,” Regan says. “Hallie wants to toss the ball around with him anyway. It’s all she’s talked about. If you can’t get in touch with Andi, I should be home in an hour or two. It’s no problem,” she says.
“Thanks, okay. Yeah. Please, if you hear anything. Please...” he starts to say.
“Of course,” Sasha says. “Of course.” She puts him out of his misery so he doesn’t have to finish his sentence—so he can go and keep looking.
“Or you can leave him with me now if you need,” Regan says.
“I’m going over to Andi’s now. But I’ll let you know. Thanks.”
They watch Ray do a half jog to his car. He disappears inside before pulling out of the gravel parking lot quickly. Sasha has heard the stories over margarita nights with Regan and Andi and a few of the other girls, and she knows that a couple years ago Ray spent a few months on the most-hated-guy-in-town list after word of him having an affair went public. Now, though, he looks so small and broken that it’s hard notto have empathy for the guy, even if she only really knows him as “what’s-his-face who’s engaged to slutbag.”
“God,” Regan says. “I’m sure it’s nothing, right?”
“I’m sure,” Sasha agrees.
“Maybe she already spent all his money and is leaving him for some even older guy with even more money. God, I’m a dick. That was inappropriate,” Regan says. Sasha represses a smirk. Regan takes a small pill from her pocket and slips it covertly under her tongue, then inhales deeply. Sasha pretends not to notice.
“I hope Andi’s okay,” Sasha says as they begin to move toward the school doors.
“Maybe she went out of town with Carson or something,” Regan says. “He goes away for work sometimes. They’re newlyweds. Maybe they made it a weekend away. Not like her to ignore my calls, though... or Ray’s... at least not when he has the kids, I mean. Things are very strange around here.”
Inside the school building, a couple dozen anxious parents pile into one of the classrooms and begin demanding answers, solutions, explanations from the principal and board members. Sasha thinks about that horrific day only weeks ago when they all watched someone from their own community murdered in front of them—ripped into pieces of flesh and bits of bone and brain matter that fell from the sky like a bizarre scene in the most graphic horror movie you’ve ever seen. Even for the folks who didn’t witness it, the ripples of fear and unease spread across the surface of the community, putting everyone on edge.
Sasha sees one of the moms silently weeping into the hood of her Burberry sweatshirt and another whispering abouthomeschooling and taking all their kids out of this school. When one of the senior board members, Atkinson, finally gets everyone to quiet down, he speaks in a consoling tone that could be interpreted as condescending, but it’s hard to discern his true intent. He definitely looks in over his head, though.
“I understand everyone’s concern, so let’s first just outline the facts so we can all get on the same page as we discuss what next steps are.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Roger,” Libby something-or-other says. She’s Samantha’s mom. “Just tell us what measures you’re going to take to make sure the place is secure. Drop the formal bullcrap.”
“Yeah,” a few other parents murmur in agreement.
“Look, Lib,” Atkinson says. “We are taking it very seriously, of course, but the reason we firmly believe that it’s just a prank—that it’s most likely one of the students—is because the box the kitchen timer was inside of has a batch number and tracks back to one of the teacher’s supply cupboards. It was a box mailed directly to the school—to Ms. Brown’s classroom—and it was full of washable markers. The sign that readBang.You’redeadwas written on red construction paper.”
“So what?” one of the dads shouts. “The freak who did this could want you to think it’s just an innocent thing, right? Remember someone actually got blown up in this town not long ago.”
The mention of that has everyone stirring, nodding, shaking their heads. I see a few moms in full sobs now.
“I get it,” Atkinson says. “I’m not saying this is nothing, that it shouldn’t be of great concern. I’m only saying, to hopefully belay some of your fears, that the police believe a studentis responsible. Also, a lot of older siblings from the high school have clearance to pick up younger siblings, so it could be a teen prank, and...”
“Just like Sandy Hook was, huh?” a voice from somewhere in the back says.
“Oh, Lord, here we go,” Regan says under her breath. Sasha bristles at this. Her eyes widen as she looks around the room to see who shouted that.
Atkinson tries to settle everyone down. “All I can tell you,” he continues, “is that there are cameras at the front and back doors—the only two entrances to the school besides the emergency doors, which have not been engaged—and no unknown person came in or out yesterday. The note taped to the box was a circle cut out of construction paper with a spark drawn in, like a cartoon version of a bomb. Very childish and made from supplies inside the building...”
Atkinson attempts to go on, but someone starts up about how he’s insinuating one of our kids is a psychopath, and others start demanding security checks, cameras in the halls, armed guards, and then a few parents start to yell at each other, and all in all, not much gets accomplished besides a promise to install more cameras next week and a committee vote on metal detectors being installed. Still, the whole thing is exhausting and unsettling.
When Sasha returns home, she feels like she ran a marathon. The drizzle has stopped, but it’s overcast and dreary. When she pulls into the drive, she sees Tom raking leaves in the backyard, which apparently he finds therapeutic, the reason he doesn’t hire a service like everyone else. Chloe is in her pink raincoat swinging on her rope swing, then jumping intopiles of leaves and squealing. Sasha waves on her way into the house, and Tom blows her a kiss.
Inside, Sasha relishes the rattle of the heat coming on as she turns up the thermostat higher than anyone else in the house cares for, but she’s chilled to the bone and upset, if she’s honest. She puts the teapot on and sits at the kitchen counter to text Drew and remind him that he said he’d spend the weekend writing a term paper he’s put off. She sees the read receipt but no immediate reply.
Soon enough, the bubbles appear and disappear a few times as he forms a response, but in the end, all that comes through is a thumbs-up emoji, which is good enough for Sasha right now.
She pulls off her boots and takes her mug of chamomile tea upstairs while she considers a hot bath, but as she passes Drew’s room, she pauses and peers in. There’s crap everywhere. Dirty clothes on the floor, a bowl of mac and cheese that’s formed a patch of blue mold sitting on his desk, empty soda cans. She sighs, places her mug on the hall table and goes inside to pick up.
Once she stuffs his clothes into a laundry basket and starts for the congealed mac and cheese bowl, she sees something that catches her eye. Something that before today would not have warranted a second glance. She stands still for a moment and she can feel her heart thump against her rib cage. She tilts her head and examines what exactly she’s looking at.
There is a wisp of red sticking out from a pile of school folders on top of Drew’s desk. Sasha’s heart speeds up even though it’s nothing, of course it’s nothing, but still, she drops the soda cans into his waste container and hesitantly walks over to the desk. She removes the science book and folders ontop and carefully arrives at the folder with the red scrap. It has a Cloverhill Wildcats sticker on its front cover, along with some doodles. She flips it open and her heart leaps into her throat.
