“Where in Georgia? I have some family in Atlanta,” Sara-Kate asked, her deep brown eyes locking with mine in genuine interest. I wasn’t used to someone actually caring about me. At least not at Windsor Academy. So far, the other girls I had interacted with preferred to whisper and giggle in my general direction. No one besides Alaric from first-period chemistry had taken the time to actually talk to me.
“Appling,” I replied, quickly adding. “It’s right outside Augusta.”
“Oh, I’ve been there. Ages ago. Don’t remember much.”
For once, someone didn’t mention golf, and I sighed in relief.
“Why did you move to New York? Dad got a fancy new job?” She asked brightly before taking a giant bite out of her shiny red apple.
I cleared my throat and tucked my blonde curl behind my ear awkwardly. “Um, no. My Nana died, and my closest living relatives are an aunt and uncle who live here.”
Sara-Kate’s eyes widened as she very loudly swallowed her apple.
“Damn. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up bad shit.”
I laughed uncomfortably, desperately trying to find a new line of conversation. “It is what it is. No point complaining.”
Sara-Kate smoothed her blazer as she discreetly changed the conversation.
“Okay, redirecting before I stick my foot in my mouth again. What do your aunt and uncle do? Because clearly, this Hogwarts knockoff isn’t cheap,” she motioned to the front of the archaic school, its sign and building a dark contrast to the modernist buildings surrounding it.
“My uncle is an ADA to the District Attorney in Manhattan. My aunt is an interior designer,” I replied, my eyes lingering on the old gothic architecture of the gargoyles that seemed to guard the entry into the school. It never even occurred to me that Uncle Dan and Tiffany were spending a lot of money just to send me to high school. Why didn't they just put me in public school?
“Shut up,” Sara-Kate exclaimed, claiming my attention immediately. “Is he working on the Nelson case?”
“What case?”
Sara-Kate rolled her eyes in response. The bell signaling the end of lunch rang, and both of us stood and threw our plates away as we headed back into the hallowed halls of Windsor Academy.
“Only the most scandalous case to have ever happened here in our very own school,” Sara-Kate continued as shewalked with me down the hall. “What class do you have next?”
“PE,” I replied, already dreading the locker room with all the perfect-looking rich girls who would likely continue to whisper and giggle in my general direction. I had a feeling that finding friends here at Windsor would be just as difficult as it was back in Georgia.
“Perf,” she smiled. “Me too. I can fill you in on all the gossip.”
Sara-Kate easily hooked her arm in mine as she led me towards the gymnasium, as if she and I had been friends for years rather than two strangers who had met five minutes ago. It was as if she could sense I was alone and that I needed someone, but it wasn’t out of pity. It was as if she saw something in me that resonated with something in her.
Maybe making a friend wouldn’t be so hard after all.
“So, tell me more about this Nelson drama?” I whispered as Sara-Kate and I changed out of our school uniforms and into our gym uniforms. Apparently, they have uniforms for exercise too.
“Oh my god, it was the craziest thing,” she began. “We are actually standing at the scene of the crime.”
It was slightly concerning that Sara-Kate began rattling off details of the case as if it were her grocery list in the veryspot where someone had died. A shiver rattled through me as I finished slipping on my tennis shoes. I glanced around the locker room, my eyes darting from the laughing faces of girls as they moved to and fro, seemingly undeterred by the memory of a murder that had occurred in this very room.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes,” she continued, slamming her locker shut as she and I headed out of the locker room. “There was a senior, Michelle Nelson, beautiful, smart, great cheek-bones, President of the Asian-American Students club, who had just been accepted to Harvard on Early Admission. She was killed. Here.”
I tried not to sound too desperate for more details when I implored, “What happened?”
“Girl tries to dump her boyfriend; turns out he’s not exactly the poster child for stability. He followed her after wrestling practice into the locker room and . . .” she mimed a quick squeeze around her own neck, eyes wide. “Strangled her.”
She ended the story so abruptly, I felt a bit disappointed. Not that what had happened wasn’t heinous or awful, but that Sara-Kate was so sure and so nonchalant about the death of a girl only a few years older than us. It also didn’t really sit right with me. From the moment I had walked into the locker room, I had felt a perpetual cold chill that clung to my skin; a deep throbbing that began at the base of my skull.
However, the teacher immediately put us to work running laps and doing pushups. I wasn’t able to ask Sara-Kate for more information until after class.
“Why did she break up with him?” I asked as soon as we walked out of the locker room, heading to our last period, which we thankfully also had together. “Did he go here?”
