Eunjin and I offered to cook dinner. In the freezer there was an unopened bag of broccoli that she sautéed with some lemon juice and olive oil. I boiled water for the pasta and heated up the alfredo sauce I had found in the pantry. The smell of cream and garlic wafted through the house like wandering ghosts. I tried to see the ocean through the sliding glass door next to the kitchen, but my reflection obstructed the outline of the waves, and they blended in with the indigo sky.
—
During dinner, I tried bringingup topics that I knew would keep the conversation flowing: the latest column written by the token conservative writer for the school newspaper, progress on their senior theses, the job search. But no matter how much I tried to steer the conversation, it always came back to Laura.
“The room is still roped off and everything,” Leah said. “And I heard the police are still bringing in people for interviews.”
“Still? But aren’t people saying that it was a drug overdose?” Eunjin asked.
Alex shrugged. “Maybe they just need to cover all their bases.”
“This girl in one of my seminars said that she was questioned,” Leah said.
“What?! Like, she’s a suspect?”
“No, no, at least it didn’t sound like it. The police just asked her a lot of questions straight from TV. Was there anyone out to get her, did she have any enemies, et cetera.”
“Enemies? Jesus Christ.”
“I mean…it’s not like Laura was Mother Teresa. All virtual signaling with zero substance. A lot of people didn’t like her. Elizabeth, for instance.” Leah gestured at me. “Youhatedher.”
I stifled a cough. “ ‘Hate’ is a strong word. I didn’t hate her. I just found her insufferable.” I threw up my hands. “Come on, all of us here have shit-talked her. She was an easy person to shit-talk.”
“What do you think, Alex?” Eunjin asked, turning toward them.
Alex shrugged. “I default to the theory that the simplest explanation is usually closest to the truth.”
“Occam’s razor!”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“And what would the simplest explanation be?” Leah asked.
“Something related to the coke, if I had to guess. Maybe it had fentanyl in it.”
Leah nodded. “More likely than not, but it’s still good they’re covering all their bases. If I were the family, I’d want to know for sure.”
“Yeah, of course,” Alex said. “I mean, it’s great that the NYPD seems to actually be spending time and energy on this. You just can’t help but wonder if that’d still be the case if she weren’t a privileged light-skinned woman at Columbia.”
“But if there was fentanyl in the cocaine, how come everyone else is fine?” Eunjin asked. “I wonder if there was something else that happened, even if it doesn’t involve some sexy murder story.”
“Maybe she had some kind of preexisting condition,” I said. “I mean, I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to do coke if you have health issues, but who knows how responsible she was.”
Eunjin and Alex nodded, but Leah shot me a look I couldn’t decipher.
“I mean, no one is supposed to do coke,” she said, taking a sip of her water. “I’m pretty sure anyone who’s been through the American educational system has had that drilled into their brain since the fourth grade. We all know it’s a dangerous drug for anyone, regardless of whether you have a preexisting condition. But despite all of that, everyone at this table has done it, have we not?”
“I haven’t,” Eunjin said.
“Okay, you haven’t.” Leah rolled her eyes. “But Liz definitely has.”
—
After dinner, the four ofus watchedYou’ve Got Mailin the living room. I didn’t pay much attention, too preoccupied with replaying each of our interactions during dinner. Had I come across as too cavalier or crass about Laura’s death? I would need to adjust my demeanor. I would need to appear more empathetic, less victim-blaming. To sell my grief, I could try tomuster a few tears. Whenever Laura’s name came up, I would think of something sad, like not getting into Harvard.
After the movie, when everyone went to bed, I started to spiral. I wasn’t feeling so confident about the investigation anymore. Just because everyone at school believed that Laura had died from a drug overdose didn’t mean that’s what the police believed, and just because the police hadn’t questioned me yet didn’t mean that they wouldn’t question me soon. They had questioned Leah’s friend only two days ago. And I had seen enough true crime documentaries to know that plenty of people had been convicted on circumstantial evidence.
Even if they didn’t figure out that I had gotten into Laura’s room, my fingerprints were all over the place. What if they subpoenaed my credit card statements and saw that I had purchased three cans of pepper spray? Then they would call me in for questioning, and I wasn’t in the best mental state. Sure, I would keep my mouth shut, but what if the detectives could sense that there was something “off” about me, encouraging them to dig deeper until they eventually found out the truth? If I were convicted, it would make little difference what crime they’d throw me in jail for, whether it was manslaughter or second-degree murder. Either way, my life would be ruined. I wouldn’t care about sentencing. Well, that wasn’t true. I would care because I’d want the death penalty. Too bad it was illegal in New York. Maybe I should’ve killed Laura in Texas instead.
