Tabby got a three-day suspension for pushing Lance Peterson in the hall, then my parents decided it would be best if she didn’t go back to school until things settle down. Detectives have been poking around, stealing Tabby away to talk, leaving cold half cups of coffee on our granite countertop. Mom and Dad seem sure that things will settle down, that life will go back to normal. I’m not so sure.
I have this feeling it will only get worse.
“I’ll tell you what they say, but don’t listen. They’re losers.”
I don’t even know why she wants to hear it, why she’s desperate for every word, like it’s her new sustenance. I guess she’s bored, sitting at home. I don’t know what she does all day.
Now she loops her arms around my neck and hugs me from behind. In the bathroom mirror, I look at our faces pressed together, similar but so different. Tabby’s electric eyes, the freckles summer brought out on her nose. Her hair is naturally reddish like mine, but she has been dyeing it black since we came to Coldcliff. Raven, the color is called. It comes from a box.
“What are you going to do today?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes, her cheek still adhered to mine. “I don’t know. Elle’s bringing my homework over later. I guess I’ll find some way to entertain myself.”
For some reason, I don’t like the thought of Tabby at home alone.
I’m not denying that she has a temper. I’m her sister—I’ve probably seen it more than anyone. When we were kids, she once cut the hair off all our Barbies because I had the one she wanted and wouldn’t trade. After she and Beck broke up she went into the backyard and screamed at the top of her lungs. Just screamed at the sky, like it made any difference, being loud. Maybe it did. I mean, if you’re a girl, too, you know what it’s like to basically be told on a daily basis to be quiet.
“Go out there and kill it today,” she says. “Show them exactly who you are.”
Kill it. Not exactly a great choice of words. But that’s something I love about my sister—she doesn’t sift her thoughts, trying to find the perfect words for any given situation. She says what’s on her mind and thinks about the consequences later. It’s an honest quality, and one that most people don’t have anymore.
When I get home from practice, French braids still intact—I did kill it, I didn’t spend the summer running every day not to—Tabby is at the kitchen table, cross-legged on a chair. She’s not alone.
There’s a cop with her.
Obviously the cops already questioned Tabby. And like I said—they’ve been around, the cops and detectives. She told them everything about that night. What else could they possibly have to ask her?
“Hey, Bridge,” she says, turning around. “This is Stewart.” She sounds almost bored.
I fiddle with the zipper on my shirt. I imagine zipping myself up. Stuffing away all the things I thought about Mark. The things I said to him.
The thing I did.
“It’s Detective Stewart,” he says. He’s pissed off. He doesn’t like my sister. She told me that when she got home from being questioned the first time, her eyes red and bleary. That cop hates me, Bridge.
“What’s he doing here?” As soon as I say it, I realize how wrong it sounds. I’m talking about him like he isn’t in the same room. “I just—I thought he already talked to you a bunch of times.”
“I did,” Stewart—Detective Stewart—says. “I’m here to talk to you, Bridget.”
DAILY CAMERA LENS
September 12, 2019
Hiker’s girlfriend suspected in murder after backpack found
By Bryce Jules
Nearly four weeks after Princeton student Mark Forrester, 20, was found dead in Coldcliff’s Claymore Creek, police divers have retrieved a backpack from the creek, filled with rocks, which they believe Forrester had on his back when he plunged into the water from the Split, nearly forty feet above him.
Records from the Boulder REI store show that Forrester’s girlfriend, Tabitha Cousins, 17, purchased the backpack for him as a birthday gift in late July. Cousins has been under scrutiny since Forrester’s death, with a video of her assaulting a male classmate going viral last week.
Cousins did not return our request for comments.
13
KEEGEN
“WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?” Kyla asks. She comes up behind me when I’m sitting on my old corduroy couch and wraps her arms around my neck. A Kyla necklace, she once called it. Feels more like a noose.
“Nothing.” I shut my laptop.
(I was watching the video, again. It keeps popping up on different sites. And yeah, that’s the real her. I’m so glad somebody had the balls to post it. I guess it was some chick at Tabby’s school. I wonder what Tabby did to piss her off.)
Let me guess. You fell for it. You thought Tabby had nothing to do with what happened to Mark. I guess I can’t be that hard on you. I mean, lots of people fell for it. There’s this Facebook group, the Tabby Cats, all about how she’s getting shit on in the media. I think it’s mostly horny guys hoping to have a chance with her. I bet they’ll write her letters in prison if she ends up there.
I sure as hell hope she does.
I can tell a very different story about Tabby Cousins, from the day they met to the day Mark died. That day, Mark knew something was up. He fucking knew.
I can show you the last text he ever sent me, before they left on that hike. I already showed the police, even though I knew it wouldn’t prove shit. He didn’t mention Tabby, but he didn’t have to.
How is that not fucking ominous?
Tabby didn’t even like doing anything outdoors, unless it was smoking up outside at a party. Then all of a sudden she wanted to go for a hike. Even suggested the Mayflower Trail, which is long and steep and leads up to this lookout point. Mark told me when she first mentioned it, rolling his eyes like he knew it was never going to happen, just like it never happened when Tabby said she would stop drinking or stop being jealous of every girl Mark looked at.
“We should go out or something,” Kyla says. She always wants to go out. I mean, I used to like that about her—she’s outgoing, and yeah, she’s blond and tanned and I’m sure a lot of guys have liked that about her. But she seems to conveniently forget that I work at a grocery store and can’t exactly afford to take her on dates. Besides, there’s nowhere for us to go in Coldcliff. Just a sketchy eastside bar where bikers hang out and some downtown restaurants that cost way too much.
I should be focusing on my own relationship here, but whatever. Somebody has to tell the truth about Tabby, so I’m your guy.
I never liked her. It’s not a secret. She was a bad idea. I figured she was something Mark had to get out of his system. And yeah, I understood the appeal. High school girls, you get to be a man around them. You get to be their college guy fantasy. Don’t crucify me for saying that either, because you know you were thinking the same thing. And honestly, we didn’t even know she was in high school at first, because that was one of her very first lies. Her and Elle, barely wearing any clothes, but covered in a shit ton of makeup. Who dresses like that for mini golf? Mark and Tabby argued all night. I knew he was turned on. Mark was on the rebound, fresh out of a relationship with this chick Sasha who never had anything to say. Mark wanted a fight.