“Burke,” I say, shoving him, exasperated. “What the hell?” I glance around to see if anyone heard anything, but it’s too noisy, and frankly, nobody gives a shit about us or our conversation.
“Sorry,” he says. “Just curious.”
“I thought you didn’t even listen,” I say.
He shrugs. “It’s the sign of a good friend to pretend to care about dumb hobbies.”
When I say that nobody knows that Radio Silent is my podcast, there is one exception: Burke. The short version is that Burke is really great with computers, and I’m not. I mean, I’m good at the creative stuff—writing and organizing, using the sound editing software and setting up social media and stuff, but when it comes to security and encryption and firewalls, I’m useless, so I asked Burke for his help.
Most of the time, I forget he even knows at all, because he doesn’t really give a shit about it. I mean, he’s happy that the podcast is doing well, and he’s always trying to convince me to monetize it, but it just isn’t his thing.
“Don’t look now,” Burke mutters. “It’s the fourth horsewoman of the apocalypse.”
I turn to see Brianna Jax-Covington walking toward us. As they always do when Brianna appears, my eyeballs roll involuntarily.
Brianna and I used to be friends, back when we were little. She didn’t live in our neighborhood, but her mom and Sibby’s mom were friends, so we were always at each other’s birthday parties, and we even had semiregular sleepovers. That all changed when Sibby disappeared. Brianna and I didn’t really hang out much after that.
That’s not why I have a problem with Brianna, however. Little kid friends grow apart all the time, and the truth is we were only friends because of Sibby. My problem with Brianna is that she has a problem with me. There’s a whiff of disapproval that floats about her like perfume, a cloying, flowery scent that you know is supposed to be expensive and desirable, but is really just a warning sign: here comes a real asshole.
She nods briefly at Burke, then turns to me and smiles broadly. “Hello, Delia,” she says comfortably, as if we always have friendly grown-up-lady chats. “How was your Christmas?”
“It was all right,” I say. “How was yours?” I’m not sure why she’s talking to me. Brianna and I don’t run in the same circles. Her circle is the “who’s who” of high school; my circle is Burke.
“Oh, it was lovely,” she says. “We flew to Aspen and went skiing with my brother and his wife. Amazing conditions. We went heli-skiing. You have to go sometime. You’d love it.”
“Oh, for sure,” I say. “I’ll have to dust off my skis.”
“I’ll dust off my helicopter,” says Burke. “Teamwork.”
“Listen,” says Brianna, ignoring our sarcasm. “I’m wondering if I can count on you to help out with the upcoming Winter Carnival preparations. As you know, the eleventh graders are responsible for decorating, selling tickets, organizing refreshments—you know, that kind of thing. I’m the committee chair this year, and it’s going to be the best Winter Carnival yet. The theme is La La Land.”
“Woooooooowwwwww!” says Burke in the voice of a dazzled, slightly stunned little kid.
She rolls her eyes at him, then turns back to me. “Anyway, I was hoping you’d be willing to volunteer.”
“Volunteer?” I ask. I realize too late that I sound horrified. Burke snickers next to me, and Brianna’s smile disappears.
“Yes, volunteer,” she says. “You know, like, offer your skills and talents for the good of the community.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Sorry. I know what you mean. I just, I don’t think I have any skills or talents that will be helpful to you.”
“I need someone to sell raffle tickets at the RedBoy,” she says. “It’s not rocket science.”
The thought of sitting at a table, facing throngs of towns-people at one of the biggest events of the year—the annual charity hockey game between the Redfields Cardinals and their biggest rivals, the Boyseton Thunder, commonly known as the RedBoy—literally makes me queasy. I have a hard enough time facing the bored, uninterested crowds of people at my school, let alone a couple hundred well-meaning grown-ups, all of whom know me as the girl who was in the woods with Sibby Carmichael when she was abducted. The girl who wasn’t taken.
“Oh man, Brianna,” I say. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t think I can do that.”
“Why not?” she snaps. She’s obviously not used to people turning her down.
I don’t really know what to say. “I wasn’t even planning on going to the game,” I say.
“That’s irrelevant, but whatever,” she says. “You know, I thought if anyone would recognize the importance of community, it would be you, after everything this town has done for you and your family.”
“Wait, what?” I ask. I’m uncomfortably aware of people stopping conversations to listen to us.
“I thought maybe this would be good for you,” she says, “an opportunity to interact with your classmates and the world a bit.”
My mouth drops open, and my sense of embarrassment disappears, replaced by anger. “You’re doing it for me?” I say. “Like it’s any of your business how I choose to spend my time?”
“Well, everyone knows you’re a bit messed up, and who can blame you?” she asks.
More people are listening, and I want to melt into the floor. Fortunately, Burke decides it’s time to step into the situation.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Brianna. How’s your chlamydia doing, anyway?” he asks loud enough to get snickers from anyone within earshot.
“Screw you, Burke,” says Brianna.
He makes a face of mock horror and backs away. “Not until you get that taken care of.”
She rolls her eyes, then turns her glare back to me. “It’s fine, Delia,” she says. “I’m sure I’ll find somebody to do it, but it would be nice if you could find it in yourself to help someone else for once in your life.” At that she turns on a heel before storming away down the hallway, just as the bell rings for first class. The crowd disperses, distracted by the official arrival of a fresh new semester.
“You shouldn’t do that,” I say to Burke as we walk toward the classroom. “It’s slut shaming.”
“Are you kidding me?” he says. “She was being a total jackass. Besides, I wasn’t slut shaming, I was asshole shaming. Besides, why are you defending her? She just crapped all over you.”
I just shake my head, dropping it. It doesn’t work that way, but I don’t feel like explaining it to Burke at the moment. It’s not my job to educate him on gender dynamics, as much as he clearly needs it.
Our first class of the day is math. We’re only a few minutes into the class when there’s a knock on the door. Mr. Langley pauses in his run-through of the semester’s syllabus and steps outside for a few seconds.
A moment later, Mr. Langley steps back into the room. Standing slightly behind him, hands in her pockets and a piece of black hair hanging in front of one of her eyes, is the girl from the Dunlop house.