For a second, there’s silence, the nervous flutter of eyes around the table. Has Lyla gone too far? But she’s not finished. “Do you remember seventh grade, speech and debate competition? Gwen and Kyle Landry were the finalists. She walked away with a hundred-dollar gift card; he was too embarrassed to come out of the bathroom until everyone had gone home. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: laxatives in his water bottle.”
Natalie and Shay giggle at the memory.
“She’s ruthless,” Lyla states. “Just like Lizzy. We all know what she did.”
“Not for sure,” Shay jumps in.
“I know for sure. Brittany Landry said she missed half their AP English class with Mr. Pendler. Yet she got a perfect score on her fall final. A teacher could’ve adjusted her grades, no problem.”
“Who do you think it was?” A stray piece of lettuce hangs from Natalie’s lower lip.
“Mrs. Willingham,” Lyla says, leaning in. Somebody at the table gasps. Avery’s face flickers with hurt. “I’m not joking. The Ham came here five years ago, right? I heard she’s bi and got kicked out of her last school for having an affair with a student. A female student.”
“Mrs. Willingham’s married to a man,” Avery points out.
“So? My dad cheated on my mom like five times before she divorced him,” Natalie says.
“Maybe you just think she sleeps around because she’s bi,” Avery mutters.
Shay leans over and takes Avery’s hands. Michael presses in protectively. “Aves, we know you’re not like that,” she says.
“Don’t be so sensitive, Aves,” Lyla says, defensiveness creeping into her voice.
And good Avery acquiesces, because that’s what her kind of girl does. And she knows her friends trust her—but what sort of trust will it be when the rumors swing her way?
“Anyway, it was either a teacher or a parent. And I think it’s a teacher,” Lyla says.
“I think we’re talking about a dead girl.” Avery’s face has gone pale, her voice hard, and her feet tap uncontrollably on the brown grass. She kicks a pine cone. “Being with a teacher is super illegal. You just sound like the Lily Fransen accusers.”
Lyla snorts. “This is nothing like Lily Fransen. Lily Fransen was groomed and raped. But Lizzy? She just flew off the handle. And the rumors were everywhere. No smoke without fire, right?”
“Rumors are just rumors. None of us even knew her.” Avery’s face twists. “Lizzy and a teacher, Gwen and Emma . . . I wouldn’t want people to talk about me doing stuff like this without looking at the evidence first.”
Michael chuckles and slides an arm around her, just under Lyla’s. Avery’s trapped between them. “Babe, no one’s going to accuse you of murder. Do you know what it takes to get away with it?”
Avery stiffens, face going blank.
“Seriously. It’s not like planning a routine,” Lyla adds.
Others chime in. Determining the time, the place, catching the victim alone, getting rid of DNA evidence . . . these are things that sweet, good, well-meaning, simple Avery cannot possibly do. Red spreads up her face like a rash, and the bottoms of her eyes fill. She can’t move, not without pushing away from Lyla and Michael, not without showing her friends how their words slide under her skin.
Natalie squeaks in panic, and the whole table falls silent. They look up to see Officer Cline strolling up. His lips stretch in anything but a smile. “Having a nice lunch?”
On Avery’s face, the captain smile reappears, a bit wobbly. “Trying to remember the good times.”
“You were all on the cheer team with Emma?” Cline asks.
The girls nod. Michael says, “Not all of us,” which makes a couple of them giggle nervously.
The detective’s attention snaps to him, and suddenly, Michael looks like he wishes he’d never spoken at all. “Lacrosse, right? I come to the odd game. Used to be on the team, too. What’s your number?”
“Uh, two-seventeen,” Michael mutters.
Cline’s eyes glint. “Mine was three-thirty. This your girlfriend?” He gestures to Avery. Michael nods. “You don’t mind if I borrow her a minute, do you, son?”
“No, of course not.” The relief in Michael’s voice earns him a glare from Lyla.
Cline’s attention has shifted, from the lacrosse star to the cheer captain. “We have a few follow-up questions for you, Miss Cross,” he says.
“Anything I can do to help.” Avery brushes off the unresisting arms of Michael and Lyla and climbs over the bench. Around her, the expressions of the team and their assorted boyfriends flicker.
The humans of Lorne are as fickle as the weather.
“See you later?” she says.
“Yeah.” Michael manages a smile.
Avery tugs on the drawstrings of the black hoodie and tucks her hands in the pockets.
And as she walks, the river changes. The whispers twist toward this new disruption in the current. Maybe Avery Cross will change the flow of the river—or maybe she’s another victim of it, about to get washed downstream.
11
The Helper
CLINE: How long have you been with Michael Bryson?
AVERY: Um . . . I don’t really get why . . . ? Two years.
CLINE: You’re comfortable with each other.
AVERY: Yes.
CLINE: You borrow his clothes?
AVERY: Um. I guess? Sometimes?
CLINE: Another student saw a girl in Mr. Bryson’s lacrosse hoodie in the parking lot, with Emma Baines, yesterday afternoon. Was that you?
AVERY: Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot about that. It’s just because I—I haven’t been thinking properly. You understand, right? I’m still reeling from all this. And, I mean, I did come to you. I have nothing to hide.
I did talk to Emma in the parking lot. It must’ve been . . . around lunch. Yes, it was lunch because we’d agreed to use the lunch hour for working on a routine.
While I don’t like to speak ill of my friends, or of the dead, or, well, of anyone, the truth is that Emma always needed help on routines. She could execute the easy stuff, but she couldn’t be the base for a basic lift and the girl was terrible with memorizing choreography. I think she had too much else on her mind, to tell you the truth. I find clearing your head is the best first step to a perfect routine.
But Emma didn’t join the team for the same reasons as the rest of us. You know, because we love to dance. And also to be a spirit of positivity in the school. Emma joined because she knew it would look good on her résumé. College was the most important thing in Emma’s life. But even if she didn’t think of us as a big family, I did. I wanted to help her, because we help family. Since Gwen had track, Emma needed a sports activity, too.
Emma was dragging us down this year. And yes, before you say anything judgy, cheer is a real sport. We lost points at a couple of early competitions because we weren’t coherent enough on the floor. She’s often half a beat behind everyone else, and she doesn’t put in the effort to fix that. Natalie and Shay have pushed me to kick her off the team more than once, and they don’t think it’s right to let her stay on for the credit when she doesn’t put in the work. But I . . . really wanted Emma to succeed. I guess I felt a little bad for her, really. I would hate to be that alone.