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  Mandy sat at her computer. She had done a Google search to see if Nicki was on the news yet, but the only mentions said little more than Officer Romero had. Girl abducted. Body found. She checked e-mail and, except for a note from Laurel—Yeah, Daddy’s flippin’. See you next decade.—her mailbox was empty. Strange, she thought. She’d expected to have dozens of e-mails from friends wanting to discuss Nicki, her death, and the cops at school. Mandy thought they should all be talking about this, yet even she couldn’t think of who to write to or what to put in a note.

  It was all just so weird. This was the kind of thing you saw on the news, like the Middle East. It was something distant, something you understood in the way you understood the moon. Murder existed. It was there. But you never expected it to come close to you.

  Behind her, the television was on. She kept her ears alert, waiting for some news about Nicki, but the big city stations probably wouldn’t run the story until five. That was hours away.

  “Do you think it was someone from school?” Drew asked, dropping the magazine on the bed. “I mean, do you think anyone here could have done this?”

  Mandy didn’t know. It should have been impossible to believe—these were people she’d known for years—but the idea was with her now. Maybe freaky Derek with the big ears and the biker jacket had finally snapped, no longer satisfied to just get high and listen to Nu-metal. Peter Harris or Ned Schwartz could have done it. They were so obsessed with video games and horror movies—they’d totally be suspects. It could have been a teacher. Not someone like Mr. Lombard or Mr. Stahlman, who taught English, but Mandy certainly wouldn’t put it past Mr. Grohl: even as shop teachers went, he was pretty skeezy. It could have been a woman, she reasoned. After all, no one had said how Nicki was killed. But all of this was silly. These were her friends and her teachers.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I guess. I just wish they’d tell us something.”

  “I know!” Drew said too loudly. She leaned forward on the bed, her eyes wide. “It’s like the worst part because we don’t know anything. I mean, was it a drifter? Or like maybe her family? Or a boyfriend or something? It’s like they won’t tell me who to be afraid of, so I’m afraid of everyone.”

  That wasn’t exactly new territory for Drew, but Mandy knew what she meant. Without some idea about the cause or the killer, there wasn’t much to hold on to in the way of comfort.

  “God, it could be anyone,” Drew said with more than enough drama to exasperate Mandy.

  She was about to say something logical, like It couldn’t be our parents or your brothers or Laurel, just to contradict Drew’s über-paranoia and keep her from bursting into tears again, but her cell phone trilled. Drew leaped off the bed with a yelp. Her hand fanning the air in front of her face like she was trying to get rid of a bad smell, Drew danced from foot to foot.

  “Oh my God! That scared me so bad.”

  “You need a pill,” Mandy said, sliding over the bed to grab her phone from the nightstand. She checked the caller ID to make sure Dale wasn’t getting his stalker on and saw that the name was blocked. Not Dale. His name came through bright and shiny whenever he called.

  “Girl, where are you?” Laurel asked before Mandy finished saying hello.

  “I’m at home, where we’re all supposed to be. Where are you?”

  “I’m in the chat with, like, everyone.”

  Of course, Mandy thought. That was why her mailbox wasn’t choking on e-mails. Everyone she knew was logged in to one of the school chat rooms. There were two: one that was actually moderated by school staff, and one that was independent of the Lake Crest website, which was the best place to learn about parties and anything else parents and teachers weren’t supposed to know about.

  “Official or un?” Mandy asked.

  “Please,” Laurel said. “Only bottom-feeders use the official site. Now log on. Is Drew with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, slide your butts to the screen. I’ve never seen this place bangin’ so hard.”

  And Laurel was right. More than thirty kids had logged in to the room. Mandy told Drew to slide the bench at the end of her bed over so she could see. Once she had, they both scanned the user-names and found they recognized all of them.

  “Jacob’s signed on,” Drew said, all but gushing the name of the boy she’d been crushing on for the last two years.

  “Still needing that pill,” Mandy said, bumping Drew with her shoulder.

  “What are they saying?”

  The truth was, Mandy couldn’t tell. Lines of text were rolling up the screen so fast she couldn’t keep up with it all. She saw variations of Nicolette’s name—Nicki and Naughty Nic—and words like murdered, stabbed, shotgun, but just as her eyes would lock on to a line, it was gone.

  “It’s like they just want to get it all out,” Mandy said. “They don’t care if anyone can read it or not.”

  “Say hi to Jacob.”

  “Not.”

  “What did that line say? Something about her being raped? Oh God. She was raped!”

  “They don’t know, Drew. Calm down. None of us knows anything yet.”

  An IM window opened on the screen; it was from Laurel.

  Laurel2good4u: Do I speak truth or what?

  MC9010025: This is crzy

  Laurel2good4u: Best Beleev. U going 2 vigil 2nite

  MC9010025: ???

  Laurel2good4u: Candlelight vigil 4 Nic. Elmwood Park. 7

  “I’m not going out in the dark,” Drew exclaimed right into Mandy’s ear. “Are they crazy? Why don’t they just hand us over to the guy with a chainsaw and say ‘Happy birthday, Chucky’?”

  “There are going to be a billion people there, Drew.”

  MC9010025: R U?

  Laurel2good4u: Y. But dad’s taggin. Meet by fountain?

  MC9010025: Y

  Laurel2good4u: Kewl. TTFN dads freakin AGAIN. I’m out

  MC9010025: TTFN

  Mandy closed the window, returning her attention to the rolling lines of text filling the chat room. She decided to scroll to the top and read what had come in since signing on; she’d never be able to keep up with the new comments. But as she read through, she discovered that her first feeling had been right. Her friends were just venting. They shared their fondest memories about Nicolette.

  She kissed me on the nose and said “Nope, no prince.”

  She told my mom that donuts were pure carbs, and when Mom said she had a fast metabolism, N said that apparently her metabolism hadn’t let her ass in on that information.

  She designed fliers for me when my cat got lost.

  She danced with me at the junior prom.

  She walked me home when that a**hole Joe dumped me.

  She always smiled.

  I really, really, really miss her already.

  Scattered among these reminiscences were speculations about Nicki’s fate. Only now, no one believed the cause of her death was accidental.

  And of course, amid all of the fond memories and the wondering were fear and anger. If I catch that SOB, I’m going to tear his head off. They ought to open him up and fill him with scorpions, drag behind my car, needles in his eyes, baseball bat to the nuts. Over two dozen variations on these could be found, though it was unanimously agreed that anything they could come up with was “too good for the bastard.”

  “Oh God, look what Jacob said.”

  Mandy scrolled back, looking for Jacob Lurie’s screen handle and the message beside it. When she found it, she groaned and shook her head.

  I’d pound his face.

  “He would too,” Drew assured her.

  “Jacob weighs like fifty pounds.”

  “He’s wiry.”

  “In this case wiry means toast.” Mandy ignored Drew’s whining protest. “There’s nothing here. They’re all just guessing.”

  A new IM window opened. Mandy’s heart clenched when she saw Dale’s username. Very aware of Drew’s presence at her back, Mandy kept it cool.
Neither Drew nor Dale needed to know how upset she was.

  DaleLineBacker90: R U OK? Worried about U

  “I bet,” Mandy said. Part of her wanted to write, U seemed more worried about other girls last night. Or maybe something simple like Whatever. Instead, she just closed the window.

  “You should answer him,” Drew said. “We’re all pretty freaked.”

  “So?” Mandy asked.

  “I just thought…” Drew let the sentence die on her lips.

  “Let me recap,” Mandy said. “The dumbass was flirting with some girl in a chat room. He invited her to his house to watch DVDs, and he didn’t even bother closing the IM window so I wouldn’t see it. So, he is either astronomically stupid or he let me see it to be mean. Neither of these things is high on my list of coolicious boyfriend traits. Now he thinks that I’m going to let him talk me out of dumping him because something terrible happened, and that brings us right back to astronomically stupid.”

  “Okay,” Drew said. “God. Who needs a pill now?”

  “Everyone,” Mandy said in frustration. “They can hand them out at the vigil tonight.”

  “Are you really going?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And you should too. Nicki was one of us.”

  “They’ll have a funeral,” Drew said quietly.

  “It’s not the same. The funeral is to say good-bye. This is to show how much she meant to us.”

  Drew nodded, her eyes now soft with understanding. Then, she pointed a finger at the computer screen over Mandy’s shoulder.

  Mandy turned to find another IM window open. No tone had sounded to alert her, or at least she hadn’t heard one, but there was the window. At first she figured it was just Dale with another stupid message, but she quickly saw that the screen handle was not familiar.

  Kylenevers: Hey

  “Who the hell is this?” Mandy said aloud.

  Drew pushed in close to look over her shoulder. “Somebody named Kyle?”

  “Well, that clears everything up,” Mandy said. “Do you know him?”

  “No. I mean, not unless it’s Kyle from biology class.”

  “This isn’t his username.”

  “Say hi.”

  Mandy shrugged.

  MC9010025: Hi

  Kylenevers: Kewl profile.

  MC9010025: Thnx. Do I know U?

  Kylenevers: Probably not.

  “Check his profile,” Drew said. “He might be hot.”

  “Have you ever met anyone who put ‘hideously deformed’ in their profile?” Mandy asked.

  “Well, he might have loaded a picture.”

  “I’m just not caring right now. He’s probably some looz surfing keywords or something.”

  MC9010025: This isn’t really a good time.

  Kylenevers: Oh sorry. Take it easy. BFN

  MC9010025: U 2

  Mandy closed the window.

  “I’ll bet he was hot,” Drew said. She stood from the dressing bench and returned to the bed, where she dropped down hard on the covers. When she stopped bouncing on the mattress, she rolled onto her back. “What if he was like this absolutely perfect guy? And it was fate that he messaged you, and now you’ll never know because you deleted him, and he’s gone forever?”

  “Happens all the time.” Mandy clicked on her away message so she didn’t have to deal with any more instant messages. “I’ll have to find some way to live with it.”

  Mandy’s mother returned home from work an hour early. She didn’t usually get home until six, but Mandy heard the key in the lock, startling Drew into another yelp. Mrs. Collins walked into the den, where the girls were waiting for the news to come on, and put her handbag down on the edge of the glass-topped, lacquered cabinet. The act was unheard of in the Collins household. That glass top was reserved for a family portrait secured in a crystal frame and a large black crystal bear. Nothing else touched its surface. Ever. Her mother had to be really upset. It didn’t show in her face, though.

  “Hello, Drew,” Mandy’s mother said, running a hand through her blond hair. She crossed the den, threw a glance at the cocktail table—a reflex, Mandy knew, checking to make sure the girls were using coasters for their coffee mugs—and leaned down to kiss Mandy’s cheek. “How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  Mrs. Collins’s lips twisted into a tight smile and her eyes grew doe soft, like she was looking at Mandy after a successful operation: concern, relief, and pity mingled in her expression. “Are you?” she asked, a bit too seriously.

  “Yes, Mom,” Mandy said. Normally she would have added a Jeez, chill out, but this wasn’t the time for attitude. Her mom was worried and Mandy got that. “We came back here after school.”

  “Has there been any news?” Mrs. Collins asked.

  “It’s just coming on.”

  “Drew,” Mandy’s mom said, “does your father know you’re here?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Collins,” Drew said quietly. “My father knows. He’ll be home at five-thirty.”

  “Well, good.”

  Mandy watched her mother’s uncomfortable hovering. Clearly, she didn’t know what else to say and had no fresh excuse to remain with the girls, but she didn’t want to leave. Her worry warmed Mandy; it made her feel a little awkward, but good.

  “You can watch the news with us if you want,” Mandy said, sliding closer to Drew on the sofa to make room for her mother to sit. “It’s coming on now.”

  “Maybe I will,” Mrs. Collins said, lowering herself to the cushion.

  The three settled in and Mandy retrieved her mug from the table, holding it to her lips. The flashing graphics of the local news program came on. Drew pushed closer, her leg bouncing nervously against Mandy’s.

  “Another car bomb rocks the Iraqi capital,” the African American anchor with the thick mustache said. “And, is Britney Spears pregnant again? These stories coming up, but first, tragedy strikes a local youth….”

  “Oh,” Drew moaned tearfully.

  A picture of Nicki suddenly appeared to the right of the anchorman. Her black hair hung to her shoulders in a neat wave; her eyes sparkled. From the mottled blue background, Mandy could tell it was a yearbook photo.

  She’s so pretty, Mandy thought. And she’s dead. A fist of sadness punched her belly.

  The picture of Nicki disappeared, replaced by a video showing the corner of a blond brick building, a field of tall, brown grass, and a stand of trees beyond. “That’s the library,” Mrs. Collins said, practically sighing out the words. A half dozen men, some in police uniforms, some in suits, and one in a white smock coat, walked through the dry grass, looking intently at the ground.

  The anchorman’s voice accompanied the images.

  “This morning at about three a.m., police found the remains of seventeen-year-old Nicolette Bennington in a wooded area behind Elmwood Public Library. Bennington, a Lake Crest High senior, was abducted from her home last night by an unknown assailant.”

  A thin-faced man with gray hair appeared on the screen, standing in front of the library. The man was the chief of Elmwood’s police department. Beside him, a woman in a police uniform stood with her hands clasped behind her back. A flash of recognition struck Mandy as Officer Romero looked up at the camera. The policewoman looked just as serious and as concerned as she had when speaking to Mandy that morning. Her eyes were sad, but her jaw was set with determination as she listened to her boss speak.

  “Our hearts go out to the Bennington family,” said Police Chief Dean. “At this time, we’re combing the area for forensic evidence. No suspects or persons of interest have been currently identified, but we’re following a number of leads. We know that we’ll bring Nicolette’s killer to justice soon. That’s all we have at this time.”

  “Nicolette’s parents had no comment for us, but local residents are in a state of shock,” the anchor continued.

  Another familiar face appeared on the screen. Tracy Renquist, a girl who shared the same P. E. class as Mandy, Laurel, and Nicolette, h
ugged herself tightly. She stood in front of Lake Crest High, eyes red from crying.

  “My God, that’s Tracy,” Drew announced. “She’s in my English and Poli-Sci classes. We went to camp together.”

  “It’s horrible,” Tracy cried into a microphone. “Nicki was just so great. I can’t believe this.”

  “When were they at school?” Mandy asked. She hadn’t seen any news vans when leaving the school grounds.

  “They must have come after we left,” Drew said. “Look, there’s Mr. Thompkins, and, oh my God, Dale.”

  “My eyes work,” Mandy said. As Mr. Thompkins expressed his condolences to Nicki’s family, behind him, on the steps of the school, Dale stared at the walk, looking dazed and sad. Seeing him tugged at Mandy’s chest. She wanted to be with him. He’d hold her close and make some of the sadness and fear go away.

  Why did the jerk have to pick last night to pull such a lame stunt?

  After the report ended and the anchorman turned his attention to Iraq, Drew was crying again. Mandy’s eyes stung, but she didn’t break down. Instead, she held Drew. Her mother patted her leg, then excused herself.

  “I’ll fix some dinner, so we can make it to the park by seven.”

  Apparently, her mother already knew about the candlelight vigil.

  3

  Mandy looked around the crowd, over her shoulder at the fountain, and into the dark band of trees on the far end of the lawn. She stood with her mother at the north end of the park in Holm Field, an expanse of grass roughly half the size of a football field. In the center of the lawn was a landscaped garden with concrete walks winding between plots of dirt that come spring would be bursting with flowers. The fountain was the focal point of the garden. An ornate concrete sculpture stood twice Mandy’s height. People holding candles surrounded them and formed a rough fan shape facing north, where a small platform had been erected. Next to the platform, Mandy could just make out the sorrow-creased faces of Mr. and Mrs. Bennington; Nicolette’s older brother, Stan; and a group of people Mandy imagined were family and close friends. Between her and them, the flames of hundreds of candles cast an orange glow over the people and the field.