Chapter 13
It was still dark, the streets cold and wet, when Rick picked up Martina on Monday morning.
His uncle had taken Dani to school, so Rick had tried to sleep in a little, but he kept having nightmares.
Even after his shower, his eyes were gritty, and reality still felt like it was inches away from his consciousness.
It was as if the entire world was behind a thin sheet of glass.
He’d barely parked the Beast in front of the Lopez house before Martina was opening his door. She shoved a breakfast sandwich and a to-go cup of coffee into his hands, then climbed into her own seat.
“Are we in a hurry?” Rick asked, confused by having his hands suddenly full, Martina suddenly there, and the morning in general.
Martina slammed the door shut. “Have you seen the paper?” She shook her head, irritated.
“No, of course not. Only my abuela gets the paper.” She dug into her bag while Rick settled his coffee cup into the holder and bit into his sandwich.
Eggs, cheese, and some sort of green chili cilantro sauce filled his mouth, and Rick’s shoulders drooped as he enjoyed the flavors.
Nothing could be that terrible with breakfast sandwiches like this in the world.
He took a second bite. “Can I marry your dad?”
“Polygamy is illegal in our state,” Martina said, her attention focused on her search. “Where is it? Ah!” She pulled out a folded newspaper, triumph on her face. “Found it!”
Rick peered at the paper in her hand as he tried to savor the sandwich and eat it as quickly as possible at the same time. “Someone tagged Mr. Giardini’s prize cow.” He took another bite, shaking his head. “Who paints a cow?”
Martina deflated for a second, and her expression smoothed out as she thought. “How does one use a cow to win prizes? What makes a cow a prize cow?”
“Those sound like questions for Camryn,” Rick said. When she perked up, he laughed.
Martina hit him gently with the folded newspaper. “At least I don’t flirt using animal facts.”
Rick blushed, muttering, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I can’t tell if you’re embarrassed because of your tactics or if you didn’t realize that was what you were doing.
” Martina refolded the paper, scanning the words as she spoke.
“Poor Rick. So earnest. So innocent. Watching you flirt with Nika—it’s like watching a baby use a spoon for the first time. ”
Rick licked sauce off the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. “I have dated before. Awkwardly. Somewhat unsuccessfully, but I’ve done it.”
“Yeah, but you were different with them,” Martina said.
“You could coherently form sentences, for one. Nika knocks you sideways. I mock you—because that is my right and obligation as your best friend—but I think it’s kind of sweet.
” She batted her eyes. “Like watching videos of baby ducks or kittens. It’s pure. ”
Rick rolled his eyes and shoved the last of the sandwich into his mouth.
Martina flipped the paper over. “But what I wanted you to see was not the article about the cow.” She unfolded the paper onto the Beast’s dash so he could see the headline.
Local School Counselor Death Ruled a Homicide
The sandwich in Rick’s stomach became a lead ball. He breathed in deep through his nose, trying to settle it, then sipped his coffee before reading on.
The community was shocked when beloved local school counselor Edwin Stephens, age 38, was found dead in his car earlier this month.
The discovery has rocked this small community.
“This kind of thing just doesn’t happen here,” said Mrs. Cora Jensen, one of Stephens’s neighbors, when we spoke to her last week.
At the time, there was still some question as to whether or not Stephens’s death had been an accident, homicide, or death by suicide.
A source close to the police department has confirmed that Stephens’s death appears to have been a homicide.
The article included three photos. The first was the same picture used on the faculty page in the yearbook, the counselor smiling back at Rick in grainy black-and-white.
The second was a photo of him at one of the fundraising nights at the roller rink, skating alongside Ms. Macnamara.
Rick squinted at the small photo. It looked like they were holding hands.
“I didn’t know he dated Ms. Macnamara,” Rick murmured. It felt weird to talk loudly for some reason.
“Me neither,” Martina said. “No wonder she’s been so upset.” She leaned in to see the photo better. “He looks happy.”
“Yeah,” Rick said, and he wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. Mr. Stephens had been happy, and now he was dead. What was Rick supposed to do with that?
The third and more recent photo was of the makeshift shrine that had appeared after he’d been found.
Piles of flowers, battery-powered candles, stuffed toys, and hand-drawn cards and signs.
Rick read the caption under that picture.
A heartbreaking outpouring of loss as students mourn their counselor.
Rick suddenly wished he’d read this before he’d eaten.
“My mom said the cops are probably pretty pissed that this leaked so fast, but it’s a small town. Hard to keep anything secret.”
Rick opened his mouth to agree but realized that Martina wasn’t being completely accurate.
“Someone’s managing to keep a pretty big secret.
” He tapped the paper. “Whoever is behind this.” The last sentence of the article swam up at him.
If anyone has any information concerning the case, please contact the below number.
“They can’t keep it up forever, though, right?
Someone’s going to see them or talk or something. ”
Martina folded up the paper, shoving it back into her bag. “I don’t know. I would think not, but thousands of true crime shows and podcasts would tell you differently. Sometimes, no one ever finds the killer. Sometimes, you never know.”
“Jesus,” Rick said. “That’s heavy for a Monday.”
“Yeah,” Martina said, putting on her seat belt. “Kind of puts first period into perspective, doesn’t it?”
Without another word, Rick popped an eight-track into the player, and they let Dolly sing them to school, both of them lost deep in their own thoughts.
—
They decided to avoid the school parking lot.
As his sliced tires had reminded him, his vehicle wasn’t stealth, and with Mr. Stephens officially murdered and Bryce dead, being cautious seemed smart.
They found a spot on a side street a few blocks away, tucked under some trees at the end of a dead-end road.
They also avoided the front entrance, walking around to one of the side doors.
“Do you think we’re being paranoid?” Rick asked as he adjusted his hood, hunching his shoulders against the door to hold it open for her.
“Two people are dead,” Martina said. “I’ve had to block several numbers and lock down my socials, and I know you have, too. Plus, there were the notes.”
Rick had been trying really hard to not think about those, but he kept getting flashes of cutout eyes and red glitter. “Yeah.”
“So, no, I don’t think we’re being paranoid,” Martina said. “If anything, we’re probably not being paranoid enough. Reporters have been calling the house, you know. The whole yearbook thing has officially gone from quirky little sidenote to a juicy story. We need to be extra careful.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t mention Bryce,” Rick said. “In the article, I mean.”
“There was an article about his death over the weekend.” Martina cleared her throat. “I didn’t read it. Abuela said there’d been some speculation about a connection. The yearbook page was mentioned, but until they get confirmation on cause of death, that’s all they can really do—speculate.”
Rick adjusted his backpack, feeling a soul-deep weariness settle into his bones. It was more than physical and had little to do with the lack of sleep. He was just so tired of all of this.
“Come on,” Martina said, nudging him around a corner. “Let’s talk about something else.”
Except now they were in the main hall, and as they walked, conversations stopped when they got close, only to flare up loudly after they passed.
It was like they were in a little sound bubble, muting things in a circle around them.
Rick was grateful for the quiet, while deeply unsettled by the effect at the same time.
The stares didn’t help, either. The back of his neck practically burned with the intensity of so many eyes on him at once, and it was all he could do not to reach back and cover the spot with his hands. “Dead man walking,” he muttered.
Next to him, Martina’s face took on a stubborn cast, her chin out, her eyes a dare that said come at me. Rick thought she might as well walk around with a flashing sign that said fuck around and find out. “That’s not funny.”
“I know,” said Rick. “I guess I’m not feeling very funny.”
She threw an arm around his waist and sighed. “I know. Come on. I’ll split a cookie with you before class.”
—
Rick drifted through the first few periods, barely able to focus.
He avoided his locker and kept his phone on Do Not Disturb so that only a few approved numbers could get through.
As he walked into English class and took a seat next to Martina, he thought he might fall apart at the seams. She gave him a tight-lipped smile that held no humor, but he appreciated her attempt at lightening the mood.
There was a rustle of fabric and then Nika was sitting in front of him, turning around in her chair so she could look at him.
And despite the awful morning, the disgusting bubbling cauldron of fear and worry his gut had become, suddenly he felt better.
It was like the first wash of sunshine on his face after a week straight of rain.
A reminder that some things in this world were good.
“Hey,” Rick said, his head resting on his folded arms. For a second, he almost reached out and touched her shoulder.