The word “ghosted” touched off a shiver in Rachel’s spine. She turned on a light, suddenly aware of the way that the house was accumulating shadows, pooling them in every corner.
“What was Nina like?” she asked. Reading about Nina Faraday in old Rockland and Willard County newspapers was like reading about two different people. In Rockland County, Nina was flunking biology, on medication for anxiety and depression, an attention-seeker, once suspended for having alcohol at a school event. In Willard County, she was a member of her church youth group, a talented cheerleader, and third-place winner of a state-sponsored writing competition.
“I don’t know,” Joaquin said. “She was just ... normal. We liked the same kinds of movies. That’s how we first started talking. I was between heats, and she complimented my Harry Potter T-shirt.”
“Did Nina ever talk about other guys with you?” Rachel asked.
Joaquin chuckled. “She talked about plenty of guys. She knew all the team gossip. I remember she told me that one of Tommy’s teammates got some girl pregnant, and Steeler paid for an abortion. That really bothered her. Nina was Catholic.”
Rachel thought, fleetingly, of Coach Jack Vernon. He’d been Tommy’s teammate—and one of Steeler’s favorites. “What about boyfriends?” Rachel asked. “Did she ever talk about hooking up with anyone? Guys who she liked, or guys who liked her?”
“Not to me,” Joaquin said. Rachel could hear the shrug in his voice. “To be honest, I kind of figured she was just using me to make Tommy jealous. The last time we hung out, she had a new bracelet. Like a tennis bracelet but with lots of little jewels in it. She said it was a presentbut wouldn’t say from who. I figured Tommy gave it to her. That’s why when she told me Steeler didn’t want us talking anymore, it seemed more like an excuse.”
“What about Nina’s mom?” Rachel switched tactics. “Did Nina ever complain about her?”
“Oh, yeah. All the time. Nina’s mom was intense. She hated Tommy Swift. Nina was always getting grounded for hanging out with him. Ms. Faraday went through Nina’s phone to make sure they weren’t talking. It drove Nina crazy. She told me she thought about running away sometimes.”
A spark of energy lit up Rachel’s chest. “She told you that?”
“I didn’t take it seriously. Nina was too smart to do something that stupid. Besides, deep down, I think she knew her mom was right.”
“What do you mean?” Rachel said. “Right about what?”
“Like I said.” Joaquin sighed. “She hated Tommy Swift.”
Six
We
The five-minute break before the raffle was basically triage. We were gasping like drowned frogs, sweating like pigs, and our hair was unsalvageable. A lot of us were horrified to realize our deodorant wasnotworking. There were meltdowns in the girls’ locker room and a sudden frenzied bull market for gum, Altoids, and sweat-absorbent paper towels. We staggered back onto the dance floor like wounded soldiers—bruised, dazed, or fortified with alcohol, hoping for courage.
The raffle setup was cheesy, and we pretended to hate it like we pretended to hate the glowing bracelets slowly dulling on our wrists. Behind the table setup for the ticket draw, Mrs. Coates—who we were pretty sure had volunteered to man the locker room entrances just so she could go in whenever she needed to sneak a drink—kept nodding off in her chair.
Coach Radner and Judd French took turns announcing the Balladeers, reading off clues about each of the volunteering swimmers so we could guess who was next to the stage. The DJ fed us someJeopardy!knockoff sound effects to build suspense, and then—bang!—one of the swimmers would burst into view from the locker room, arms up andgrinning, and every time we fucking lost it, like each was a free cruise we’d picked from behind Door Number Three.
We were disappointed that Noah Landry wasn’t among them. He was sitting alone on the risers, hunched over his phone, carving a protective wall with his posture. Well, not alone exactly; the Student Council Mafia had seized on him like pigeons on a breadcrumb.
Ryan Hawthorne drew Reese Steeler-Cox’s name. We made jokes about how many tickets she must have purchased—ifshe and her mom hadn’t devised some other way to rig the system. But Aiden Teller drew the name of a freshman named Maddie Lapinski who hadn’t even been named one of the school’s most desirable Minnows. She had blond hair so long it almost touched her waist and a pretty face that was the color of a fatal sunburn as she took the stage. We could swear she was even crying a little, like someone who’d just been given news of a lifesaving organ transplant.
@badprincess:Girl needs to breathe
@skyediva:Anyone know CPR??
@spinn_doctor:I do
@mememeup:no you don’t
Jeremiah Greene drew Angie Peele’s name—an enormously controversial pick since she was rumored to be hooking up with Ryan Hawthorne all fall. Then freshman Ethan Gregory drew Skyler Matthews’s name, and we erupted. It felt like placing a team in the World Cup, watching her maneuver to the stage grinning like a maniac.
We suggested that the mods rename her handle to @cradlerobber, as a joke.
The raffle went on. Charlotte Anderson and Brianna Rourke, two of Reese’s Student Council Mafia watchdogs, both got picked and joined Reese onstage in a bedlam of squealing. But Cole Hughes drew Shawna Locke’s name, announcing it into the microphone with a slightcough, where it landed on the crowd like a hammer; Shawna Locke was a desperate hanger-on and a walking field of acne.
All in all, we were inclined to think the raffle was legit.
Then it was JJ Hammill’s turn. “Give it up for JJ Hammill!” Coach Radner rolled JJ’s name into a full sentence as the DJ cued JJ’s entrance music, and a thudding bass line kicked out our eardrums.
We turned to the locker room doors expectantly.
