This Is How It Ends (3 page)

“Actually,” Mr. Ruskovich said, smiling, “I'm joking, Mr. Gretowniak. In reality we're going to begin a crime scene investigation.”

Matty sat up straighter. “Cool!”

“What's the crime?” Sarah asked.

“Murder, of course.”

“Awesome,” Chuck said.

We listened closely as Mr. Ruskovich continued, his voice low and spooky. “It happened in the supply closet.” He pointed at the door behind his desk, all of us eyeing it as he spoke. “In there right now you will find a gruesome scene of splattered blood. Your job? Describe the killer.” He beckoned us to his desk, where an array of supplies was laid out: protractors, rulers, notebooks, tape, pencils, and string. “With these few simple tools and an understanding of physics, you will determine where the perpetrator was standing, how tall he or she might have been, and what sort of weapon was used—”

“Like Clue,” Matty said.

“Exactly like Clue, actually,” Mr. Ruskovich agreed. He spread the character cards from the game on the table. Beneath each he'd written their height in pen.

“It was definitely Professor Plum,” Matty said. “He's a creeper.”

“I've been told I resemble him,” Mr. Ruskovich said.

“Exactly.” Matty laughed.

“I bet it was Miss Scarlet,” Chuck said.

“Oh, sure,” Sarah teased. “Blame it on a woman.”

“Isn't that what they're for?” Chuck asked.

“Well, actually, Chuck . . . ,” Matty started, eyebrows raised.

“Hold it, Matt,” Sarah said. “You should quit while you're ahead.”

“I'm going to have to agree with Miss McKenzie on this one, gentlemen,” Mr. Ruskovich said firmly. “Now if we could get back to the lesson . . .” He went on to explain circular versus elliptical splatters, angle of spray, and impact. “Once you've identified the point of contact, you'll be able to test the various weapons”—Mr. Ruskovich flashed a second set of Clue cards showing a lead pipe, candlestick, revolver, and the rest—“reenacting the crime to see how close our new splatters come to the old ones.”

He told us to take turns with the measurements so we wouldn't disturb the crime scene. Then he pivoted and opened the door behind him.

“Nice,” Chuck said appreciatively. The walls and shelving in the closet had been covered with long sheets of white paper, splattered with drops of dark red. Right away I could see the ellipses and spray Mr. Ruskovich had talked about. Of course, I could also think of at least ten things wrong with this experiment—how the force of impact or part of the weapon used might change the pattern, that Mr. Ruskovich wouldn't have been able to precisely record locations. But we all—Mr. Ruskovich especially—knew those variables weren't properly accounted for. That he turned boring lectures about cosines, angles, and projection into a murder mystery was at least half of why physics—and all of his science classes—were always my favorites.

The forty-three minutes flew by, and no one really wanted to move on to our next class when the bell rang. Reluctantly we stood, closing our notebooks as Mr. Ruskovich shut and locked the “crime scene,” the inside now taped and marked where we'd begun work.

“Guess you were wrong about that headache, Matty,” I said as we started down the hall.

“I'm telling you, man, particle theory burns my brain. I might have run screaming from the room.”

“Or committed hara-kiri,” Sarah suggested.

“At least we'd be able to figure out what he used and where he was standing when he did it,” I said.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “It's always with a sword, Riley. That's the definition of ‘hara-kiri.'”

“I knew that,” I lied, feeling my ears redden.

“Hey, did you guys get your SATs back?” Chuck called, jogging to catch up to us.

“No.” Matty whirled to face him. “Yours came?”

Chuck nodded. “On Saturday.”

“And?”

“Twenty-one forty.”

Matty whistled. “Nice.”

Chuck smiled, embarrassed. “I'm sure yours'll be better.”

“You didn't leave me a lot of room,” Matty said, turning back to me and Sarah. “Did you guys get 'em?”

She nodded. “Twenty-two hundred.”

“Well, well . . .” Matty grinned, raising an eyebrow at Chuck. “Whaddaya think about that, Chuckster?”

“I think your margin for claiming the Brainiest Brainiac title is shrinking.”

“Indeed.” Matty looked at me. “Ri?”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “I got nuthin'.” I hoped Matty would leave it at that, but I could tell the way his eyes narrowed that he wouldn't.

“You still didn't take them, did you?”

I could feel all of them watching me, Sarah's stare especially penetrating. Matty had gone down this path with me before, but never with her there. And definitely not with the memory of her naked in bed floating around in my brain. I'd thought my Sunday night at the hospital had made me forget the feel of her in the binoculars, but the way she was looking at me brought it rushing back. My throat felt hot and tight. I shook my head. “No.”

Matty stopped, turning to face me. “What are you waiting for, Riley?”

“I'll get around to it.”

“When?” he demanded. “Next year? The year after?”

There was a lump in my chest. I knew this was how it started, the kind of future he was talking about—being stuck here majoring in grunt labor, Drinking 101, and hating life instead of chem or physics. The kind of future Moose and any number of our classmates were headed for. It shouldn't be mine, but I didn't know any way around it. Not right then. I hoped if I worked full-time for a year, maybe I could save enough to go to school. Maybe things with my mom would get better and she wouldn't be out of work so much. Maybe she'd even find a better job.

Maybe pigs would fly, too.

“You're too smart to get stuck here,” Matty said.

“That's high praise, coming from the Brainiest Brainiac.”

“Joke about it if you want,” he said shortly, “but I don't think you'll be laughing next year.” He turned and started down the hall with Chuck toward their next class.

I wasn't laughing
now
. But I also wasn't about to spell it out for him. If Matty was so damn smart, he should have been able to figure it out. I was hardly the only kid in Buford with money problems.

Sarah was still there, watching me. I glanced over, but she didn't ask.

“Have you seen Nat today?” I said.

She shook her head. “No. Why?”

CHAPTER 4

AT LUNCH I WALKED TO
the quad with Sarah, Trip, and Tannis. Nat had a student council meeting but had told Trip she'd find us later. A bunch of kids were already outside, sitting on steps or benches with their food. It was cold, but there was no snow on the ground. We all knew that wouldn't last much longer.

We passed Moose with a few of his buddies, headed in the opposite direction. He barely acknowledged my brief nod. I'd have done the same if he'd nodded first. That was how we rolled at school.

“What do you think really happened?” I asked once we found a free spot on one of the stone walls around the quad.

Trip unwrapped a sandwich, shaking his head. “Man, I don't know,” he said. He'd been the first to bring up Nat and her bruise. They'd had earth sciences together, and she'd given him the same story she'd given me. Verbatim.

“Do you think her dad—”

“Hit her?” Trip finished. “The million-dollar question. I've never seen him violent, but it's been a long time since I've really been around him.” Trip used to ski with Natalie when they were kids, before her mom left and her dad holed up in that trailer. “Nat's so crazy-protective of him. It's hard to imagine it.”

“Classic sign of abuse,” Sarah piped in.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Believe me, I've been wondering for years.”

We all nodded. If you didn't spend a lot of time with Natalie, maybe you wouldn't notice—a scrape here, bruise there. Competitive skiing is rough, and when you fall, you fall hard. But not in summer. The five of us really started hanging out last year, when Trip and Sarah got together, and after a few months I realized that for an athlete at Nat's level, she was awfully clumsy.

God forbid you mentioned it to her, though.

“Did she say what went on at her house this weekend?” Tannis asked.

Sarah snorted. “What? And make us all accessories?”

“I just meant, you know, whether her dad was around. Or if anyone else came over . . .” Tannis trailed off at Sarah's pointed look. “Yeah, okay. I guess that
would
make us accessories.”

“She's not about to rat out the town's junkies,” Sarah said. “It'd put Daddy out of business.”

“What a fucking mess,” Trip said.

Tannis wolfed down the last of her sandwich and stood. “No wonder she's thinking of him dead.”

“You mean the thing at the cave?” Trip asked.

Tannis nodded, walking to the grass a few feet away and motioning for Trip to toss her the Nerf football he'd brought out. “If he was my dad, I'm pretty sure I'd daydream about that.”

“I don't think those were daydreams,” I said.

“You don't?” Sarah asked.

I shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. As if she knew how I'd pictured her, in my bed.

“What do you think they were?” Sarah pressed.

“I don't know.”

“C'mon, Ri,” Tannis butted in. “Sounds like you have some ideas. Let's hear 'em.”

I knew these girls, and they weren't going to back down. “Hallucinations?” I offered.

“What do you mean?” Trip said. “Like from acid?”

I nodded.

Trip tossed the ball thoughtfully, but Tannis said, “I don't know, Ri. I'm no expert, but it wasn't like any trip I've ever had. You?”

I'd tried drugs exactly once, the summer before junior year, when Trip had dragged me to a football party. “I don't know, Trip,” I'd hedged. “Some of those guys seem kind of . . .”

“Kind of what?” he'd said impatiently. “Older? Fun? Cool?”

I'd shrugged, thinking of the way they'd jammed Chuck Lee's locker shut one day. “Like trouble,” I'd finished.

Trip had snorted. “Don't be a loser, Ri. It'll be fine.”

It hadn't been, of course. The acid had come out around midnight, and like fools, we'd put the tabs on our tongues when the other guys did. I made some crack about how it was like second grade, when Trip ate the corners off all his worksheets. It was the last thing I said all night, because my head got really cold and divided into three compartments, the tongue not connected to the brain. Definitely not my thing.

“No,” I told Tannis now. “It wasn't like that at all. But lots of things can make you hallucinate,” I said. “Maybe different stuff gives you different reactions?”

“But we didn't take anything,” Sarah said.

“Not that we know of,” I said. “But 'shrooms and peyote both occur naturally.”

“And you think there's some up at the cave?” Trip asked.

Sarah shot him a look. “Don't get any ideas, Trip.”

“Buzz kill,” he said, mostly joking. LSD hadn't been Trip's thing either.

“Maybe we touched something in the cave or on those binoculars,” I said.

“So how come I didn't see anything?” Trip asked.

“Maybe you're immune to it,” I said.

“Just my luck.”

“It
is
your luck,” Tannis said. “Trust me. It was freaky.”

“So you don't think it was a daydream either, do you?” I asked her.

“Guess not,” she said. “I
don't
daydream about kids. What'd you see, anyway, Ri?” Tannis asked. “You never told.”

No, of course I hadn't. “Nothing much.” Blood rushed to my face, and I felt all of them watching me. I didn't dare look at Sarah. “Just me in a room with some books . . .”
And Trip's girlfriend. In my bed.
My heart was pounding. “And some, you know, papers and a little fridge and a bed,” I finished quickly.

“Like a dorm room?” Sarah asked.

My eyes locked with hers, and it was like a jolt of electricity. “Huh?”

“A dorm room,” Sarah repeated. “It sounds like a college dorm.”

I nodded slowly, the words finally sinking in. “Might have been.”

“What were you doing?” Tannis asked.

“Sleeping.”

Trip laughed. “Always the party animal, dude.”

If only he knew.

“Why do you think you guys saw
that
stuff?” Sarah asked.

Tannis shrugged, but I was struck by how Sarah had asked the question. “You guys.” Not “we.” I was pretty sure she'd seen something that night. She'd stared into the binoculars for too long and had come away from the cave unusually somber, but hadn't said a word about it. Even when I'd asked if everything was okay before we started down. She didn't want to tell, and what's more, I realized now, she didn't know anyone had seen her look.

I could have called her on it, but for some reason I didn't.

“Maybe it was, like, our hidden thoughts,” I said, watching her reaction. “Our deepest wishes or worst fears or something.”

Sarah held my eyes, her expression unreadable.

“It's definitely
not
our wishes,” Tannis said vehemently. “I saw
kids
in mine.”

“So?” I said.

“Dude. I do
not
want kids.” She chucked me the ball, and missed by a mile.

I jogged to where it'd landed. “Not
now
, Tannis—”

“Or later,” she interrupted.

I threw the ball to Trip. “Don't all girls want kids?” I asked Tannis, only half-teasing. “Isn't it like a biological imperative?”

“No, dumbass, not all girls want kids. And if it's a biological whatever, it would be for guys, too, wouldn't it? Last time I checked, it takes two. Do all
guys
want kids?”

“Don't know,” I said. “I've never really thought about it.”

“Well, I have,” Tannis said. “Because I've watched how it is for my mom, stuck in the house—every minute she's not working, that is—washing and cleaning and cooking and then washing and cleaning and cooking again. She's been doing it for twenty years, and my mom's awesome, but she's never done any of the stuff she wanted. Live in a city, fly on an airplane, do a job where she gets to wear a suit. Kids are a straight-up dead-end boring job, and it is
definitely
not for me.”

I had to agree with that. It was impossible to imagine Tannis as a mom.

“I want to get the hell out of Buford and race on the circuit,” Tannis said, swatting away the ball Trip had thrown, too upset or angry to play along anymore. “You thought that was my secret desire, huh?” Tannis demanded. “To be a slave to a bunch of rug rats? And Nat's was for her dad to die?” She didn't even wait for me to answer. “Jeez, Riley. You really think a lot of us, don't you?”

“Hey, relax,” I soothed. “I'm just guessing, you know? Maybe it was our fears or stuff we worry about—”

“She's coming,” Sarah said quietly.

The four of us turned simultaneously, looking toward school. I could almost see Natalie stiffen. Then she squared her shoulders and joined us with a smile.

“Well, that was a total waste of time,” she said breezily.

The four of us exchanged a look.

“Nat,” Sarah said gently. “What happened to your eye?” Nat's smile faltered, and Sarah added, “For real.”

Natalie went totally still, then clenched her jaw. “I tripped.”

No one said anything. It was the longest, most uncomfortable silence I think I'd ever sat through. I wanted it to be the truth. We all did. Maybe it was.

Nat seized her chance to change the subject. “Everyone's running the Dash on Saturday, right?” she asked brightly. “Lu really wants a good turnout. We need it after last winter.”

“The football team's running together,” Trip said. They did every year, just like Nat's ski team.

The Warrior Dash was a two-and-a-half-mile race through rocky paths and mud with no reward other than some trophies and a stocked bar at the end for anyone legal. The resort owners cooked it up years ago to lure people to Buford before ski season and sell winter passes, condos, and rentals. And the tourists love it—it's Buford's busiest weekend and the unofficial kickoff of the season for the town and the mountain, which are pretty much interchangeable. We all pitch in, one way or another, all of Buford holding its breath and on its best behavior, hoping this winter will be better than the last, in a series of tougher and tougher years since newer resorts opened a few exits north.

And after, we all celebrate. The ski team's annual post-Dash party is not to be missed.

“I'm doing it with Jed and Tyler,” Tannis said, raising an eyebrow at Trip. “And we're going to kick your ass.”

They probably would. Tannis and her brothers, one of them a marine, were built like Vikings. But Trip snorted. “Uh, yeah. Good luck with that, Janssen.”

“What about you guys?” Nat asked me and Sarah.

“I'm not sure—” I started, but Sarah interrupted.

“Riley and I are racing as Team Independent. And we'll kick all of your butts!”

“Team Independent?” I asked.

“Lame, right?” Sarah admitted. “Best I could come up with on the fly. Got anything better?”

“How about Team Invisible . . . like, we don't show up?”

But Trip was already on it. “I bet Ri doesn't even cross the finish line.” He turned to me. “Have you even done it before?”

He knew I hadn't. “I'm not sure.”

“What are the stakes?” Tannis asked. “Make it worth my while.”

“What do you want?” he asked.

Tannis thought for a minute, then grinned. “How about you come to the track and wax my car?”

“Oh, I'll wax your car, baby.”

She laughed. “You're a pig, Trip.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “If I win, you guys wax mine?”

“Fine,” she said. “But what about Nat and Team Indigestion over here?”

“Independent,” Sarah corrected.

“Whatever.”

“You guys can take turns carrying my gear for a month,” Nat suggested.

“A month?” Trip said dubiously. “What time do you start training?”

“Six thirty.”

Trip winced. “How about a week?” he asked, looking to the rest of us for approval.

Nat shrugged. “Fine by me.”

“And what about us?” Sarah asked Trip.

“What do you want?”

“Ri?” She turned to me.

I thought for a minute. “Come to the restaurant and do toilet duty for a week.”

“Will they let us?” Nat asked.

“I'll sneak you in,” I told her.

“If I thought you had a chance in hell of winning, I'd say no way,” Trip said. “But, sure.” He grinned. “Why not? What about you, Sarah?”

“Shovel our driveway and walk for the first snowfall,” she said immediately. “My dad's back has been killing him, and I hate doing it.”

“You could just do like us and not bother,” Nat suggested wryly.

Tannis snorted. “So we're on. . . . Best time wins?”

We all nodded, and with that, we let it go, Nat's mysterious injuries swept under the rug again.

Until the weekend that changed everything.