We Know It Was You (30 page)

The cop cars lit up the scene with their red and blue lights. Virginia watched from a little ways away. Everyone was trying to leave, but one of the cruisers had blocked the exit to the road. Virginia gingerly touched the spot on her head where Winn had ripped out a small patch of her hair. Her fingers came away with a little blood on them.

“Some night, huh?”

Virginia turned around. Detective Disco and Detective Holling were standing together with their arms crossed. Their flashlights pointed toward the ground, creating a spotlight at their feet. They looked like they were posing for a TV show about cops busting kids.
Bad Teens
, it would be called.

“You can't arrest me,” Virginia said immediately. “I haven't even been drinking.”

Detective Disco narrowed his eyes. “Why would we want to arrest you?”

“I don't know. I'm just saying . . .”

“Do you need to be arrested?” Detective Holling asked. Car doors slammed behind them.

“No,”
Virginia said.

“Can you tell us what that fight was about? On the bridge?”

“I have no idea . . . ,” Virginia said, bolstered slightly by the fact that she wasn't even lying. She really had no idea. Did Winn know about
Locker Room Wildcats
somehow? Was he defending Corny's honor? “I guess Winn thought that guy was hitting on his girlfriend.”

Detective Holling nodded toward the first cop car, the one with Min-Jun in it. “Do you know him? He doesn't look like a Winship student to me.”

Virginia shook her head slowly. “I don't know him. I was just standing there.”

Detective Disco stared her down. He looked even taller than she remembered.

“Where's your friend?” he asked.

“What friend?”

“Your pal with the glasses. The one in charge.”

Virginia scoffed. “He's not in charge! We're both in charge.”

Detective Disco gave a phony smile. “Sure you are. You wanna give him a call? Ask him what to say?”

“I can say what I want.”

“Which is . . . ?” Detective Holling prompted.

“Which is
nothing
,” Virginia snapped. In her mind she frantically tried to remember what the official story was. Mr. Choi snuck into the mascot suit to watch cheerleaders undress, and then flung himself off the bridge? For no reason? She wished Benny were there. He could remember who knew which details better than she could. He could see the big picture.
Just keep your mouth shut,
she told herself.

“What is going on at this school?” Detective Disco asked flatly.

Virginia shook her head. She started backing away, half expecting them to stop her and cuff her and throw her in the car with Trevor. They didn't. They just stared at her.

“Can I take that?” she asked, pointing to the mascot suit on the ground.

The detectives glanced at each other.

Oops
. That was a mistake. Now they looked really suspicious.

“The coaches were looking for it,” she said. “It cost, like, three thousand dollars. . . . I know where it goes.”

Detective Disco let the moment hang. Virginia raised an eyebrow like,
What?

“Sure,” he said finally. “Take it.”

Quickly Virginia picked up the suit and plastic head. She turned and started walking toward the Boarders, not looking back in case he'd changed his mind. There was a chill in the air as she crossed the bridge.

What am I doing?

She hadn't intended to pick it up. She didn't know what she planned to do with it. She just felt this weird connection, like she couldn't leave it there. But she hated it. She adjusted it in her arms so its eyes faced away, gaping out into the darkness.

The Boarders, 3:30 a.m.

Someone was crying.

It wasn't the most unfamiliar sound in the world. People cried in the Boarders all the time. But this was different. It wasn't the crying of someone who was lonely or stressed or having a bad dream. It was the crying of a ghost—hopeless, drained of life, not knowing or caring whether anyone overheard.

Virginia got out of bed. She opened her door a crack and listened. It was coming from Zaire's room. She crossed the dark hall on bare feet. Then she knocked lightly.

Oh wait, damn it,
she thought as soon as her knuckles hit the wood. It wasn't something Benny would have done. She should have called and asked him first. But it was too late. The door was opening.

She'd never seen Zaire without makeup on. It was kind of a hideous sight. She had puffy circles under her eyes, her nose was shiny, and her chin was dotted with purplish zits. Her lips were pale and cracked and gummy. She stared down at Virginia through watery eyes, looking confused and angry.

“You?”

Virginia shrugged. “Um, who were you expecting?”

“Nobody. Gottfried. I was hoping you were Gottfried.” Her voice was hoarse.

“Jesus, why?” Why would Zaire want any boy to see her like this?

Zaire turned and threw herself on the bed, not seeming to care whether Virginia stayed or left. Virginia noticed a tall, half-empty bottle of gin on the desk, along with a cocktail shaker and a jar of olives.

“Want one?” Zaire asked, her face half smushed into a pillow.

“Sure. Is it a martini?”

“What does it look like?”

Virginia folded her arms. “How should I know? Am I a teen alcoholic or something?”

“I don't know what the fuck you are.” Zaire sat up and
dragged herself to the desk. She poured a drink sloppily into a martini glass. Only Zaire would have actual martini glasses in her dorm room. She handed it to Virginia, poured herself one, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Virginia sat down next to her. Zaire had stopped crying, and it was quiet.

“Are you just drinking by yourself?” Virginia asked after a long silence.

“Not anymore. Now I'm drinking with you.” Zaire smiled, but it was a grim, lifeless smile. “Cheers.” She clinked her glass against Virginia's, spilling most of her drink. She flopped back on the bed, resting the glass on her stomach. Virginia did the same. The easiest way to get people to be comfortable around you, Virginia knew, was to imitate them.

“You still going to Boca Raton tomorrow?” Zaire asked, her eyes closed.

“Nah. Staying here.”

“That's too bad. . . . Sure you won't come to Spain?”

Virginia shrugged. She lifted her neck to take a sip of her martini. She wrinkled her nose. “I think I like sidecars better.”

“Everyone should have a signature drink. Mine is gin with a splash of tears.”

Virginia stared at the ceiling. She could feel a feather from Zaire's plush down comforter poking into her arm. “What is this about?” she asked suddenly.

“What is what about?”

“You drinking and crying and stuff. I know you don't give a shit about Brittany. I know you don't give a shit about Choi.”

Neither of them said anything. Their martinis bobbed gently up and down on their stomachs as they breathed.
It's so much easier to talk to people when you don't have to look at their faces,
Virginia realized. Maybe it was because they were both lying down. Or because Zaire looked like garbage instead of her usual perfect, overdone self. But something made it feel like the most natural conversation in the world.

“I don't give a shit either. I swear I'm not going to turn you in. Choi was vile. He deserved to die.” Virginia didn't know if she really believed what she was saying. Obviously Choi was vile, but did he deserve to
die
? That seemed a little dramatic. It's not like he'd even touched anyone, as far as Virginia knew. But it seemed like what Zaire would want to hear.

Zaire sighed. “Choi, Choi, Choi. If I never hear the name Choi again, I'll die happy. You know what ‘choi' means in Korean? Pinnacle.”

Virginia turned her head slightly to glance at Zaire.
Pinnacle?
Was that supposed to be deep? Zaire could translate Korean words all she wanted; it wasn't going to fool Virginia.
You're a killer.

Zaire sat up a little and took a sip of her martini before
lying back down again. Virginia did the same. The gin burned her throat going down. “So what's it about, then?” she asked, coughing a little.

Zaire started crying again. Then she stopped. “I have no one to talk to.”

“You can talk to me.”

“No I can't. You'll put it on your stupid gossip site.”

God damn it,
Virginia thought. Was Winship Confidential going to follow her around the rest of her life?

“I'm not like that anymore,” she said. “I shut that site down, like, five weeks ago.”

“Then you'll tell Benny Flax.”

“Benny doesn't care about other people's business.”

“He does when it's
mysterious
,” Zaire said in a mocking voice.

“I won't tell him. This is just between me and you. Because we're friends.”

Zaire turned her face to look at her. Virginia did the same. This close, Virginia could see some of the beauty in Zaire's face that was there naturally, despite the tears and acne and lack of makeup—the strong line of her nose, the intensity of her eyebrows, the shade of brown that was unique to her skin.

“Well . . .”

Virginia stiffened, sensing that Zaire was about to open up. But just then Wildcat hopped on the bed. He started rubbing against Zaire's face and purring.

“Wildcaaaat,” Zaire cooed, petting him fondly.

Virginia reached out to pet him too.

“Better not,” Zaire warned as Wildcat shrank from Virginia's outstretched fingers. “He only likes me. Actually he doesn't. Not even Wildcat isss my real friend.” She was beginning to slur. “I hypnotize him to be nice to me.”

“Wait, you can hypnotize animals?” Virginia said.

“Sure. I can hypnotize anything. Except I can't get Gottfried to love me.” Her voice squeaked, and then she was crying again.

“You know, Gottfried's not that great,” Virginia said, looking up at the ceiling again. “I'm sure you could get someone else. Have you tried college guys? Like Emory guys, maybe? They have Yankees at Emory. New Yorkers.”

“I don't want a Yankee,” she whispered, half sobbing. “I want Gottfried. I love him. I love him. I love every inch of him. I love his body. I love his heart. I wish I could
be
him. All my love is for him. I hate everything that isn't him. I hate the world. I hate you. I hate me. I love
him
.” Zaire continued to ramble, repeating “I love him, I love him” over and over, until the words barely seemed to have any meaning.

This is getting weird,
Virginia thought. It was like Zaire wasn't even talking to her, she was talking to herself. Like she was hypnotizing herself. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her martini jiggled on her stomach as she cried. Virginia was afraid to look at her. It was shocking to see
Zaire so emotional. Virginia had no idea this much passion had existed under that stiff, haughty exterior. Why didn't Zaire show her feelings more? It actually made her more likable, in a weird, unexpected way. Maybe Zaire was a little demented, but demented was better than just plain bitch.

“Zaire, you need to stop hooking up with him.”

Zaire sat up so abruptly her drink fell over. She glared at Virginia. “What did you say?”

“You need to give yourself space to get over him. He dumped you, what, six months ago? Right before prom?”

“Oh my God! What is with you and other people's business?” Zaire snapped. She got up and started making herself another martini. “You need to get a life.”

“I have a life. I have two lives! Look at my palm . . . there are
two
life lines. A psychic told me.”

Zaire rolled her eyes and stumbled back to the bed. She ignored Virginia's outstretched palm and downed her drink.

Virginia went on. “You can't be friends with benefits with someone you're in love with.”

“Like you're an expert. You've never even had a boyfriend.”

That one stung. Virginia sat up. “You don't have to be a relationship expert to see that you're hurting yourself.”

“Seriously, get a life, Virginia, and stay out of mine,” Zaire said.

“You're the one who needs a life. All you do is study and obsess over Gottfried. At least I have Mystery Club.”

“Mystery Club?”
Zaire spat. “You and Benny are the biggest five-year-olds in the whole school. You realize that everyone makes fun of you behind your back.”

“Well at least I'm not letting a guy totally use me,” Virginia spat back.

“At least I'm not going to
Boca
for holiday.”

“I said I'm
not
going to Boca.”

“Yeah, even worse, you're staying here, because no one wants you.”

Virginia stood up. Her drink splashed to the floor. “Shut up,” she said.

Zaire grinned. “Gosh, hit a nerve, did I?”

“Shut up,” Virginia repeated. Then she walked out of the room.

“Aw, come on,” Zaire called.

Virginia ignored her. She stood in the hall for a second, deciding whether to call Benny or go to bed. Then she chose a third option. Without planning to, she went upstairs to
the boys' hall. She knew she was lapsing into Old Virginia—inserting herself into other people's drama—but Zaire was obviously incapable of managing her own business, and it was hard to just sit there and watch her self-destruct. Zaire probably wasn't that bad underneath—she was just messed up from being yanked around by Gottfried for so long.

The boys' hall was dark, except for a single light coming from under Gottfried's door. Virginia knocked.

“Come in.”

She opened the door.