Part 11 (1/2)
”You grit your teeth when you're not telling me stuff.”
”I don't-”
”Dad!” Avery rolled her eyes and Chief Templeton smiled.
”Very good, gra.s.shopper.”
”So what aren't you telling me? Did Fletcher get a look at the guy? Do you have a suspect?”
”No. The a.s.sailant was gone before my guys were on the scene. No fingerprints were left behind. Nothing. But there was a significant amount of damage.” He shook his head. ”I don't know what kind of monster we're dealing with, Avy, but I want you to steer clear.”
”Of the 'monster' or of Fletcher?”
Chief Templeton didn't answer.
Fifteen.
He should have been used to everyone looking at him by now. He had done two interviews for the newspaper and one for the local TV station-although that one was mostly cutaways of the forest and snippets of people talking about old cases. But Fletcher couldn't get used to kids paying so much attention to him.
Girls batted their eyelashes and threaded their arms through his, purring and asking him if he was okay. He couldn't get used to Adam's jock friends fist-b.u.mping him like they were old buddies or giving him that weird little head jerk of acknowledgment in the hall. He couldn't get used to the whispers, the ones that sounded so soft but rang out so clearly-killer...killer...killer. When he'd turn to see who was saying it, the kids around him would look at him, though their mouths never moved.
It was even worse today.
When he came downstairs, his mother's hands were trembling. ”You should probably stay home today, honey.”
Fletcher shook his head. The house now had a giant piece of plywood fitted over the broken window, which made it feel like a prison. Fletcher pushed away the slice of toast his mother set on the table in front of him.
When Fletcher saw Avery in the hall, her eyes went wide. The news of the previous night's attack hadn't spread yet, but he knew that she knew. She made a beeline for him.
”Hey, Fletch.” She pulled him out of the flow of students. ”You okay?”
”Did your dad tell you what happened?”
Avery looked around. ”A little bit. Did he-” She reached out and touched his swollen cheekbone, her fingers so soft and gentle. ”Are you okay?”
There was a crackling overhead and then the three chimes that signaled an announcement. Some kids stopped and c.o.c.ked their heads toward the speakers, but most just continued ambling through the halls.
”Ladies and gentlemen,” Princ.i.p.al Corben's disembodied voice started, ”there will be a memorial to celebrate Adam Marshall's life this Friday at noon.”
The princ.i.p.al blathered on about the location and logistics, but Avery stopped listening. Her eyes were fixed on Fletcher, on his vacant expression. She watched him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing. The color slowly drained from his face, and Avery remembered what she had felt when her mother died. The community had ”memorialized” or ”commemorated” her mother's life, which included people dressed in their Sunday best with handkerchiefs pressed to their eyes or noses, and giant sprays of ugly flowers with ribbons with meaningless phrases like ”peaceful rest” and ”heartfelt sympathies.”
It was as if they were honoring someone else's life-not her mother's-because Avery had never seen half the people who attended. And her mother would have rolled her eyes at the cheesy, inspirational songs that were played, and the finger sandwiches and punch-two things her mother never touched-that were served.
The three tones sounded again at the end of Princ.i.p.al Corben's announcement, and Avery grabbed Fletcher's arm. ”Do you really want to go to cla.s.s?”
Going to cla.s.s had been all he wanted, but now he just wanted to feel Avery's touch. He didn't mind when she looked at him. He liked her attention.
”Where can we go?”
Her blue eyes scanned the rapidly emptying hall. She pulled him along the wall and out one of the side doors. ”Come on!”
She took off at a dead sprint, her backpack bobbing behind her. Fletcher ran to keep up, mildly surprised that Avery Templeton-search-party team lead, daughter of the chief of police-had a little bad girl in her. He was starting to like her even more.
”Okay,” she said breathing heavily and slowing to a walk. ”We're officially off school property.”
Fletcher glanced around. ”Isn't the student parking lot considered school property?”
She c.o.c.ked an eyebrow, and he recognized the expression as the same one the police chief made during interviews. But while the chief's look was pure authority, even with her hands on her hips and her legs spread slightly, Avery looked like a little girl trying to be big.
”Fine. We're officially off the learning part of school property.”
”Ah, manipulating the scene. Very nice.”
She rolled her eyes. ”Did you drive?”
Fletcher felt his cheeks burn red. ”Uh, no. My mom insists on driving me now. What about you?”
Avery jammed her hands in the pockets of her jeans and shrugged. ”I don't have a car.” She said something else under her breath and Fletcher leaned in to her.
”What'd you say?”
”I don't have a car.”
”After that.”
She looked away, tightened her ponytail, and hiked her backpack higher on her shoulders. ”I don't know how to drive.”
Fletcher felt himself smile. ”Are you ashamed? It's not a big deal.”
Avery looked stunned, her expression hardening to anger. ”I'm not ashamed. What do I need to drive for anyway? There's nowhere to go in this stupid town anyway.”
”I thought you were in driver's ed with Adam last year.”
She shrugged him off. ”Cars are death traps.”
”You know what happened to your mom was an accident.”
Avery's nostrils flared. ”I know that.”
Fletcher held up his hands, palms out. ”Hey, I'm sorry.” He stopped talking when Avery hitched her chin and started walking toward the edge of the lot. He jogged to catch up with her, and they fell into a companionable silence for several blocks.