Page 27 of Before She Disappeared

“Maybe he’s batshit ugly.”

Marjolie huffs out a breath, turns to me. “Kyra just likes to pretend she knows Angel the best. Summer before last year, I was the one who spent two months with Angel at the rec center; there were no boys. I mean, no one special.”

“Did Angelique have a job?”

“Babysitting. But she also helped out with her brother, so it’s not like she had tons of time.”

“But you’re saying she returned to school in the fall different? How so?”

More exchanged glances.

“I think Stella found her groove,” Kyra drawled.

Marjolie shook her head. “She was just—”

“Distracted. Big-time.” Kyra again. “She started giving me class notes with only half the material. And when I asked, it was like she didn’t even know. She’d, like, space out or something. From Mrs. Brain Trust to Mrs. Wish You Were Here.”

“Did she seem scared distracted? Or dreamy distracted?”

“Distant,” Marjolie murmured. “She seemed distant, but also like... more solidly herself. Like she was alone, even when she was with us, but to her, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.”

I think I understand. Together but separate. I know that feeling well.

Across the street, the bell tones at a more insistent volume. The girls edge toward the street. Their classmates are already departing, exhorting fierce gravitational pull. I speak faster.

“She changed her clothes that Friday after school. Do you know why?”

Both girls shake their heads, take a couple more steps. I quickly follow.

“Did you see her after she changed? Maybe she’d put on a dress, date clothes?”

More negative head shakes. More shifting sideways.

“Okay, okay, one last question, side door of the school. The one you guys use for smuggling in contraband, how do you prop it open? Is there a rock, stick, pencil for jamming the lock?”

Both girls startle, stare at me.

“You need to go, I need answers. Quick.”

My insistent tone, combined with the demanding bell, does the trick.

“Can’t prop it open,” Marjolie murmurs rapidly, voice low. “The janitor checks. Kids bring a friend or two. Couple of kids do the spotting, while the third runs out and grabs... whatever.”

“So when Angelique went back into the school Friday afternoon, which of you held the door?”

Kyra and Marjolie draw up short, faces paling.

“What?” Marjolie asks first.

“The police know she reentered the school using the side door in order to change her clothes. Then she hid her backpack. The police already know that. You’re not ratting her out. Please. Eleven months is long enough. It’s time to put it all on the line.”

“The police never mentioned—” Kyra, already sounding angry.

“The police don’t disclose information. But I can. Help me, and I’ll keep you informed.” I’m begging, pleading. One last shrill alarm from inside the school, followed by cars honking on the street, where we’re now holding up traffic.

I want to grab Marjolie’s arm but will myself not to. They know something. Not about the side door, which has appeared to catch them completely off guard. But about the new Angelique who returned from summer vacay. I need to know that something. Detective Lotham has his surveillance videos. I have this.

“It wasn’t us,” Marjolie says suddenly. “We didn’t do it. We didn’t even know she went back inside. When the police said they found her backpack on the school grounds, we wondered.” She flickers a glance a Kyra. “But we honestly had no idea.”

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