Page 11 of What Have You Done?

‘Oh,’ Riley had said.

‘Exactly. I’m not going to narrow my options to accommodate him. I mean, I love him, but I don’t think it’s a forever kind of thing for me.’ She’d looked troubled. ‘I don’t want to go to the same college. I’m not ready to settle down. But how do I tell him that? He’s so sweet, and he adores me. We’re so happy together. And I don’t want to hurt him.’

‘But you have to tell him, somehow,’ Riley had said. ‘And maybe the sooner the better.’ This was said partly out of selfishness; she didn’t really like it that Diana had started spending so much time with Cameron and spending less time with her.

‘I don’t know. College is still almost a year away,’ Diana had said. Then she’d added, her brow furrowing, ‘But the longer I let it go on, the harder it’s going to be.’

Riley thinks now about the advice she’d given Diana and suddenly feels sick to her stomach. She blurts out, ‘Diana was thinking about breaking up with him.’

‘What?’ Evan looks shocked. ‘Why do you think that?’

‘Because he was insisting they go to the same college next year, and she didn’t want to.’ She tells him, ‘Diana went out with him last night, after her mother left for work – I told the police that. I showed them her text to me about it. He was going to pick her up. Should I have told them she was thinking of breaking up with him?’ She suddenly feels her face go bloodless. ‘Maybe she broke up with him last night.’

Evan looks back at her, his expression appalled at what she’s implying. ‘Cameron wouldn’t hurt her.’

‘But – should they know? Should I tell them?’

He looks at her, uncertain.

She remembers the card the officer at the school gave her, nestled in the pocket of her jeans.

‘What are you going to do?’ Evan asks her now.

‘I don’t know.’

CHAPTER NINE

BRAD TURNER, THE gym teacher, has been sitting in the staff room with the other teachers since the entire school was dismissed at lunchtime. He’s trying to hold it together, like everybody else. It’s like an impromptu mini wake in the staff room; someone has brought in doughnuts, and they’re sitting around talking about Diana, remembering her, speculating about what happened to her, checking the online news on their phones. As Diana’s running coach, he probably knew her better than a lot of her other teachers did. He listens to everyone sing her praises.

She was such a good math student.

She wanted to be a vet. She would have made a good one too.

Her poor mother – she’s a single mother, and Diana was her only child. She’ll be all alone now.

Who could have done such a terrible thing?

I hope they catch the bastard that killed her.

Brad says, ‘She was such a talented athlete. The best runner on the cross-country team.’

The others look at him sympathetically and nod.

She was such a nice girl.

So much potential.

He can’t listen to any more. He gets up from his chair in the staff lounge and makes his way, for the second time, toward the school office. He wants to talk to Principal Kelly alone, if he can. Last time he checked, there were still some students waiting to talk to the police officers. Now the students are all gone, but the door to the principal’s office is closed and the blinds are still pulled down. He wonders if Kelly is in there, and whether he is alone.

Just then, the door opens. Two state police officers emerge, with Kelly trailing behind them. Brad ducks into the corridor to his left before he is seen and makes his way back in the direction of the staff room. On the way he stops at one of the staff bathrooms. He’s relieved when he finds it empty. He desperately needs a minute alone, where no one can see him, where he doesn’t have to pretend that none of this particularly affects him.

He stands at one of the sinks and stares at himself in the mirror, allows his fear and panic to show for a moment, distorting his usually handsome, confident face. He stares at himself as if mesmerized. Is this really happening? He splashes cold water on his face, over and over. When he straightens up again, he realizes that he is trembling, that he has splashed water on his dark shirt, and it shows. His heart is racing. He must pull himself together.

He dries his face carefully with a paper towel and decides to make his way back to the staff room. But in a minute. He needs a little more time.

Friday, Oct. 21, 2022, 2 p.m.

I’m home again, back in my bedroom, writing on my laptop because I don’t know what else to do.

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