Everyone is asleep. They won’t even know.
1:30. Meet me at the back door.
My stomach drops reading the messages.
“Who was she speaking to?” I ask the girls, struggling to conceal the concern in my voice.
“Guys online.”
“But it sounds like this person knows the school. They knew she was here.”
“It’s some high school guy, but he went to Manning Academy before. That’s how he knew where to go.”
They don’t even know the guy’s name. He could be someone else entirely, and for a moment, I’m overwhelmed by the naivety of young girls.
“Why didn’t any of you tell me about this?”
“We didn’t want to get in trouble,” Beatrice says. “And we didn’t want to get Evie in trouble.”
I look at Beth. Her face is completely red, tears streaming out her eyes.
“Is this true?” I ask her. “Was Evie planning to meet a boy that night?”
“She never said anything about it to me,” Beth says.
“Well she wouldn’t. You’re her goody-goody friend,” Amber says, seething with cruelty. “She was trying to impress us.”
“Why haven’t you told the police about this? Your parents?”
“None of us want to get involved,” Tara says.
“Well, you don’t have control over that anymore.”
“Coach, no. You can’t do this to us.”
“Evie could be in danger. She could have been kidnapped!”
“That’s not what happened,” Beatrice shouts.
“The police will have to make that decision,” I say, handing over her phone. “Meeting dismissed.”
THIRTY-FOUR
I convinced one of the teacher’s assistants to cover my afternoon classes. Armed with the information uncovered from the team meeting, I lock myself away in my office, making phone calls.
The first person I contact is Detective Fields.
“And they couldn’t provide any names or details about the person Evie contacted?” she asks me after I’ve shared everything I’ve learned.
“No, but they showed me screenshots.”
“What were their conversations about?”
I cringe at the recollection. “They were sexual in nature. Photos were exchanged. The last conversation took place the night of the lock-in, and they discussed meeting up with one another.”
Detective Fields is quiet on the other end of the phone, and I can imagine her sitting at a cluttered desk taking notes. “What kinds of pictures?”
“Nothing graphic,” I say. “At least what I saw. But it was definitely a picture of Evie.”