Page 98 of All These Beautiful Strangers
My father didn’t answer.
“You and Jake were on the tennis team together, weren’t you?” Margot asked.
“I don’t remember,” my father said. He wasn’t looking at me or Margot. “As you said before, all of that seems like a lifetime ago.”
“But there’s a picture of the two of you together in the yearbook,” I said again. I wasn’t going to let it go. I wanted answers. I needed answers. “The two of you are standing together in Healy Quad, looking very friendly.”
“Where did you say this ghost of yours pops up?” Margot asked, cutting in.
“Usually around the old upperclassman dormitories at night,” Dalton said.
“I’m afraid your ghost can’t be Jake Griffin then,” Margot said.
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Because Jake Griffin didn’t die on campus,” Margot said.
“He didn’t?” I asked.
“Margot, please, this isn’t really suitable dinner table discussion,” my father said.
“Please, I want to hear,” I said. If he wasn’t going to give me any answers, maybe Margot would. “For the article,” I added.
“It’s school-related, Alistair,” Margot said. “I’m helping her with her homework.”
My father sighed and went back to sawing at his steak with a renewed vigor.
“They found him in the ravine off Spalding River,” Margot said. “Apparently, he got caught cheating, went up to the Ledge, and jumped. The poor boy drowned. They found his body a few days later.”
“That’s awful,” Dalton said.
“Yeah, it really hit campus hard,” Margot said. “Knollwood is a family, and Jake was one of our own. But I think it’s easy to forget when you’re not there, and you’re not in the grind of things, how much pressure you kids are under to perform. Knollwood is a tough school; not everyone is cut out for it.”
Something about Margot’s words made me dizzy. It was difficult to breathe.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I need to go to the restroom.”
“Are you okay, dear?” Margot asked. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
I stumbled out of the booth and tried to keep my legs steady as I walked, then ran, from the table. In the bathroom, I locked the stall door and leaned against it, breathing heavily.
The photographs in my mother’s case file of Jake and my father and Margot and their friends. They had been taken at the Ledge. How had I not recognized it before?
It was all coming together. All the variables were starting to add up:
First, there was that photograph of my father with Jake on Healy Quad.
Then there was my father’s denial that they were ever friends.
Next, the stolen exam—which hadn’t made sense to me at first, because according to everyone, Jake had been a terrific student.
Finally, there was the clearing above Spalding River from which Jake had allegedly jumped.
All of these clues added up to one thing: Jake had been in the A’s. He had been an initiate—like me. And of course, my father, Margot—they had been A’s too, I was sure of it. Some of those pictures from my mother’s case file—those were their initiation pictures, like the ones Leo and I had taken in the back of Ren’s car.
What if the stolen exam had been Jake’s ticket, and he had failed? He had been caught cheating. Facing expulsion, he had gone up to the Ledge above Spalding River. The only question was, was he alone? Had he jumped of his own volition, or was he forced to his watery grave below?
