The Prized Girl

He steadied his feet. “You have to go change. They don’t give you a lot of time here for this one.”

“I know, I just wanted to give you something.” She reached into a slit in her costume and pulled out the note, folded up into a small square.

“A note for me?” He beamed.

“Yup.” She handed it over. “Don’t read it yet. Wait till after the show, OK?”

“OK.”

“’K, gotta run.”

“Good luck,” he said as she ran backstage.

LINDA PULLED JENNY’S HAIR back so tight under the bunny ears she thought she might cry. Not an emotional cry, but an uncontrollable release of pain. Large pink satin bunny ears were affixed firmly to her head with about twenty bobby pins. Whiskers were drawn on her face with a thick eye pencil, then highlighted with sequins. One more light pass of translucent powder over Jenny’s face and Linda was satisfied.

“Perfect.” She glowed.

FROM THE WINGS, Jenny caught a glimpse of Benjy, two rows back on the far aisle. He was staring down into his lap. Benjy usually never took his eyes off the stage. She wasn’t even sure he blinked. Jenny nudged forward to get a better look.

It was her note. She should have just let him read the note when she gave it to him. Linda could have waited another five minutes. He began unfolding it.

Another girl finished smiling, waving, and bunny-hopping around the stage. Jenny was next. She edged closer to the curtain without taking her eyes off Benjy as he read. His face twisted, and then he was out of his chair, head tucked down, running for the exit.

In a split second, Jenny was running backstage. She excused herself through her peers, who were shocked to see the one to beat bailing in a panic. She slipped out into the hallway just in time to see Benjy close himself in the janitorial closet down the hall.

She ran toward the closet, heels clacking on the tile floor. As she reached the door, she heard her name announced onstage. She hesitated only a second. She was going to be disqualified. Linda was going to have a panic attack.

Jenny knocked softly on the closet door. “Benjy, it’s Jenny. Can I come in?”

“Go away.”

“It’s going to be OK. I’m coming in.”

She slowly opened the door. Benjy was sitting in the corner next to a mop bucket, his arms wrapped around his knees. Jenny knelt down beside him and put her hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t want to make you upset. I just wanted to tell you, because you’re my friend.”

“We’re friends?”

“Of course,” she said.

“You’re so good at pageants. Why do you want to stop?”

“I don’t like it. It’s almost every weekend on the road with only my mother. They’re all the same. I just want to try something else.”

“Your mom’s gonna be real mad.”

“I know. Now give me a hug and let’s go finish this one.” She wrapped her arms around him. His hug was soft and encompassing. Jenny felt calm and quiet for the first time in a long time until the door flung open. She lunged away from Benjy, but it was too late. They’d been seen.

Linda’s scream filled the hall. The sound was piercing. “Get away from her!” she screeched. “Someone call the police!” Linda grabbed Jenny by the arm, pulling her like a rag doll out of the closet. She slammed the door closed, trapping Benjy inside.

“Mom, stop! He’s harmless.” Jenny tried to pull her mom away from the door to free Benjy, but her solid thighs were too much. Linda didn’t budge.

“Call the police!” Linda screamed again.

Benjy was banging on the door from the inside.

“Let him out! You’re scaring him.” Jenny punched her mother in the stomach, her satin bunny ears flopping back and forth.

A crowd gathered around. No one was sure what to do. Jenny was pageant royalty, her mom the queen. The pageant director pushed through the spectators. He grabbed Jenny by both arms and pulled her from her mother.

“Linda, what’s going on?”

“Call the police. A pervert was attacking my daughter and I’ve trapped him in here.”

“No! She’s lying.” Jenny flailed in the director’s arms and he tightened his grip.

“Take Jenny away. I’ll handle this,” he said to Linda, and they exchanged prisoners, Jenny for Benjy.

Linda squeezed her arms so tight her fingernails broke Jenny’s skin. She dragged her daughter toward the exit while Jenny scrambled her feet, unsuccessfully trying to regain control of her body.

“I hate pageants!” Jenny screamed toward the gawkers. “You’re the perverts, not him.” Jenny had never acted like this. She was a rabid animal. “I’m never doing one of these ever again. Do you hear me?” And with that, Linda shoved her out the door. Jenny’s last pageant.

JENNY AGREED TO see the school guidance counselor, Ms. Willoughby, as a compromise with her parents for skipping cheerleading tryouts. Linda thought with a little counseling Jenny would change her mind. Her father didn’t care so much about cheerleading as long as Jenny replaced it with some sort of extracurricular activity. His exact phrasing was, “I won’t let that school cultivate your lack of ambition like it did for your sister,” which was his pretentious way of saying Virginia had done nothing then, so she did nothing now, as if a semester of volleyball was the solution.

The most interesting thing about Ms. Willoughby was that she was dating Mr. Renkin, and the halls echoed with rumors of students catching them hooking up. Jenny sat outside Ms. Willoughby’s office waiting for her turn, but when the door was flung open, it wasn’t another misguided student; it was the man himself, Mr. Renkin.

“Jenny …” He stopped in his tracks.

“Hi.”

“Hope you aren’t in any trouble,” he said, winking as if the idea were impossible. That was annoying. He didn’t know anything about her. She just looked at him, no need for further conversation. He brushed it off and continued on his way.

Jenny stood and poked her head into Ms. Willoughby’s office. It was depressing; there wasn’t even a window. She sat at a small desk, rubbing her forehead and staring blankly at the papers on her desk.

“Ms. Willoughby?” Jenny said, not sure if she should be interrupting.

The counselor looked up. “Oh, Jenny, come in.”

Jenny took a seat as Ms. Willoughby shuffled the papers away.

“So, what brings you to see me?”

“My parents wanted me to. I skipped cheerleading tryouts and now they’re worried I’m becoming a delinquent.”

“Are you?”

Jenny couldn’t help but laugh. “My mother thinks you’re going to convince me to do it.”

“I’m not here to convince you of anything. I think you should only do what you feel comfortable with. I’m just here to help.”

“Were you a cheerleader?” Jenny asked, wondering if the pretty blonde woman in front of her had walked in her shoes and survived.

“Not quite.” Ms. Willoughby glanced down and smiled, slipping momentarily into her own memories. “You’re at a difficult age. How old are you? Fourteen?”

“Next month.”

“Some people are exactly who they are from the day they’re born, but for most of us, we change, and that’s completely normal. Don’t be afraid to change, even if other people give you a hard time.”

“My mom’s not going to like that advice.”

“Well, sometimes it’s hard for a parent to look at their own child objectively. Just know that someday you’re going to move out of that house. You’ll be on your own, and if you let your parents make all your decisions, you won’t be prepared.”

This woman was basically telling her to disobey her parents but in a totally alluring way that made it seem not only appropriate but also a sign of maturity. Jenny was into it. None of her friends talked like this. Their idea of the future was next semester.

“Nothing that you do right now has to be a life sentence,” she continued, like Jenny’s desire for her to keep talking was palpable. “Try new things. Let old things go. Whatever feels right to you.”

Jenny only heard what she wanted to hear. It was a green light, permission to trust her own instincts.

THE HOUSE WAS pitch-black as Jenny crept down the stairs from her bedroom into the living room. She hadn’t heard a peep from Linda in over an hour, and her father was in New York. She ran her hand against the wall until she reached a small accent lamp on the closest end table.

The lamp gave off just enough light for her to see her way around the living room. Behind the couch, along the wall under a large bay window, was an alcohol cabinet. It stretched the five-foot length of the window and doubled as a table for Linda’s expansive Christmas village during the holidays. The rest of the year, Linda kept the top barren, like nothing else was worthy of such prominent display.

This was Jenny’s first attempt at sneaking out, and she had a newfound appreciation for the almost wall-to-wall carpeting in the house. She slid the cabinet open, revealing an assortment of bottles that she couldn’t distinguish. She pulled out the first one, a dark brown color, bourbon. She unscrewed the top, took a whiff, and gagged. She returned it and opted for a much less offensive bottle of peppermint schnapps.

Her bag was too small, and the end of the bottle poked out from under her arm as she slid through the kitchen and out the garage door, the exit farthest from her mother’s bedroom.

THERE WERE NO STREETLIGHTS, but the moon was full and it adequately lit her path. JP was waiting at the bottom of the hill where they had agreed on. When he saw her, he flicked his cigarette behind him.

“Did you have any trouble?” he asked.

“No, my mom is dead to the world.”

“She’s not going to come down the road screaming, is she?”

“No.” Jenny laughed, praying it was the truth.

“You wanna go to my place?”

“Is your uncle going to be there?” Everyone knew JP’s uncle Boomer. He was a local celebrity, a harmless old drunk with splotchy red skin who always wore shorts, even in the dead of winter.

“Nah, he’s gone. I don’t know where he went. Been a couple days.”

“OK,” she agreed, ready to take the next step in her rebellion and follow him up the hill.

THE TREES LINING the dirt road seemed taller at night. The woods weren’t particularly dense, serving more as privacy than an unforgiving maze, but that didn’t make them any less scary at night. She sped up to walk closer to JP, causing the liquor in her bag to slosh around.

“What do you got in there?” he asked.

“Oh, I took this from the house.” She pulled the bottle out and presented it to him.

“What are you going to do with that?” He laughed.

“I just thought we could have a couple drinks.”

“You don’t have to try and impress me, you know?” he said without looking back at her.

“I’m not.”

“Drinking is no good. Makes you do bad things.”

“Not all the time. Sometimes it’s just fun.”

“Says who?”

“I don’t know. Everyone.”

“That’s my house,” he announced, pointing through a patch of trees and changing the subject.

BOOMER’S HOUSE WAS, as she’d expected, in shambles: old worn furniture, empty beer cans, a distinctive stale smell. “We can sit out back,” JP insisted as soon as they were inside, leading her around a stained plaid couch to the sliding door to the backyard.

As they stepped outside, a motion-sensor floodlight lit up the overgrown lawn. There were two rusty lawn chairs, a cooler, and a lot of cigarette butts. Jenny had zero interest in sitting on one of the rusty chairs but didn’t want to seem high-maintenance. Maybe she would get tetanus, but she was sneaking out to hang with a boy. Bad things were supposed to happen.

He reached into the cooler, sifted past a few beers, and pulled out a Sprite. “In case you get sick of the schnapps.”

Jenny took the soda, relieved she didn’t have to drink the alcohol. “You like living here?” she asked.

“It’s OK. Better than my grandma’s place.” He cracked open a Sprite of his own.

“You think you’ll stay here for a while?”

“I bet you’d like that.” He smirked. “You ever get out of this town?”

“I used to travel a lot for pageants.” She cringed as soon as she said it.

“Pageants? Are you a little beauty queen?”

“Not anymore.”

“Fair enough. I got a cousin in Mexico. You ever been there?”

“No. Not even close.”

“I’m gonna go there. Soon. Once I get the money.”

“How much money?” She hoped for an insurmountable amount that would keep him there with her forever.

“Probably like a few grand. My cousin can get me a job once I get there. I’ll just do that until I’m eighteen. Then I’ll come back and join the marines. What about you? You got a plan?”

“I’m only thirteen.”

“So what? You gotta have a plan. That’s how you know you’re living your life and not someone else’s. You make the plan, then you stick to it. If you can’t follow through, then what’s the point?” JP chugged the rest of his Sprite, crushed the can, and threw it into the tall grass. “You wanna see something?”

“Sure.”

He hopped up and led her toward the edge of the lawn, where the woods began. Jenny was not a fan of the woods at night, but she had to make a choice. Was she going to be a little girl who ran back home, or was she finally going to experience something?

He slowed to a stop as he approached the rock wall bordering the first trees and she was relieved. That is, until he reached behind the wall and pulled out a knife.

Jenny retreated, and he seemed to regret not prefacing it. “It’s OK, don’t worry,” he said. “It’s just a machete.” He laid it across both hands and presented it to her in a nonthreatening way. She inched closer to inspect the weapon.

“Why do you have that?” she asked.

“Gotta have a weapon. In case anyone fucks with you.” He stepped back from her as he gripped the handle and waved the knife around with calculated precision. “There’s lots of bad people out there, Jenny.” He whacked the machete into the closest tree. “You know what happened to my mom?” he asked.

“What?”

“Killed. Ex-boyfriend. Beat her to death.” He pulled the knife out of the tree. “I was pretty young. I don’t really remember it. I kind of remember hiding, but I don’t know. Maybe I just think I remember.” He inspected the surface of his weapon, brushing off a sliver of bark.

Jenny wasn’t sure what to say. His story was so personal and so terrifying.

“I was too young to do anything, you know? Only four. It’s not like I could have stopped him.”

“Yeah, of course,” she said when she realized her silence was causing him some discomfort. It wasn’t her intention. Not at all. She wanted to comfort him, but she couldn’t find the right words and he didn’t seem receptive to a hug, standing there gripping his machete. “What happened after?”

“I had to move in with my grandma. She sucked. She always talked so much shit about my mom, but I know most of it wasn’t true. I think she was just pissed to be stuck with me. Boomer says my mom was really nice.”

“I’m sure she was.”

“Yeah, doesn’t matter now. Now it’s just me. But see, that’s why you need a plan. So you don’t end up like her.” He slid the machete back behind the rock, and Jenny was happy to see it go.

“C’mon, it’s getting late,” he said, giving her permission to run home.

Chapter Seven

Virginia

DETECTIVE COLSEN STOOD in my doorway two hours before I was ready to get up and start the day. He was already in a suit; I was in an oversized T-shirt and boxer shorts. He shoved a newspaper in my face and maneuvered past me and into my apartment uninvited.

It had been a long time since I held a newspaper and even longer since a man was in my apartment. I thought newspapers were a lost art, but there I was with my blurred-out middle fingers on the cover juxtaposed nicely with one of Jenny’s glamour shots. The subtle headline read, Jealous Sister Disrespects Dead Girl.

“You want to explain this?” he asked.

“Which part?” I threw the paper down on my makeshift coffee table that was technically a TV stand and flopped down on the couch.

“This is not the kind of attention we need right now.” He shook his head and helped himself to a seat next to me. It was too close for comfort, but my apartment didn’t have any other real seating.

“You can’t blame me for this. It should have said, Grieving Sister Hates Asshole Reporters.”

“They’re saying it because you skipped the funeral.”

“I made an appearance.”

“It rubbed people the wrong way. And now, the only time you visited your parents since the murder, you stayed for one hour, then reacted like this.” He pointed back to my cover photo.

“So what? I don’t like them. What do you want me to do?”

“Look, I know who did it. You know who did it. Everyone knows who did it, but the longer it takes us to find him, the more people get restless. They need to have something to talk about, to keep the story going, to point out other suspects.”

“So, now I’m a suspect?”

“No, no, you’re not a suspect. I’m just saying—”

“Why not? I could have done it. A lot of people could have done it. I think putting all your eggs in one basket is pretty shitty detective work.” I was only half awake and not in the mood to be scolded.

“Look, Virginia, I know you like the attention, but this is what I do, and when your antics interfere with me doing my job, we have a problem.”

“Attention” was such a weapon word, a grenade thrown out to get under my skin. I wanted to inform him I was perfectly capable of dying alone in a bunker, but regardless of my intentions, I was getting attention, and I didn’t like it either.

“What do you suggest?” I asked with as little sarcasm as I could manage.

“Just lie low. Look sad when you go outside. Visit your parents more. No bullshit.”

“OK,” I said and waited for him to leave. He didn’t budge.

“Do you have any coffee?” he asked, almost settling in.

The question caught me off guard and I think I made a stink face. I wasn’t sure what had just happened. The authority under which he arrived was blurring into something personal. I couldn’t ignore the invasive permission he granted himself because, what? I had smiled at him a few times? “I don’t have any coffee.”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry,” he said, standing. He seemed genuinely enlightened and subsequently embarrassed, and then I just felt bad. Maybe his intentions were not as seedy as I had been eager to assume.

“I think I have some tea?”

“Yeah?” he timidly confirmed the offer.

“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled.

The problem with a studio apartment is that it’s difficult to excuse yourself from a situation. In a regular apartment, getting the tea would have been a welcomed momentary escape into the kitchen. Instead, I stood and walked four feet to the kitchenette as he watched me the whole way.

I took a mug from next to the sink, filled it with tap water, and stuck it in the microwave.

“So, what do you do around here for fun?” he asked, raising his voice over the hum of the microwave.

I shrugged. “There is a bowling alley about twenty minutes away.”

“You like to bowl?”

“No. Did you mean me specifically? I thought you meant ‘you’ as in ‘you people.’”

“I mean you specifically.”

Anything I said he was going to turn into something we could do together. In a different world, maybe even just a different time, I suppose his interest could be welcomed.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to think about now, after Jenny.” I was going to hell for using Jenny’s death as a diversion, but it did the trick.

“I understand,” he said as the microwave went off.

I pulled open a drawer full of ketchup packets and plastic utensils and riffled around for a tea bag.

“Sorry, I can’t find any tea bags. I thought I had a few, but they aren’t in here.” I shut the drawer and looked at him, unsure of what to do next.

“It’s OK. Next time, maybe.”

“Maybe.”

He nodded and smiled without looking directly at me before excusing himself out the front door. Before it closed, I saw what I was too groggy to see when he first got there. The news vans were now parked on my street.

I would listen. I would lie low as instructed. I couldn’t afford to be part of the story. There was too much that I needed to stay hidden.

Chapter Eight

Jenny

THE FALL KICKOFF DANCE was a noble tradition. The school moved the tables out of the cafeteria, hired a DJ, and charged all the eighth and ninth graders twenty-five dollars to occasionally dance, but mostly huddle in groups and whisper rumors about each other.

Jenny stepped through cheap streamers hanging from the doorway onto the tiled floors built to easily mop up the sticky remnants of two hundred teenagers a day. The overhead lights were off, and two spinning lights from the DJ table projected moving color streams over the young faces.

“Jenny!” Mallory screamed across the dance floor. The sea of inferior students parted at the sound of her voice, giving Jenny direct access to join her friends.

“You’re late,” Nora chimed in from behind Mallory.

“Yeah,” Mallory took over. “We had to come in. We couldn’t wait for you outside all night.”

“Sorry,” Jenny said, lacking all sincerity. “Did I miss anything?”

“Not really. Laura already called dibs on Josh, so don’t even consider him,” Mallory dictated.

“OK.”

“And Krystal, I really think you should go flirt with Chris Hodges. You two would look good together. He’s tall like you.”

“Chris is so dumb, though,” Krystal protested. “They’re pulling him out of English.”

“So what?” Mallory objected. “You’re not getting married. You just have to get experience and he’s cute enough.”

“What about you?” Jenny asked Mallory, buying time before she inevitably saddled her with a match.

“I’m into older guys. Christine Castleton says there are so many seniors talking about me. Even Kevin Neary.” She beamed.

“I’m into older guys too,” Jenny insisted, hoping there was room for two in that excuse.

“Bullshit,” Mallory scoffed. She had the kind of natural intelligence that would get her far in life without trying and make her unstoppable if she ever did. Everything came easy, which gave her a lot of free time in that mind of hers. Romantically pairing her peers was her current obsession, running scenarios to calculate the most interesting combinations to her and then orchestrating them into existence.

“Don’t be scared, Jenny. Just relax and have a good time. Let’s dance,” she commanded before leading her gaggle to the center of the dance floor.

Mallory and Nora began grinding on each other for the benefit of a group of boys leaning, arms crossed, against the wall. The boys didn’t even pretend to look away as Mallory and Nora rotated between duck faces in their direction and giggling with each other.

Laura and Krystal began their own form of seduction before merging with Mallory and Nora. Jenny tried her best to just sway back and forth, under the radar, praying for a chaperone to bust up this pretend orgy so she could retreat to the snack table, but that wasn’t going to happen. The sorry excuses for chaperones were a group of overachieving high school volunteers, Ms. Willoughby and this girl Karen’s mom, who were selling the tickets out front, and two teachers who must have pulled the short straw. Mr. Cole, the assistant gym teacher, was eating all the snacks, and Mr. Renkin stood guard by the DJ table. He was the only one paying attention to what was happening on the dance floor, but he didn’t seem bothered at all by what was transpiring and wouldn’t be coming to Jenny’s aid anytime soon.

“C’mon, Jenny,” Mallory said, reaching out and pulling her in. Jenny glanced over at the boys, their arms crossed, elbowing each other and smirking. Her eyes met those of a kid named Carter. He was the younger brother of a popular senior and a bit of a ring leader among the ninth grade boys. The unintended eye contact was enough to put the boys on the move.