Caitlin's eyes, Dance noticed, were focused away and then her gaze shifted to Dance. Not knowing who she was--probably thinking she was another reporter--she began to gather her books. Two of the other girls followed their friend's troubled eyes and rose in a phalanx to give cover so Caitlin could escape.
But they then noticed Dance's body armor and weapon. And grew cautious, pausing.
"Caitlin," Dance called.
The girl stopped.
Dance approached and showed her ID, introduced herself. "I'd like to talk to you."
"She's pretty tired," a friend said.
"And upset."
Dance smiled. To Caitlin she said, "I'm sure you are. But it's important that I talk to you. If you don't mind."
"She shouldn't even be in school," another girl said. "But she's taking classes out of respect to Trish and Vanessa."
"That's good of you." Dance wondered how attending summer school honored the dead.
The curious icons of adolescents . . .
The first friend said firmly, "Caitlin's, like, really, really--"
Dance turned to the frizzy-haired brunette, her personality brittle, lost the smile and said bluntly, "I'm speaking to Caitlin."
The girl fell silent.
Caitlin mumbled, "I guess."
"Come on over here," Dance said pleasantly. Caitlin followed her across the lawn and they sat at another picnic table. She clutched her book bag to her chest and was looking around the campus nervously. Her foot bobbed and she tugged at an earlobe.
She appeared terrified, even more so than Tammy.
Dance tried to put her at ease. "So, summer school."
"Yeah. My friends and me. Better than working, or sitting home."
The last word has been delivered in a tone that suggested a fair amount of parental hassle.
"What're you studying?"
"Chemistry and biology."
"That's a good way to ruin your summer."
She laughed. "It's not so bad. I'm kinda good at science."
"Headed for med school?"
"I'm hoping."
"Where?"
"Oh, I don't know yet. Probably Berkeley undergrad. Then I'll see."
"I spent time up there. Great town."
"Yeah? What'd you study?"