Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

“But I—”

“Emily, I can’t remember what we did in class yesterday, all right? I marked you as present. You were here as far as I’m concerned. Take the win.”

She watched him turn his back as he wiped the chalkboard clean. He was in great shape because he ran all the time, but that was where the discipline ended. His pants were wrinkled. His shirt was sweat-stained under the arms. His hair was unbrushed. When he turned back around, his eyes were bloodshot because he hadn’t used the bottle of Visine on his desk.

The low lights of the dashboard. The song on the radio. The tear in Ricky’s green dress.

“Em?” He leaned his hands on his desk. “For the love of God, what’s up with you today? No offense, but you look like I feel, which is pure shit.”

“I—” She tried to recall what Cheese had said. Ease into it. Don’t be accusatory. She sat down in the front row of desks, trying to appear casual. “Do you remember when you picked me up from Nardo’s last month?”

Immediately, he looked and acted guilty. His eyes narrowed. He walked over to the door and closed it. He turned to face her. “I thought I told you that we weren’t going to talk about that.”

Emily pressed her pen to paper. Her hand started moving.

“What are you writing?” Mr. Wexler snapped. “Jesus, why are you—”

She recoiled as he ripped the pen out of her hand.

He demanded, “What the hell is going on?”

“You—” She felt like she was spinning out of control. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Don’t confront. Don’t accuse. “My grandmother saw you. That night. She recognized your car.”

He looked crestfallen as he sank down into the desk beside her. “Fuck.”

“She—she asked me about it last night. She asked why I was in your car that late because she knows you’re a teacher.”

He put his head in his hands. His voice was strained when he asked, “Did she tell your parents?”

Emily could see that he was afraid, which meant the power had shifted slightly in her direction. She needed to keep him vulnerable, so she answered, “Not yet. I asked her not to tell them, but …”

Mr. Wexler sat back in the chair. “We need to get our story straight in case she does. When she does, because you know she’ll tell eventually.”

Emily could only nod.

Like that, the power shifted back in his direction.

“Okay.” He turned toward her, leaning forward on his elbows. “What did your grandmother see exactly?”

“That I—” Emily knew she needed to strategize, but she was at a loss. “I got out of your car and it was late and I was upset.”

Mr. Wexler nodded his head. She heard the rough scrape of his unshaven face as he scratched his cheek. “All right, well, that’s not a lot.”

Emily kept her mouth tightly shut. Cheese had told her that guilty people wanted to talk. She needed to wait for Mr. Wexler to talk.

“Okay,” he repeated, picking up her pen and handing it back to her. “This is what we’re going to tell them.”

Emily pressed the ballpoint to a clean sheet of paper.

“Nardo called me for help. You were wigged out. They were all stoned. I drove over to get you and take you home. All that stuff that happened between me and Clay—” He waved his hand. “Forget about it. It’s our word against his and no one is going to believe him.”

Clay?

“And I drove you home,” Mr. Wexler finished. “End of story. Okay?”

“But—” Emily cast around for a way to elicit more information. “It’s not just Clay we have to worry about, right? Nardo and Blake were there. And Ricky. Ricky was there.”

“Ricky was passed out on the front lawn when I drove up,” Mr. Wexler said. “I don’t know where Nardo and Blake were. Could they see us from inside the house? There’s windows overlooking the pool area, right?”