Bellamy Rising Page 17

  “I, uh, I think the murderer is . . . I have no idea how to put this.” I cleared my throat and began again. “I think Jenna’s murder was inspired by a poem.”

  They both blinked at me.

  Lewis cleared his throat and put his hands on his hips, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “How do you figure that?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Just Google it. ‘Porphyria’s Lover’ by Robert Browning.”

  “Okay,” Jackson said, rubbing her puffy eyes. “We’ll get to work on this. Where did you say the house was?”

  “Go all the way down Larkin Lane. You won’t be able to miss it.”

  She nodded. “Great. I’ll send an officer out there now. You can go. We will contact you if we need anything more.”

  Before I had time to leave, a different officer came over and handed Jackson a piece of paper. “We’ve got a positive ID on the body.”

  “Let’s go,” Lewis said.

  Officer Jackson cleared her throat. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone that we’ve got an ID.”

  “Okay,” I said, feeling very much like I might throw up as I walked out of the building and went home.

  Chapter 31

  The next day, I went back to school. I was determined to notice every tiny detail and find something to help me put the pieces together. I waited through homeroom and first period to see if an announcement was made about Riley but there was nothing. I chewed my fingernails down to the quick, thinking that any moment, they’d tell us or release school or something.

  “Good morning, future seniors!” Mr. Holland came bursting into English with great enthusiasm. This was a person who really loved his job unlike some of my teachers, my English teacher for example.

  “Good morning,” we mumbled back. It sounded like “Gomoing.”

  His face grew somber. “Though we have heavy hearts, we must forge ahead. It’s what they would have wanted.”

  After a moment of silence, his smile returned. “As you no doubt realize, next year is a big year for you! You’ll be graduating and moving on to bigger and better things. Part of my job is to help you realize your vision and make it happen!”

  I groaned inwardly.

  “Today we are going to take a career aptitude test. Then I’ll meet with each one of you individually and we’ll discuss career paths and higher education. Isn’t that exciting?” He fairly beamed with joy.

  The room was so quiet you could hear crickets but that didn’t stop Mr. Holland. He chattered merrily as he passed out the tests. “You will find out the results of this very rad test when you come in for your meeting!”

  I couldn’t think of anything but Riley. I pictured her shy, smiling face as for the next half hour, I filled in bubbles that answered questions about whether or not I liked trying new foods or fixing computers. My real answers didn’t have corresponding bubbles.

  Do you enjoy motivating others? Not at all.

  Are you interested in knowing which fruits and vegetables are in season? Not even a little.

  Do you like to research and write reports? Uhhhh.

  Do you like to write essays, books, or plays? Maybe?

  Do you enjoy solving puzzles or mysteries? Enjoy? Not exactly. Yet I found myself doing just that.

  I finished the test and handed it in. Mr. Holland had gone on to pump up some more future seniors.

  I slumped in my seat and started to put my head down when I noticed Will, who sat a few rows over, leaned forward trying to get my attention.

  “What?” I mouthed.

  “Let’s skip.” He pointed his pencil at the door.

  I didn’t want to miss anything so I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  As soon as the bell rang, I bolted for the door. But Mrs. Smith stopped me, her eyebrows raised in hope. “Hi, Bellamy. How’s your extra-credit project?”

  Not wanting to disappoint her, I smiled. “Fine.”

  She breathed an obvious sigh of relief. “If you need any help, let me know!”

  “Sure.” I started to walk away.

  “Which poet did you choose?”

  I froze and wracked my brain. “Uh. Robert Browning.”

  Relieved, she smiled. “Great. Check out ‘Porphyria’s Lover.’ It’s one of my favorites.”

  “Yeah,” I said, trying not to grimace. If she only knew. “I’m gonna be late,” I said as I rushed from the room.

  After school, Iris met me at my car. “You okay? You’ve been totally distant lately.”

  Telling her was the obvious thing to do. But I worried that it might put her in danger. More than that, I was so close to finally getting somewhere and I was terrified that telling someone might jinx it. So I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. “Just have a lot on my mind. Career aptitude tests and all.”

  She groaned. “I took mine today too.”

  “Did you have your meeting with Mr. Holland?” I asked, trying to direct her attention away from me.

  “Not yet. I’m so dreading it.” She pulled some ChapStick out of her bag and rubbed it over her lips. “Did you hear the news?”

  “No. What is it?”

  “Ethan is officially not a suspect. He had an airtight alibi for the night Jenna died and the night Riley went missing.”

  I chewed on my lip. “Wow. I definitely hadn’t heard that.”

  “He’s not coming back, either. I guess he’s going to play ball at a private school.”

  “It’s going to be weird without him. Who will lead Cam and the jocks?” Cam hadn’t bothered me at all since the last time. He went out of his way to ignore me. I couldn’t say I minded.

  When I dropped Iris off, she asked, “Want to come in?”

  “I’m super tired.” I yawned, as if on cue.

  She didn’t try to hide her disappointment.

  “Next time, yeah?”

  Iris blew me a kiss. “Yeah.”

  I drove off, and at the end of her street, I put my blinker on to turn left instead of my usual right. Instead of going home, I got on the highway.

  Miss Octavia was less than surprised to see me. “I knew you’d be back,” she said in her soft, accented voice. “And here you are.”

  “I found a connection,” was all I needed to say. “I think I’m getting closer.”

  Miss Octavia ushered me inside and settled me at the table. She grabbed my hands and we sat quietly. She’d closed her eyes, but I left mine open. I wasn’t sure what to do and I became a little concerned that she had fallen asleep. I was about to say something when her eyes snapped open.

  “Child, you are in danger.”

  “I know.”

  “Listen carefully,” she said. “It is within you.”

  “What?”

  “Shhh. It’s just like your card. Just listen. It’s time for you to rise up.” She squeezed my hands.

  I took a deep breath. “How will I know what to do?”

  She smiled and touched her fingertips to my cheek. “You’ll know. Just listen.”

  When I got home, it was all over the news. Riley’s body had been identified.

  Chapter 32

  School was somber the next morning. Everything felt heavy. We gathered in the auditorium and had a moment of silence for Riley during first period. As Mr. J shared the details of her memorial, I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed that she’d be the last one. That RB would just stop and leave us in relative peace.

  Then, I had my meeting with Mr. Holland. The one that would surely set me on a career path.

  “Bellamy! Come in,” Mr. Holland greeted me. His eyes were red and puffy. “I know this is a very hard time for us here, but we must go on. There’s nothing else to do.” He shrugged and for a split-second, his lip wobbled but he pulled it
together with a bright, if a little forced, smile.

  I didn’t say anything. I just plopped down into one of the chairs across from him and dropped my bag into the other chair.

  He grabbed a file with my name written on it meticulously. I knew without looking that there were three hundred other similar files with the names of all the rising seniors printed on them in Mr. Holland’s very best handwriting. His worst handwriting was miles above my best handwriting.

  “First let’s go over the results of your career aptitude test.”

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.

  “According to the results, you would be well-suited for something with books, maybe a librarian or someone in publishing.”

  I blinked at him.

  “Does that sound exciting?”

  “Um. I mean, I guess I don’t hate reading.”

  He kept going. “There are some great library programs out there. Does that sound interesting?”

  When there was no response from me, he lowered his voice and softened his tone. “What is it that you want to do?”

  “If only I knew,” I said and smiled, bright and fake. In my head, I continued, If only I knew, I wouldn’t have taken this stupid test in the first place.

  Mr. Holland spent the next twenty minutes outlining my options. According to him, I was a great candidate for spending two years at community college and transferring to a university.

  “Great,” I said when he finished his spiel. I knew what he was really saying was “You are too dumb to go straight to university.”

  “Of course there are lots of ways to amp up those applications. There are lots of extracurricular opportunities at this school and colleges and universities like to see someone who’s well-rounded. We have drama club, choir, show choir, yearbook, art club, French club, the Green club, and lots more. What about yearbook?”

  “What about it?” I might have made a face.

  “Tell you what, come to a yearbook meeting and see what it’s all about.”

  “Uh, I’m not really sure what I want to do yet.”

  “This afternoon, last period in Room 115. I’ll write you a note.”

  Some time later, I left his office with an armful of college catalogs which I dumped into a trash can on my way back to class.

  By afternoon, I’d tried to talk my way out of going to the yearbook meeting. But I was very eager to get out of math, so right after the tardy bell rang I found myself standing in front of Room 115.

  I let myself in right before the bell rang and there was already an assortment of people gathered. They were buzzing with excitement.

  “This is yearbook,” a cheerleader named Maggie said to me in one of the snootiest tones I had ever heard.

  “Yeah, that’s why I’m here.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  I ignored her and peeled what was left of my navy-blue polish off my nails.

  Yearbook appeared to be one of the only places where people from every sub-group were present. Geeks, cheerleaders, drama people, art people, photography nuts, and me.

  We sat in a circle of desks. While everyone chatted, I scanned the room. Cheerleaders, of course. You had to have some popular people on the committee to make sure all the right people were featured in the hallowed text. Two nerd boys eagerly discussed Magic: The Gathering.

  “How does this work exactly? What’s going on?” I asked the girl with the friendly face next to me.

  “We are going over the final proofs today,” she squealed.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “We sent off our finished pages and we got the proof pages back today! We have to edit them and get our notes back to the publisher in a week for printing.”

  “That sounds kind of interesting.” I stifled a yawn. I would just have to tell Mr. Holland that I couldn’t do it. Too boring.

  “It’s so exciting!” the girl said. I had no idea what her name was. She kept eyeing my lip ring. I guess they weren’t used to having the slackers and stoners in yearbook or anywhere other than detention really.

  “Sounds very exciting,” I agreed. “When is that happening?”

  “Whenever Mr. Holland gets here with the proofs.” She smiled kindly but obviously thought I was an idiot.

  “He sponsors . . . like everything, doesn’t he?” I asked.

  “He’s very involved.” She turned to talk to the person on the other side of her.

  Scooting way down in my desk, I fiddled with the tips of my orange hair which had the same texture as hay from all the processing.

  Mr. Holland burst through the door waving a folder above his head. I assumed the holy proofs were in the folder. Of course he was the sponsor. Anyone with as much school spirit as he was the obvious choice of sponsor for yearbook, pep squad, and whatever else needed a sponsor.

  “Bellamy!” Mr. Holland shouted after he handed out sections of the proofs and assigned various tasks. “We are so glad you’re here.”

  Everyone turned to me. Literally the only person that seemed glad I was there was Mr. Holland. Everyone else just stared at me and there were a few dirty looks.

  “Um, thanks,” I mumbled and sunk down into my chair.

  “Just observe the excitement,” he encouraged. I blushed on his behalf for being so weird.

  The door opened again and in rushed a petite, mousy girl. A sophomore probably.

  “Ally Gilbert,” Mr. Holland said. “You’re late.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said timidly.

  His face softened. “We need to finish filing all the old photos. Would you take Bellamy and help with that?”

  “Bellamy?” she asked.

  He pointed over her shoulder at me.

  She hoisted her backpack up and made her way over to me. “Bellamy.”

  “That’s me.”

  “Cool name.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ally headed over to a row of filing cabinets on the back wall. I followed her.

  “Yearbook has its own classroom?” I asked.

  “Here.” She handed me a stack of pictures. “These are kind of sorted. They just need to be organized into each sport, etcetera. Just find the corresponding folder in the filing cabinets.”

  “Okay.” I guessed she wasn’t planning on answering my question.

  A full five minutes later, I was still filing sports pictures into a folder labeled with the entire list of sports played at this school when she answered my question. “We share it with the school newspaper and Latin.”

  I didn’t know what she was talking about for a minute. “Oh right, the room.”

  I filed away the last football photo after a good ten minutes of sorting through them. It was easy to tell which sport was the most popular. The next set of pictures were of the cheerleaders and Jenna was the shiniest one in every picture. I held up a picture and felt a shiver race down my spine when I realized that I had seen it before.

  Ally peered over my shoulder and sighed. “She was so beautiful.”

  “Did you know her?” I asked.

  “Sure, she was in yearbook.”

  “She was?”

  Ally took the picture from me and slipped it into a folder. “She was in everything.”

  “It’s okay. I mean we weren’t exactly friends but . . .”

  I glanced around the room and felt the big gaping hole that Jenna had left when she died.

  Later, I looked through the proofs and I had to bite my lip from crying when I came across the tribute page for Jenna. I am not a crier but damn, everything made me cry in my fragile state. Both so young and full of promise. Now, relegated to one of the back pages in the Louisa High School yearbook. It was the saddest thing in the whole entire world. />
  There was an entire file of Jenna. Apparently to be used for her memorial page. I handed them to Ally. “I’m not sure what to do with these.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” She took the folder from me and stared at them for a moment before shaking her head. “We’ll have to make one for Riley now.”

  Sometimes I forgot that whole entire families were affected by this. That whole groups of people had come unmoored and were drifting helplessly through a sea of fear and questions.

  I went home determined. I locked myself in my room, as per usual, after I did a perimeter check. A baseball bat was in its new permanent position at the foot of my bed. I lit the few stubs of candles that were in my room and searched YouTube for some calming, transcendental music. When I was satisfied, I lay down on the bed and tried to get comfortable. Miss Octavia said that meditation was one of the best ways, if not the best way to get in touch with the inner self. I guessed that was who I was looking for. My inner self seemed to know a whole heck of a lot more than I did.

  “All right, inner self,” I said. “Let’s get to work.”

  Clearing one’s mind, if one is not a regular meditator, is really difficult to do. Faces, voices, lists floated by my face urgently.

  Deal with your English paper right now! You cannot fail English and not graduate because of one stupid English class, you dumbass!

  Where did you leave your glasses that you never even wear?

  Is the dome light on in the car?

  Is there a murderer in the house? All of these things ran through my head.

  “Out,” I said to my inner dialogue.

  After concentrating on the ebb and flow of ocean tides as my New Age music indicated, fewer urgent items were floating by. I tried to get my mind into an open place. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, in out, in out, in out. For a long time, there was nothing but black. Then a pinprick of light and the feeling of moving slowly down a tunnel.

  The dirt road is at the end of the tunnel. It comes closer and drifts into focus.