Unnatural Deeds Read online

  I don’t think I’d ever said the word whore in my life. But I didn’t stop there. It all poured out. I told them everything Z had told me—about his mom giving birth to him when she was thirteen, and how his grandparents had died and he’d ended up living with Bethany. I said, “So maybe you should stop being so judgy.”

  Parker and Rachel stared at me, their smirks totally gone. Then I realized that pretty much everyone else was staring at me too. Including Mr. Lincoln.

  I had to stay after class again. Obviously for the display I’d made. What had gotten into me? Just like before, there were disappointed creases in his forehead. I apologized again.

  He laughed. “You really need to stop apologizing before you know what you’re apologizing for.”

  I bit back the “sorry” in my throat. “But I know this time.”

  He nodded. “That behavior was…surprising, Victoria. You want to tell me what set you off?”

  “They were telling lies about my lab partner,” I said. “Really vicious ones.”

  He nodded like he’d known that all along. “And you felt the need to defend him?”

  “Well, yes,” I answered. As if there was any other option.

  “Because he’s your friend.”

  “Right.”

  “I see,” he said, looking down at his desk. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. What? Was defending a friend’s honor the wrong thing to do?

  “Look, Victoria. You know you’re one of my very favorite students. You are very talented. So I don’t want to see you being taken advantage of.”

  “I’m not,” I answered immediately. “Z doesn’t… It isn’t like that. He’s a friend. We do homework together sometimes.”

  He studied me for a moment, as if trying to figure out a complex puzzle. “Well, OK then. If you have anything you want to talk about, I’m always here.”

  “I know,” I said, shoving off the stool and out the door. I was beginning to hate how he was always there, witnessing everything that went on between me and Z. Because it’s annoying when someone perceives more about you than you do.

  And yet, I didn’t mind when that person was Z.

  Chapter 17

  Though Zimmerman’s happy-go-lucky personality was well-known, witnesses recalled seeing him uncharacteristically agitated on the night of a school dance the Saturday prior to the murder.

  —From an article in the Central Maine Express Times

  The rumors about Z and Bethany were flat-out ridiculous. She was at least five years older than he was. And his aunt, sort of. Plus, he had a girlfriend in Arizona. Still, I kept replaying everything I knew about her in my head. Physically, she was perfect, no doubt the object of many a teen kid’s fantasies. He’d said he was only living with her until he was old enough to go off on his own. Late that night, I gave up on trying to unravel the mystery and eventually drifted off to sleep.

  The next morning, he swept into class and sat down. He looked tan and healthy, not like he was recovering from a cold. He had his nose buried in his phone, so he was completely oblivious to all the questioning eyes on him. He was used to being the center of attention, but I wondered if he knew that everyone’s fascination had shifted. He was no longer a Hollywood movie star, more the shocking tabloid headline.

  In that moment, I resolved to tell him. He needed to know.

  He grunted and slammed his phone on the table, his face dark. Everyone stared.

  He looked up and smiled when he saw me. “Hey, Precious.”

  Maybe he’d already heard the rumors. “Are you OK?”

  He waved a hand at his phone. “Yeah, relationship troubles. Brianna can be a little…possessive. We all can’t have perfect significant others like you do.” He grinned.

  “Oh. Um…I need to talk to you. At lunch?”

  He raised his eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

  I nodded.

  “Chemistry?”

  I shook my head. “Lunch?”

  “Can’t. I have to leave early. Doctor’s appointment.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “It’s a follow-up. Can it wait?”

  I wasn’t sure how to convey the importance of it without telling him outright. And I never quite knew how he’d react. Maybe he’d say it was “under control” like he usually did. “I’m not sure.”

  Some of his darkness returned. “Tell me now.”

  I looked around and whispered, “It’s…private.”

  He wiggled his fingers. “Text me.”

  “But…”

  “Just the basics.”

  “OK.” I pulled out my phone. I heard a rumor about you.

  He looked at his phone, then turned to me and raised his eyebrows in concern.

  Whatever answer he was looking for was already in the expression on my face. Without warning, he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me out of my desk. I followed him to the door, where he nearly careened into Reese. “Vic is taking me to the nurse,” he muttered. “I’m not feeling well,” which was ridiculous, since wherever we were going, he was clearly taking me. He didn’t wait for her approval, and Reese didn’t challenge him. I’m not sure even drama-geek Quincy could’ve pulled that off. Z dragged me to the other side of the school, well past the nurse’s office to the always-deserted band wing. “Spill,” he said.

  “I know it’s not true,” I prefaced to make the medicine easier to take. He moved his hand in small, impatient circles, trying to draw out the information. “But I was sitting in lab with Parker and Rachel, and they said that the attendance ladies saw you and your aunt in your car…um…”

  His brow wrinkled.

  “You were…” I felt like a three-year-old. I couldn’t bring myself to say going at it or making out or any of the things they were possibly doing. Not around Z. “You know…”

  “I don’t,” he said, and then his eyes widened as understanding dawned on him. “You mean me and Bethany?”

  The way that he said it, I knew without a doubt that it wasn’t true. No one could be that convincing a liar. I had the urge to put a comforting arm around him, but he went ballistic. He balled his fist and slammed it into a locker. Then he kicked the locker again and again, mumbling, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I’d never seen him so emotional. Frankly, he scared me.

  He stopped and rubbed his eyes. “You heard this from Parker and Rachel?”

  I nodded.

  “So that means everyone knows.” He exhaled slowly, then growled. “Shit!”

  He leaned against a locker, gulping air like I always did during my anxiety attacks. I wondered if I should get him some water. Slowly though, his breathing returned to normal.

  Gently, I repeated, “I know it’s not true.”

  That didn’t seem to comfort him as much as I would have liked. In fact, it offered no comfort at all. He worked his jaw, gnawing the inside of his cheek. “But they don’t. They all think I’m… Shit, shit, shit.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and looked at me. “What do I do, Vic?”

  “You ignore them,” I said.

  He didn’t say anything after that, retreating deep inside himself for a minute. I stood there awkwardly, wondering what else I could do to make this better for him. Finally, I said, “I’m sorry. I thought you should know.”

  He startled, as if surprised to see me there. “No, I’m glad you told me.”

  Gratitude flashed on his face for a split second, but it was gone before I could bask in it.

  “I’m nice to everyone, and this is how they repay me,” he murmured, almost to himself. He swallowed, then composed himself. “I can fix this. Tryouts next Monday. You ready?”

  “What?” Truthfully I hadn’t thought of Macbeth for weeks. There was no way in hell I was trying out. “I’m not—”

  “You are,” he said. “One hundred percent.”

>   “I-I can’t.” I stammered.

  He said, “Look. I’ll be Macbeth. You do Lady Macbeth. You can help me with my lines.”

  I stared at him, incredulous. “You can’t be Macbeth. Quincy is always the lead.”

  Z said, “That’s OK. He can play Banquo or one of the three witches or something.”

  You had to admire his confidence, especially not five minutes after learning the whole school was spreading rumors behind his back. “But—”

  “Competition is healthy.” He grinned. “That’s why I really need help practicing my lines. Can you help me? Today. After school. In the gym. I’ll drive you home.”

  I nodded instinctively. The idea of helping him, of basking in his gratitude… Even then, I craved his adoration like a drug. I don’t know when it became something I’d betray you for, Andrew.

  Chapter 18

  So who would you say was his best friend? Who knew Z best?

  No one. As friendly as he was, he only let people in so far. He was still an outsider, the subject of rumors.

  So he had secrets?

  Yeah. He didn’t talk about himself a lot. When he did, you never knew if he was being serious or not.

  So it’s possible he had a whole other life you knew nothing about?

  More than possible. It was assumed.

  —Police interview with Rachel Watson, junior at St. Ann’s

  That afternoon, instead of running for the bus, I ran to the gym, which is also St. Ann’s theater. I hadn’t seen Z since his doctor’s appointment. It had only been three hours, and yet my chest ached with anticipation. I knew that feeling wasn’t familiar, but I thought maybe that was how all friends are supposed to feel. Maybe it was normal to ache for someone you cared about.

  Maybe I had never really cared enough before.

  But I didn’t know. I mean, I cared about you, Andrew. So why did everything feel so different?

  The gym was mostly dark when I sat, dangling my feet off the stage. I pulled out a copy of Macbeth that I’d taken from English class and opened it to one of Lady Macbeth’s parts, reading it in the dim light.

  Come, you spirits

  That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,

  And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full

  Of direst cruelty.

  For a moment I imagined myself on that stage, in a velvet gown and with all eyes on me. I imagined my words, unusually loud and fraught with emotion, cutting through the silence of the theater. I imagined myself bringing the audience to tears with my performance. Z and me, arm in arm, bowing countless times in response to the standing ovation, and when the curtain finally swung closed, him turning to me with a look of awe and saying, “Wow, Vic. You were phenomenal.”

  Yeah. Like that would ever happen.

  I repeated Lady Macbeth’s Act One soliloquy over and over until the words were more mine than hers. Until I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could be her.

  The wheels on the janitor’s trash can squealed. I looked up just as he turned out the lights in the auditorium, throwing me into darkness.

  I checked the display on my phone. It was three forty-five. Z was later than he’d been for the movie.

  I barely made the late bus home. Otherwise I would’ve had to call my dad to pick me up on his way home from work and spend a maddening forty-five-minute ride home enduring a parental inquisition.

  Maybe I should have felt used or upset, but I worried about Z. Had everything gone OK at the doctor’s? Was he still stewing over the rumors about him?

  When I got home, my mom had dinner waiting, tuna pockets she got from the school’s latest fund-raiser. The three of us said our prayers and then my mom asked, “How’d your meeting go with Father Leary?”

  Dread settled over me. “Oh, I forgot,” I mumbled, head down.

  “Forgot?” The word exploded out of my mom’s mouth. I didn’t have to look to know my parents were exchanging worried glances.

  “I…” I tried to think of an excuse but had nothing.

  “Where were you?” my mother pushed.

  “I was helping a friend rehearse for Macbeth tryouts. Sorry.”

  “I’ll call Father Leary tonight,” my dad said. “Maybe he can fit you in tomorrow.”

  I sighed. “Can’t I skip this week? I’m fine. I have nothing to talk about.” I forced a smile to show them how fine I was.

  Again, a tennis match of worried glances. Silence. I’d won. Mom and Dad started to talk about some fund-raiser at the church, and I smiled and nodded and said yes and no at all the appropriate moments, even though I had no clue what we were talking about.

  I wondered if I should text Z. Everything else seemed so inconsequential, considering he could be in major trouble. Maybe he would text me when he could, to apologize for not showing.

  I really don’t know what we talked about when I met you at our spot, Andrew, and I’m sorry for that. I was preoccupied with my phone that was sitting on the grass beside me. It was silent, though I tried willing the screen to light up with his text.

  The more time that passed, the more frustrated I got. When it finally began to drizzle, I told you I had to go and ran inside. I hadn’t said more than five words. I could’ve told you I was worried about him, but I was afraid you’d take my concern the wrong way.

  Funny, back then, I kept Z a secret from you because I wanted to protect you from feeling hurt. But who was I really protecting?

  When I got to my room, I texted Z. I wanted to yell at him for blowing me off, but he’d had a hard day. He didn’t need me giving him more crap. So I finally wrote: You OK?

  I turned up the volume extra-loud.

  No response.

  The rest of the evening I kept my phone in my hand. I even told my parents to turn down the Family Feud rerun they were watching on television because there were entirely too many sounds in it that sounded like an incoming text.

  My father looked up from the television. “Is everything OK?”

  “Yes, why wouldn’t it be?” I snapped.

  He swallowed. Then he leaned over, dipping the blinds and looking into the backyard. “Why were you outside before? Is everything all right?”

  I peered through the window beside him. You were still out there, standing in your yard now, watching our back door. I’d been inside for at least a half hour. I rolled my eyes and lied, “Andrew and I just had a fight.”

  He looked at me, then my mother. “About what?”

  “Nothing.” He turned off the television and set down the remote. My mother set down her romance novel. The silence was deafening. They stood up and moved to the kitchen table, pulling out my chair, getting ready for a talk. That was so not what I needed right then. I backed away.

  My father said, “Can you talk to us? We’re worried that this thing with Andrew might be getting serious.”

  Serious? I nearly laughed. They knew you. We’d known each other for almost a decade, and now things were getting serious?

  “Dad.” I forced my voice to be extra-cheerful so he’d quit with the third degree. “It’s not serious. Believe me. We’re fine.”

  I yawned and told them I needed to crash. But I didn’t. Well, I went to bed, but I don’t think I slept at all. I kept my phone on the pillow beside me, right near my hand so I could grab it the second a message came through.

  But Z didn’t respond.

  Chapter 19

  Is it possible he was engaging in illicit activities?

  Like…

  Drugs, for instance. A secret relationship. That sort of thing.

  Nah. Not Z. We played ball together, so he knew we’d get random drug tests. And the ball schedule is nuts. We didn’t have time for any kind of real relationship. Add in Macbeth… No, man. He wouldn’t have time for illicit shit.

  You know that for sure?

/>   Nothing’s for sure with Z. Good guy, the best, but hell, he’s an actor. You never could quite tell what was fact and what was fiction.

  —Police interview with Roger Falcon, junior at St. Ann’s

  Z didn’t show up to school on Friday either.

  I sent him another text that morning, trying to force away the feelings of desperation and helplessness that clawed at me. It was normal for friends to text each other, right? To see how they’re doing?

  By lunch, there was still no answer.

  At prayer, I prayed for him. I imagined thousands of different scenarios for why he hadn’t texted me back, many involving his injury or death. After all, he was attached to his phone, a texting addict. Why else wouldn’t he respond?

  Maybe he’d lost his phone. Maybe he didn’t have the money to get a new one. I wanted to believe that was more likely than him being dead. I replayed our last conversation over and over in my head so I could dissect the words. He’d been upset over the rumors. Was he lying in a sloppy heap in his bed, depressed and unable to face the world? No. That wasn’t Z.

  He’d been on his way to the doctor. Maybe he’d learned he had three months to live. If it had been anyone else, I probably wouldn’t have cared. After all, he’d only been silent a day. Instead, I tore apart every word, every gesture, trying to come up with an explanation. When chemistry came around, I had to pair up with you-know-who for another lab.

  “Z’s not here again,” Parker mused. “Where could he be?”

  I ignored her and continued to write in my notebook.

  She sat down beside me and leaned in so close that I could smell her perfume. It smelled like cake but somehow nauseated me. “You mean, you don’t know? I thought you two were besties.”

  I tried to ignore her. “I have no idea.”

  She stood up and sashayed around the table in her four-inch, completely not-regulation heels. “That is shocking,” she said, pretending to fan herself. “Wait, did you get angry when you found out he was doing his aunt? Did you think he was your boyfriend?”