The Cutting Room Floor (12 page)

I want to look away. It’s torture. I don’t know what’s gotten into Riley, but I don’t like it. I didn’t even know she knew
how
to kiss like that. And Jonah? He’s worse.

“Jesus, Jonah!” I yell. “Slow down. You’re supposed to kiss her, not make a meal of her.”

Everyone laughs and Rye looks particularly pleased.

I fight my way through the scene, and I’m relieved when we’re finally walking to my car.

“So, you were into the scene today.” I try to keep my voice casual. “A little
too
into it.”

“Really?” She smirks. “Can you be
too
into a scene?”

“Well, think of Jonah. You almost gave the guy a stroke.”

She laughs, clearly proud of herself.

“Come on, Rye, what’s going on with you? I also heard that you and Tori were all cozy today.”

That’s what really has me on edge. What’s with Tori’s sudden personal interest in Rye? It’s the last thing I need.

“Yeah, I know,” she says. “I think I’m going to have a lot of people pissed at me.”

“For what?”

“For what I’m about to do.”

“And what’s that?” I don’t like the sound of this.

She looks around, trying to decide if she should tell me. She scoots close. “Can you keep a secret?”

She hauls me back into the school, to the edit suite, and pulls a DVD and a folder from her bag, gently placing them on the table.

“Can I show you something?” she asks.

“’Course,” I say. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“You’ve got to promise me—this stays between us. No matter what.”

“Okay, Rye. I promise.”

Riley puts the DVD into the drive and hits play. It’s that scene she made us reshoot.

“Why do you have this on DVD?” I ask.

“Because I deleted the file off the computer.”

“Why?”

“If you’d shut up for a minute, I’ll show you.”

She fast-forwards to the end of the scene, but the footage keeps rolling. I must’ve forgotten to turn it off when we finished. Then I hear it. This is why she brought me here.

I listen as Libby and some guy talk about a stash Ms. Dunn had.

“Must be Will,” I tell Riley. “He’s the only one I know who buys synthetic drugs online.”

“How do you know that?”

“How do we know anything around here?”
We look into our stepfather’s police database.
“People talk, Riley.”

“I mean, how do you know he was talking about synthetic drugs?”

“Why else would he be so worried about something being traced back to him?”

“Makes sense, I guess.” Riley’s lost in thought, tapping on the table.

“So you found this the day we were reviewing the tape?”

Riley nods.

“And that’s why you wanted to reshoot?”

Another nod.

Nice.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Because I knew you’d assume the worst about Libby.”

“Well, it doesn’t look good, Rye.”

“That’s not all,” she adds, holding up a folder.
“These were hidden in one of Ms. Dunn’s picture frames.” She opens the folder and pulls out a bunch of papers. “There could be clues in here, Dez. I think these might tell us who killed her.”

“Didn’t the police already go through Ms. Dunn’s things?”

“Well, they obviously didn’t see the video, and all of this stuff was hidden.” Riley flicks the contents of the folder with her fingers and the papers flitter to the ground.

I snatch them up almost as fast, and Rye grabs my arm. Her eyes fill and my heart aches.

“Ms. Dunn was scared, Dez. She knew something.”

“Maybe we should give it to the police now.”

“No, we can’t. Libby would be toast if we did.”

“Rye, I really think the person who killed Ms. Dunn is long gone.”

“No. I think that person has been right here the entire time.”

“You’re playing with fire. I don’t think we should get involved.”

“I’m already involved.”

Of course she is. We both are.

I stay with her and we look through Ms. Dunn’s papers. There’s a bunch of stuff with Ron Devlin’s name and phone number: his notes to the school board voicing complaints about the humanities class, correspondence between the two of them, meeting appointments, a notice about the cancelation of her class. Letters from an attorney in Minneapolis about a potential lawsuit—Ms. Dunn was trying to get our high school in on a class action case, something having to do with religious discrimination. And worse, information about the city government, like hiring documents, HR records, and a bunch financial papers covered in Post-its with words like
misuse of funds
,
illegal
, and
bribery
written all over them. As Bernie would say,
pretty incriminating stuff
. I wonder if the cops even looked into Devlin after Ms. Dunn’s murder, or if he brushed them off.

“Look at this stuff. I don’t know, maybe we should talk to Bernie,” Riley says.

Now
I’m
the one to backpedal. “Not yet.” I put my hands on hers. “Let’s wait it out.”

RILEY

Apparently my mini-makeover isn’t quite enough to hang with the Tori Rollers.

“I don’t care what you have going on tonight.” Tori puts her hands on my shoulders at the end of the day. “After your rehearsal we’re having a makeover party. My house. I will not take no
for an answer.”

Though it’s absolutely the last thing I want to do, and though this makeover session is likely to include more praying away the gay, I give in. I have to get closer to Tori and her dad, and I need to find out if that Degas statue is the one that belonged to Ms. Dunn.

“Okay, okay.” I play along.

She claps her hands. “Yay, this is going to be so fun.”

“Fun.” I pretend to agree.

After rehearsal, Tori’s waiting for me in front of the school. She drives an SUV—a shiny blue monstrosity that was waiting for her in the parking lot on her sixteenth birthday. She waves and I jump in.

“Thanks for picking me up,” I say, hoping nobody from rehearsal is watching.

The seats in Tori’s car are warm, and I don’t have to use all my weight to shut the door like I have to in Dez’s car.

“Sure,” Tori says. “But can you get a ride home? My dad won’t let me out after nine.”

“No problem.” I rack my brain. I can’t really tell anyone I need a ride home from Tori Devlin’s house. It’s not
that
far—I’ll just have to run.

We drive past the school toward Main Street and hit a pothole the size of a small car. A loud screech rings from the back as the fender scrapes across the asphalt.

That’s going to leave a mark.

“Sometimes I really hate this town,” Tori says through gritted teeth. “I’m so tired of everything falling apart.”

I bite back a laugh. She has no idea.

Tori weaves through the rest of the potholes like we’re in a video game. We only hit two more. Miraculously—though of course it isn’t a miracle at all—the closer we get to her house, the better the road conditions are. As we pull into her development, there are no potholes to be found.

“Welcome to Casa de Devlin.” Tori smiles and holds the door open to a massive foyer. I walk in and immediately slide my shoes off, worried that I’m going to mess up the perfection. Everything is shiny and new and I feel like I’m in a museum. There’s even a marble table in the middle of the room with a huge arrangement of flowers.

“Want a pop or something before we get started?” she asks.

“No, that’s okay.” I’m not going to risk spilling something in this place.

“Well then, come on up.” She heads for the stairs.

“Aren’t you going to give me a tour first?” I ask.

I need to get downstairs to look at the statue.

“It’s just a house, Riley. Trust me, it’s not that exciting. Come on.” She pulls me by the arm and hauls me up the grandiose staircase.

I try not to worry. I’ll just take it slow and find a way to get down to the rec room when we’re done.

Tori’s bedroom is almost bigger than the locker room at school, and far more impressive. She has a walk-in closet bigger than my entire room and an adjoining bathroom with a whirlpool tub. It’s in the bathroom where we set up shop.

“Okay, Riley, let’s see,” she says, pushing me into her vanity chair. She sits on a little stool with wheels, like one from a doctor’s office. She looks pretty official.

“Your skin is gorgeous,” she says, about an inch away from my face. The girl has no sense of personal space. “You’re doing the right thing here—just a little translucent powder is all you need. But you do need some definition in your cheeks. Here, go like this.” She sucks in her cheeks to strike a sickly-looking-model expression. “I want to see more of your cheek bones.”

I do what she says. After all, she
is
in a doctor’s chair.

“Hold there, Riley. We need blusher.”

Tori holds my hair in one hand, reaches into the toolbox of cosmetics with the other—Mom would be so jealous—and asks, “Powder or cream? Cream.” She answers her own question as she takes the little jar, dabs her fingers, and gets busy on my cheeks.

Then she moves on, to work on my lips and eyes and hair.

After what feels like hours, Tori is done. Until I reach my hands up to touch my hair.

“Oh no,” she says, grabbing my hands to inspect my nails. “This will not do.” She throws down my hand like it’s a piece of garbage. “Ew, Riley, ever hear of a mani? We need some Kiss press-ons.”

“Fake nails?” I ask, looking at my hands. They did look pretty bad, but
fake nails
? Come on, this isn’t the nineties and I’m not going to be in a rap video.

“These aren’t your mama’s press-ons.” Tori laughs. “Look at these beauties with the silver and black crackle design. This is you, Rye. Total rock and roll. And they’re short. They won’t bug you at all.”

Well, I’ve come this far.

I give her my hand and she peels and sticks. After about five minutes, it’s finally time for the big reveal. Tori does a little drum roll and spins me around to the mirror.

I’m shocked by my reflection. After all that time at Tori’s hands, I was sure I’d come out looking like a drag queen. But the makeup is soft and subtle. Pretty. My hair hangs in loose waves and the nails really do look badass.

I can’t say anything.

“I know, right?” Tori says with a squeeze.

“It’s actually awesome,” I tell her.

Tori looks pleased. She explains her technique so I can recreate the look on my own. She packs up some supplies for me.

“Oh, the clothes.” She looks me over. “We can’t forget about the clothes.”

“Well, I like your shirt. Where did you get it?”

“You know what?” She tugs at the bottom of her shirt. “It’d look great on you.”

She pulls the shirt over her head, exposing her pale pink bra.

And wow, she has an incredible body.

I bite the inside of my cheek. I really am a charity case.

She hands me the shirt and grins. I quickly divert my eyes and try not to think about the fact that Tori Devlin is standing in front of me half naked.

“No,” I tell her. “Don’t be crazy. You don’t have to give me your clothes.”

Tori covers herself with a sweatshirt and then hands me another bag. It’s stuffed to the top. “Riley, I don’t even wear this stuff. There should be enough in here to get you through a week of school.”

As she walks me out, I try to come up with a reason to go down to the rec room, but Devlin is in the foyer. He’s reading the mail with the world’s nastiest scowl on his face.

“Tori.”

“Yeah, Dad?” She cowers in front of him.

“Do you know what this is?”

“No.” Her voice shakes a little.

“This is college rejection number three for you.” He whips the paper in front of her face.

She looks at me and turns bright red.

Devlin’s eyes follow hers and eyes me up and down. “Who’s this?”

“Riley Frost,” Tori says.

“Frost,” he ponders. “Your father works at the community college, right?”

I nod.

“Well that’s where my daughter is going to end up if she doesn’t hit the books. Excuse us, will you?”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I give Tori a quick wave, slip my shoes on, and I’m out the door. When it closes, the yelling begins.

My heart aches for Tori.
Tori,
of all people. It was the way Devlin looked at her. I’ve seen that look before. And I’ve seen the fear on the other side of it.