The Cutting Room Floor (5 page)

“In the desk,” Libby says.

“Find it. That shit can be linked back to me. I ordered it online.”

“Shut up and keep a lookout.”

I can hear the guy’s voice though he never enters the screen. The desk drawers open and close and there’s a rumbling of papers.

“If Dunn fucks me up because of this … ” the guy says.

“She doesn’t even know it’s yours,” Libby says. “I’m the one on the line here.”

“Fuck, they’re coming,” the guy says.

Libby’s body runs past the screen. And then they’re gone.

My heart races and I can’t begin to process what I’ve just watched. Instinctively, I hit
stop
. I need to know more, but I don’t want anyone else to see it. I need a copy.

I don’t have much time. I snag a DVD from the stack on the table. I shove it into the computer, convert the file to DVD, and click the
start burning
button.

I hear someone’s feet shuffle outside the door. The video is recording and I can’t stop it, so I stand up to block the monitor.

Just in time.

There’s a tap on the sliding glass door. Marcus smiles and peeks his head in. “Watching your girl-on-girl porn in here?”

I turn my head but keep my body angled, strategically covering the monitor. “What do you want, Marcus?”

“Just replacing the bulbs on these babies.” He signals to the lights. Marcus’ dad owns the only photo studio in town, and that means Marcus has complete access to all the lighting gear, backdrops, and props he can get his creepy little hands on. With our non-existent budget, Dez really had no choice but to let him join the crew. Strangely, he’s also a hard worker. So I put up with him, even if I hear “giggity” in my head after every one of his sentences.

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” I tell him.

“Okay, okay.” Marcus smirks. “I just thought you might be watching something interesting in here, that’s all.”

“Whatever.” I try to wrap it up, sure that Dez is on his way back. “Anything else? I’m trying to work.”

“Work? Oh … that’s what you call it?” He grins.

“Goodbye, Marcus.”

He shuffles away and I get back to the video. It’s almost done recording. Then I hear Dez’s voice; he’s still on the phone.

Come on, come on, come on.

The monitor finally goes black and the computer ejects the DVD. I stuff it into my bag, close the video file, and hit
delete
so it doesn’t end up in the wrong hands. I can’t risk Dez going back to look at it. I finish just as he says “later” into the phone.

“Sorry, Rye.” He pops his head in. “I’ve wasted all our time. Should we finish this after rehearsal?”

“No,” I say, a little too fast.

“Oh. Kay.” Dez tips his head.

“I mean, I think we should just re-shoot that scene. I know I can do it better.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Trust me.”

“Yeah, okay. We’ll reshoot.”

“Great.” I exhale. Guilt tears at me for lying to Dez, but I can’t tell him about this. His stepdad’s a cop, for God’s sake. Plus, he doesn’t even like Libby. Not after she tried to steal Reed—one of my many dumpers—out from under me sophomore year.

That’s Dez’s version of what happened, anyway. Libby swears it was Reed who came after her, but Dez isn’t convinced. He calls her Slippery Libby behind her back. Not that creative, but it stuck.

Right now, I can’t think about that. I don’t even care anymore. The only thing I can do at this moment is protect Libby, at least until I know more.

Oh Libby, what did you get yourself into this time?

DEZ

“See you at the taping,” I tell Riley when I drop her at the door for second period, lingering a little longer than I should. I know she’s still upset over Emma, but there’s no way she’ll let me in.

It’s for the best.
That’s what I have to remember.

Rye gives me an unconvincing smile. She is so strong and feisty, and yet soft and delicate at the same time. There’s always a battle going on inside her; I like watching to see which side will win. Her energy is magnetic and pulses out of her. It’s like a gravitational pull that holds me there in the doorway until Tori shows up.

“Excuse me, guys.” Tori moves between us and cuts the connection. “I need to put these up.” She gestures to the stack of flyers in her arms before handing one to each of us. Mayor Devlin has donated a memorial plaque for Ms. Dunn, and they’re holding the dedication in the school garden next week.

That’s guilt for ya. Sure, the Devlins may have played nice with Ms. Dunn after the investigation, but it was no secret they hated her guts.

“Yeah, nice PR stunt,” Riley says as she reads the flyer.

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

“It’s called being a good Christian, Riley.”

“Whatever.” Riley snorts. She says goodbye to me with her eyes and turns into the room.

“Hope to see you there,” Tori yells to Riley’s back. Then she winks at me and clicks off.

I stay in the doorway just long enough to catch Riley as she turns around, her silky hair swinging across her shoulders as she walks to her desk. Then her shirt rises up and for a second I see a sliver of her back—the part that curves right above her ass—before she pulls the shirt down.

I can’t get the image out of my head as I make my way to Trig.

“Dez!” a girl’s voice echoes in the hallway, forcing the picture of Riley to dissolve.

Emma moves toward me, and though my first thought is to keep walking, I wait for her to catch up. She’s in my next class so there’s no escaping her. When she gets up close, I can’t make eye contact. She looks terrible. Her eyes are bloodshot and her skin is covered in red blotches. It makes me itchy.

“How’s Riley holding up?” she whispers.

Here we go.

“Why are you asking me? I haven’t been in gym with you guys while Tori’s been chewing her a new one every day.”

Emma winces. “You know I never wanted this to happen.”

“Right,” I spit, wanting to blame someone, anyone, other than myself.

“Don’t you dare blame
me
for this.” Emma’s lips quiver.

Can’t you see that I have no choice?

“It doesn’t really matter,” I tell her, not wanting to engage any more than I have to. “What do you want, Emma?” I ask. My voice softens; I’m worried that she might break.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a note from the inside of a book. “Could you give her this?”

“What is it?” I meet her eyes.

“A note,” she stutters. “To explain a little. Don’t worry, it’s not the whole story. But I want … I need … Riley to understand that I really do care about her.”

I say nothing.

“You can read it if you don’t trust me.”

More silence.

“Dez, please.”

I hold out my hand and nod.

It couldn’t hurt to give it to Rye. It might even make things easier for her, stop her from second-guessing herself all the time. Make her realize this wasn’t
her
fault.

My hand clenches the paper and I shove it in my pocket. I’ll give it to her after rehearsal. Emma gives me a sad smile, and I return it.

It was the right thing to do.

Done.

But in class, I feel the note burning a hole inside my pocket. I stare out the window at the empty football field behind the school, with its chipped goalposts and faded hash marks on the turf.

My mind drifts.

In my daydreams, I see myself giving the note to Riley. She reads it, sighs, and falls in my arms.
Closure.

The next second, I’m dropped into another scene. In this one, Rye falls back into
Emma’s
arms.
Reconciliation.

Fast-forward. Rewind. Fast-forward. Rewind.

The scenes play in my head all through class.

After the bell rings and I’m out of Emma’s watchful gaze, a different scene plays out in front of me. This time, I find a quiet space, shred the piece of paper, and throw it in the trash.

This scene is real. I blink into the present and feel the paper in my hands as I destroy the evidence in Ms. Dunn’s empty classroom. Like Tyler Durden says in
Fight Club
, “You wanna make an omelette, you gotta break some eggs.” I feel sick just thinking about all eggs I’m going to have to break before all of this is done.

I slide into a desk and rest my head. I can’t undo it now.

In the room, a poster of Shakespeare hangs on the wall, and statues and art rest on a shelf filled with books and CDs. Ms. Dunn has been gone a month but her room sits untouched. She didn’t have family so nobody came for her stuff. It all sits here now, forgotten.

I can’t help wonder if she’s still here. Watching. What would she think about what happened? What would she think about me?

You’re better than this,
she’d always tell us when we messed up. Then she’d forgive and forget. Just as easy as that. She always saw the best in people. Rich, poor, jock, burner, Bible beater, goth. None of that mattered to her. Even with Devlin. After the investigation, he was relentless; but no matter how many times he came after her, petitioned her curriculum, or argued about policy, she never said a bad word about him.

This time, with everything that’s happened, I’m not so sure she’d hold her tongue.

WHAT REALLY HAPPENED

INT. OLD HIGH SCHOOL SUPPLY ROOM FILLED WITH JUNK—EVENING

The camera moves in on MS.
DUNN’s face. RACHEL DUNN, high school humanities teacher, is a tall,
thin woman in her early twenties. She
has a pretty face and long auburn hair.

MS. DUNN rummages through boxes
and crates. She gathers supplies for the school year, to supplement what she’s already bought with her own money. She senses something behind her and turns around. Nobody’s there.

MS. DUNN
(looks around the room and calls out)Can I help you? Is anyone there?

A dark figure appears from the shadows. It could be a man or woman; we don’t see the figure’s face.

MS. DUNN CONT.
(exhales, relieved that she
recognizes the person)
Oh, it’s just you. You scared me for a minute. Why are you here? I thought I made myself perfectly clear in the classroom. I’m not changing my mind. It’s over. Done.

There is a long period of silence. MS. DUNN fidgets but holds her ground.
We see her clench her hands when
they start to shake.

The dark figure storms off.

MS. DUNN turns around to face the table behind her. She braces her arms on the table and takes a few deep breaths before going back to her supplies. She laughs to herself and shakes her head.

CUT TO:

DARK FIGURE

The camera moves in on the dark figure’s black shoes. The person walks through an empty hallway and slowly returns to the supply room. We see the figure stop at a shelf full of supplies. The person grabs something from the shelf with a gloved hand. We don’t see what it is. The camera moves back to the black shoes. They keep walking.

RILEY

She follows me to my locker. I feel her on my heels. I put my hand to the combination and turn the knob: 20–4–32. My hand is sweaty, all the way down to my fingertips: 20–4–32. The numbers replay over and over in my head but I can’t get to them fast enough.

She closes in.

The locker clicks and I push it open.

“Riley,” she whispers on my neck. “I know what you saw. Now give me the DVD.”

I reach into my locker and pull out the only weapon I can find. I turn to face her.

It’s Libby, covered in blood.

“Riley.” She rubs my shoulder. “Honey, wake up. You’ll be late for school.”

Light floods my room. I open my eyes. My lids are heavy and my vision is blurred, but I know I’m in my room. There’s no locker, no Libby, no blood.

“Mom?” My voice is rough and my heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest.

“Another bad dream?”

I nod.

“Do you need a personal day? I could stay with you and we could lie around in our PJs all day and watch movies.”