The Cutting Room Floor (8 page)

TRUDY enters the room, holding a pile of white sheets.

TRUDY
How about a ghost, honey? A classic ghost. They never go out of style.

DEZ falls back on his bed, hides his face, and groans in frustration.

RILEY
(starts taking off her Padmé Amidala Star Wars costume)
I love it. Dude, it’s old school. A retro ghost, like from the old-time days.

DEZ
(looks up)
What are you doing?

RILEY
Think I’m going to let you steal all the retro glory? Nuh uh. I’m going as a ghost too.

END FLASHBACK

Amazingly enough, Riley and I had the best time that night. She was there for me in a way nobody else could be. And as I go up to my room, I finalize my plans to do the same for her this Halloween. I take the package that was delivered today and open it.

This will definitely work
, I think, looking over the costume.

Yes. I’ll put things in motion tomorrow. A Halloween party for the film crew. I can see the event play out already. I’d be the director: setting the scene, getting all the actors into place, telling the story. See, whether it’s film or life, it doesn’t matter. I want to be that one person in charge.

I wish I wasn’t this way.

I wish I didn’t crave control.

But I do … badly.

And though I might not be able to control Riley, I can help get her to where she needs to be.
Convince. Persuade. Protect.
This will be the night I make my move, and now that I’m in charge of my own costume, I’ll no longer be that pathetic boy waiting to become a superhero.

I’ll be playing the villain instead.

RILEY

After Dez drops me off, I hunker down at home. I go upstairs and take Ms. Dunn’s box over to the window seat in my room. Outside, I can see Dez helping Mrs. Andre with her windows, just like he does every year. The trees, blowing in the breeze, are still holding on to half their leaves, but the green has given way to orange and it seems to make the sky glow around them.

The wind picks up, stirring the fallen leaves and blowing on all the campaign signs staked in the yards. Devlin’s face expands and contracts all over our block. He’s everywhere—watching.

You don’t even see the signs for Roger Michelson—the only person brave enough to run against Devlin. Mr. Michelson owns the auto parts store in town. His heart is in the right place, but he’s not cut out for politics. As far as our citizens are concerned, Devlin’s got the election in the bag.

I open the box and take out Ms. Dunn’s Degas statues one by one. The dancers are in various poses: an arabesque, fourth position, and one stands examining the sole of her foot. Ms. Dunn’s initials are engraved on the bottom of each one. She loved these statues. They’re just replicas, but she always said they reminded her of her childhood, sitting backstage while her mother danced. There’s a statue missing, though. Ms. Dunn’s favorite—The Little Dancer. I dig through the box but it’s not in here. I remember playing with it while Dez was setting up the camera, that last day we filmed in her classroom.

Who would have taken it?

I continue to search through the box, and all that remains are books and CDs. I examine each item, hoping it will tell me something about who hurt her. It’s intimate and personal and I feel like I shouldn’t have this stuff. I’m just about to shut the box when I find the framed photograph of Ms. Dunn’s parents, the one she proudly displayed on her shelf. She told me they died when she was sixteen. I don’t think she ever got over it. She had no other family, and she never hung out in town with friends or even with other teachers. She was a loner. Our school was her life.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep the tears at bay. I miss her so much.

The photo is black and white. Ms. Dunn’s mom is dressed for the ballet, clad in toe shoes and a tutu, and her dad has his arms wrapped around her waist.

It’s beautiful.

I bring it over to my own shelf and set it next to my collection of Audrey Hepburn movies. When I pull out the stand attached to the back of the frame, it wiggles.

I turn it over to secure it, and find a piece of yellow paper sticking out of the back. Carefully, I open the back of the frame.

And nearly a dozen papers flitter to the ground.

They’re covered in names and dates. Notes to attorneys, school board minutes, correspondence with Ron Devlin.

I pour over every scrap of info. I don’t understand all of it, but one thing is obvious: Ms. Dunn had to be scared to hide it.

“Chica!” Libby yells as she storms into my room.

She wakes me up and I jump, knocking the frame and papers to the floor. I’ve fallen asleep in my pile of clues. The nightmares are catching up with me.

“Sorry I’m a little early,” she says. “I had to get out of the house. Our dinner tonight was something they’d have on the space shuttle. Most of it came from a powdered substance, Riley.
Powder.
Instant potatoes and fake gravy. Even the milk came from powder, if you can believe it. And then there was the vacuum-sealed mystery meat. I can’t begin to tell you what it smelled like. I think my family has hit an all-time low.”

I blink myself into the present as Libby talks. Once she comes into focus, I pick up Ms. Dunn’s papers, throw everything in the box, and slide it under my bed.

There’s no way Libby could be involved, and I feel so bad for even thinking it. She’s had such a hard time at home.

“What’s that?” Libby points to the box.

“Uh, nothing.” I stand in front of my bed, guarding the clues.

“Right.” She takes a step forward. “Come on, tell.”

“Just some of Ms. Dunn’s things.” I keep my eyes glued to hers.

“Oh, why?” Libby plays it cool, not frazzled at all.

See, she didn’t have anything to do with it.

“Homer wanted me to have her stuff. They finally cleaned out her classroom.”

There has to be a perfectly good explanation for why Libby was there that day.

“Really.” She flushes and swallows.

Or, maybe not.

Libby quickly changes the subject. “Well, forget about all that for tonight—we need to get moving.” She claps her hands together. “We have plans, remember?”

I take inventory of her and immediately know what she has in mind. She’s dressed in black from head to toe and has a bag of supplies.

“For real, Libby?” I crash into my pillow. “Dirty Deeds, tonight?”

I reach for my phone and it tells me I slept for over two hours. It also says I’ve missed three calls from Dez.

“Yes,” Libby says. “I’m so itching for a little Tori revenge. Aren’t you?”

When we were in junior high and had too much time on our hands, we came up with a new pastime called “Dirty Deeds”—it consisted of activities from TPing houses and stealing beer from garage refrigerators to other, more creative pranks. We like to bring back those good ol’ days every now and then. For fun … or revenge. Tonight, however, I want to pass.

I break it to her. “I’m so not up for it. You go, have fun, send me a postcard.”

“Nuh-uh,” Libby says, pulling me upright. “Come on, I’m not letting you go all suicide hotline on me. You need to get out.”

Ah, she thinks I’m upset because of Emma—but I haven’t even thought of her tonight. Okay, I’ve
thought
of her but I haven’t
obsessed
over her. It’s Libby who has me stressed.

Knowing I won’t win this battle, I grab my phone and put out the SOS, hoping Dez will pick up.

He does, so I put him on speaker.

“Dude, you need to help me,” I tell him.

“Ah,
dude
,” Dez says in his
I’m irritated but not going to admit it
tone. He hates when I call him “dude.” “What happened? I thought we were going to hang out tonight.”

“Sorry, I fell asleep, and now Libby is kidnapping me.”

I don’t want to ditch Dez. Still, I need to spend some time with Libby and find a way to ask her about the video. It’s not just something I can bring up between classes at school.

Libby leans into my phone. “Dez, we need to do something, stat. Our girl here is depressed. She’s even talking about going back to boys again, if you can believe it. This is serious shit.”

I can’t believe my ears. So much for discretion. I push Libby away from the phone, killing her slowly with my death glare.

“What?” she whispers. “It’s only Dez.”

“Wait,” Dez yells. “Riley, what is she talking about?”

I can hear Dez’s stepdad, Bernie, in the background, “Stop yelling, Desmond. You know, you two are just like an old married couple.”

“Uh,
privacy
?” Dez yells back. “Hey,” he says into the phone. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I tell him, trying to do damage control. “Libby’s just being dramatic.”

“Oh,” Dez finally says. He sounds almost disappointed.

“Hey, why don’t you come with us tonight?”

“I’m actually meeting Allie later,” he says.

Right—Allie, the film camp girl. It’s nice at least one of us has a love life.
“This late?”

“Yeah, well, while you were sleeping, she called. Her parents are out of town for the night.”

I close my eyes, not even wanting to think about what he has planned. I hate that I feel that twinge of jealousy again.

“You sure?” My voice is weak. Pitiful.

“Yeah. Look, I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He doesn’t even wait for an answer before he hangs up.

Click.

Libby grunts. “That guy is so moody.”

“Not moody,” I say, defending him. “That’s just Dez.”

“Well, if you really decide to go back to boys, promise me one thing?”

“What?”

“That you won’t date
him
.”

“Why not?”

“He’s too controlling, and I know I’d never get to see you.”

Not controlling. He just doesn’t trust you.
“Don’t worry. I don’t think there’s much chance of that happening.”

“Good.” Libby looks at me and grins. “Come on. Let’s go.”

I get up with a terrible feeling of dread. As much as I want to hang out with my friend and find out what she knows, get a little revenge on our resident mean girl, and forget about everything from the week, I can’t help feeling that something bad’s going to happen.

DEZ

Characters: Ken, Joan, and Riley Frost; and Riley’s friend, Libby Jones.

Scene: The Frosts, out on the porch, seeing their daughter and her friend off for the night.

Mood: Tension. The parents are reluctant to let their daughter out at night after Ms. Dunn’s murder. The girls work to ease their worries, but Riley has reservations of her own.

I hear them out on the porch. “Bye, Joan. Bye, Ken.” Libby is bidding farewell to Riley’s parents.

Kiss ass.

There’s never been any love lost between me and Libby. We’ve never clicked, but we try, for Riley. Behind the scenes, we fight for her attention. I’ve even used Libby as my scapegoat a time or two. But she deserves it. She likes to see Rye down and out and she’ll do just about anything for an ego boost. She tried putting the moves on me back in the day because she couldn’t stand to see Riley getting all the attention. I kept that little episode to myself.

Slippery Libby.

Outside my bedroom window, I watch Rye lean in for her parents’ goodbye kisses. She learned a long time ago that resistance is futile when it comes to their doting ways. The quicker she can get it over with, the better. After what happened with Ms. Dunn, they tightened the reign. They aren’t the only ones. The Heights used to be a place where nobody locked their doors, where you could walk anywhere at night, where there was always someone around who had your back. Ms. Dunn’s murder changed all that.

Joan and Ken linger outside, and the girls indulge them for a few minutes until Libby puts her arm around Riley and slowly pulls her off the porch. If she didn’t, the Frosts would keep them there all night. Riley brushes a stray hair from her face, one that’s escaped the knot she’s tied on top of her head. I move a little closer to my window and watch.

They leave, and I’m left alone in my room, so I pick up my camera.

Instead of pining over Rye, this is how I should be spending my time. If I want to get into Columbia, I have to do more than hang in my room like a recluse. I need a film, a kick-ass one, to get the scholarship I need for the insane Ivy League price tag.