The Girl in the Park (18 page)

It occurred to me: I hate this voice, her Wild Wendy persona. It’s sort of her—but more what everyone decided she was. It’s like she’s playing a part on some gross reality show. How did that happen, Wendy? I wondered. Why did you let them make you into that?

I looked to see if Ellis responded to any of this, but he was silent.

After that, it’s all little updates on Nico.
Saw N in hallway. N talked to me in cafeteria. Caught N checking out my, er, fine new top
.

It’s not enough for the friends. They tease her.
We want action! You’re losing your touch, girlfriend. Promises, promises. Turn up the heat!

And then the video made two days before she died, the one that is now Wendy to most of the world: “This is a message from Wendy Geller to Nico Phelps. Nico, you best be listening. Because two days from now at Karina Burroughs’s party, I am going to get you. I am going to get you and you are going to love every moment.”

Leaving Mr. Farrell’s classroom, I wonder, Could what I’m thinking about Ellis be true? In a flash, I remember what Jenny said: “I guess the great Ellis felt she was pitying him, ’cause he got really pissed off.”

Pity. I think of how Ellis’s black hair is always just so. His
black-and-white-checked sneakers, his styling geek cardigans. The way he always makes a joke if people are paying attention to someone other than him.

He wouldn’t be into pity. At all.

And I have history class with him this afternoon.

If you ever read the Alcott brochure, you will learn that one of the things that distinguishes Alcott is its belief in “experiential learning” and “exploration of the rich cultural environs of the city.”

Which, loosely translated, means “field trip.” Art class, you go to MoMA. History, the Metropolitan. Science, the natural history museum and the Rose Center (where a few kids always manage to sneak off to the space show and get high).

So, today in social studies, we’re going to Central Park. To study public space and what it means to a community.

Some of the parents complained, saying this was a bad idea. But our teacher, Ms. Wilentz, told them we wouldn’t be anywhere near the area affected by “recent tragic events.” She’s not one to change her mind.

In the park, Taylor and I walk toward the back of the group as Ms. Wilentz talks about how Frederick Law Olmsted saw the park as a place where everyone who lived in the city could gather, rich and poor. Not too many people are gathered today; it’s a gray, chilly afternoon. We see a few brave joggers, determined dog walkers with batches of four-legged clients, the occasional park worker in green, tiredly picking up trash.

I tell myself I should be listening to Ms. Wilentz, who’s an amazing teacher. Or thinking about Frederick Law Olmsted.

But I’m watching Ellis. He’s walking toward the front of the group, Lindsey right beside him. I’d love to catch up with him,
ease into a conversation. (
Say, Ellis, why did you act like you and Wendy were still together at the funeral? Were you so upset because Wendy was dead? Or because you killed her?
) But that won’t be possible with Lindsey around. She’s superprotective.

Ms. Wilentz says, “Okay, everyone, let’s split into teams and get to work.”

The assignment is to walk around the park and see how Olmsted’s vision is holding up. We have to grade things that we see as belonging to everyone, that belong to most people, and that belong to a few. Like Sheep Meadow—open, free, belongs to anyone. The carousel which costs money, but not that much, belongs to most people. Well, that’s what I say. Taylor, my partner, says no one on a budget would pay for a stupid merry-go-round ride, so it belongs to a few.

“You don’t know what people will and won’t pay for,” I say, watching Ellis out of the corner of my eye.

“It’s reasonable to draw conclusions based on economic circumstance,” she says sweetly, knowing she’ll win the argument, that we’ll put “a few” and get an A.

“Fine,” I say absently, wondering,
Ellis—how could you be so clueless about Wendy’s Nico obsession?

Taylor is waving her hand in my face. “Hello? Bathrooms? All or most?”

I see Ellis walking toward the bathrooms, for once free of Lindsey.

“Well, right now, bathrooms are for me,” I say, handing Taylor my clipboard. “Be right back.”

As I walk toward the bathrooms, I realize I have no idea how to start this conversation. Nico’s arrest. I’ll begin with that, see where it goes.

I’m trying to decide if I should say “Hey, Ellis—wait up!” or just plain “Ellis!” when he turns suddenly and smiles.

“Rain—” he says, and gives me a huge hug.

I’ve been so wrapped up in my vision of Ellis the twisted killer, I’m thrown. Especially when he says, “I heard about Sasha attacking you. That’s crazy.”

“Uh, yeah,” I stammer. “Well, guess it wasn’t the best day for her.”

“No.” He nods sympathetically. “But still. Not your fault she was dating a murderer.”

I scan his face, his voice. No hint of uncertainty. If Ellis doesn’t absolutely believe Nico’s the killer, he’s doing an amazing job of hiding it.

I say, “Yeah, but I kind of let Sasha know I thought Nico killed Wendy.”

“So?”

I look at the ground. “I let the police know it too. Please don’t spread that around.”

“Okay. But I think it’s great.” He looks away. “I wish
I’d
ratted him out. But I didn’t know—” He shrugs.

“You didn’t think he did it?”

“No.” He looks at me. “I know I’m probably the only person in the world who thinks this. But in my gut, I never thought Wendy’d go through with the whole … Nico thing.” His voice sours with disgust.

“Because you guys were back together?” I ask gently.

He smiles crookedly, sighs. “Ye-ah, okay. I knew you picked up on that at the funeral. No, we weren’t actually back together. But I think we would have been? If—” He breaks off, then says, “I
always felt like Wendy and me had something special. And that it ended way too soon.”

I want him to keep talking, so I nod.

Encouraged, he tells me, “Right before she died, me and Wendy were talking a lot. About life, you know? She was getting tired of the whole party scene. Wild Wendy—that wasn’t her anymore. We had something real, but she’d never had that before, and it was hard for her to trust it. I think she was scared I would dump her like all the other guys—so she dumped me first. I mean, that’s what I think.”

Ellis does a long exhale. “So when her mom acted like we were still together, I didn’t think it was the best time to say, ‘Well, actually, she broke up with me.’ ”

“Right,” I agree, even as I wonder how I can ask about the stuff Wendy put on her Facebook page.

He must see the confusion on my face, because he says abruptly, “That whole Nico thing was a joke. She never meant any of it.”

“Really.” I can’t even pretend to believe this.

“No.” Irritated, he shakes his head. “Yeah, Wendy and Nico got together a few times over the summer. But that was it. ‘Don’t believe the hype’ was what she said. People just loved talking about it because it gave them a chance to bash her. I told the detective that, but I could see he didn’t believe me.”

“Well, there was the whole Facebook thing,” I say softly. “Wendy did say she liked Nico.”

“Okay, she put it out there. You know why? Because Sasha was a bitch to her,” Ellis says sharply. “Wendy liked annoying her. Her so-called passion for Nico was a total scam. Pretty funny, really. When you think about it.”

He trails off, and I wonder if he knows how desperate he sounds. Then he bursts out with “You know, people at this school are seriously effed up. Like they decide who you are—based on nothing—and who you should be with, and if you break their rules, the punishment is …”

The emotion is too much. It wells up in his eyes, and in his throat, choking off his words. I take a step toward him, wanting to say, “Yeah, I get it, I know exactly what you mean.” But then I see Lindsey running up the path.

“Hey, hey, hey …” Taking Ellis by the arm, she says firmly, “Breathe. You are not breathing.”

“I’m okay,” he says.

“Uh-huh. Come on.” She starts leading him away.

At first, Ellis doesn’t say anything, just stumbles down the path beside her. Then all of a sudden, he calls over his shoulder, “I’m sorry, Rain.”

I shake my head, even as I wonder, What is he apologizing for now?

Behind me, I hear Taylor say, “I leave you alone with a man for ten minutes and you turn him into a basket case. What is your secret?”

“We were talking about Wendy,” I say, watching Ellis disappear. “He thought they were getting back together.”

Taylor sighs. “Love
is
blind.”

As we continue through the park, I keep watching Ellis and Lindsey. I ask Taylor, “Speaking of which, is Lindsey hot for Ellis, does she have a big-sister complex—what?”

She shrugs. “They’ve been friends since they were six.”

“Does Lindsey even do the guy thing?”

Taylor thinks. “Never seen her do the girl thing. It’s always been Lindsey and Ellis.”

Which is true. In fact, Ellis’s name used to come up whenever people did the “gay or no” game at parties, because any guy who’s smart and good-looking and has a girl as a best friend—gay, of course. Kids used to call them the Amazing Ambiguous Duo.

Then he started dating Wendy and that stopped.

“Swings,” says Taylor. Jolted out of my thoughts about Ellis, I shake my head. “All, most, or few?”

Our assignment. The thing we’re supposed to be thinking about. Right.

“Ah—all. Anybody can use the swings.”

“There’s a weight limit,” says Taylor smugly. “No fat kids. No grown-ups.”

“Most,” I say, through gritted teeth.

“Really?” Taylor looks over at the swing set. “I see six kids on the swings. How many kids do you think
want
to be on those swings?”

I look at the crowd hanging around the fence, even on this grisly day. “So, you wait your turn. You
share
.”

“People don’t always wait their turn. Sometimes it’s hard to share.”

Taylor’s saying something else here. I look at her.

Shrugging, she says, “You were Wendy’s friend, you should know.”

Social studies is the last class of the day. It’s growing dark as Ms. Wilentz dismisses us. A group leaves with her to return to school, Lindsey and Ellis among them. Ellis will have chess,
Lindsey volleyball. Friends leave with friends. Other kids wander off on their own.

Taylor and I walk to Central Park West. Taylor says, “Hey, I need major help on an English paper. I am not getting the Romantics. At. All. I start reading and just … gag.”

English. The Romantics. Mr. Farrell, I think dreamily. God, I’d love to be in that class—although I’d just swoon the whole time.

“I think I can help you,” I say solemnly.

“Excellent. Tomorrow? Coffee date? We’ll discuss—gak—poetry?” I nod. “Awesome.” She kisses me on the cheek. “And now I am late for a newspaper meeting. Bye.”

She runs off, leaving me alone by the park wall. Wondering, Did Ellis kill Wendy?

My gut says no. But my gut also says he’s lying about something.

In the chill air, I hear clear and sharp, “Hey.”

I turn, see Lindsey charging toward me.

I have always liked Lindsey. Or, rather, the idea of Lindsey; I don’t know her that well. She’s smart, tough, allergic to crap. So it’s a little disturbing to see her headed in my direction, fists clenched and looking fierce.

“What the hell?” she barks, stopping right in front of me.

I try to keep my voice steady. “What the hell what, Lindsey?”

“What the hell were you doing? Like, it isn’t a crappy enough day for Ellis, coming here? What’s with the ambush? Why’d you have to talk about
her
?”

There’s an edge of crazy in Lindsey’s voice.

“He didn’t seem to mind talking about Wendy.”

“Of course not,” says Lindsey. “He never fricking stops talking about her.”

“Well, I guess he loved her,” I say quietly.

That seems to douse the anger. Lindsey sighs, “I guess so.”

She stares at the buildings across the street. Her eyes are full of tears. This isn’t a battle anymore.

In a soft voice, she says, “I never liked her. But what happened was evil.” She breathes harshly. “That violent scumbag.”

This is not acting. Lindsey absolutely believes Nico killed Wendy.

Wanting her take on Wendy and Ellis’s relationship, I say, “I know you didn’t love Wendy—and I totally get why. But I liked her with Ellis. I was sorry they broke up.” As casually as possible, I add, “Ellis said they were maybe getting back together.”

“Yeah,” says Lindsey slowly. “He’s always been one for fantasy.”

“Wouldn’t Ellis know?” I ask.

“Let’s just say he has reasons for wanting to believe that.”

She doesn’t look at me while she speaks, preoccupied by whatever it is she’s not telling me. I press, “What reasons?”

Startled, she stammers, “It’s hard to let go.”

“But they only dated for a little while,” I say.

She blows a stray curl out of her eyes. “She was his first girlfriend, okay?”

“So?”

Impatient, she says, “So, there are things he doesn’t know. Things he doesn’t want to know,” she adds quietly.

“About Wendy?”

“About himself. Things that Wendy helped him ignore. Things he wants to ignore because his mom and dad will totally freak if he can’t.”

She widens her eyes at me: Want me to spell it out?

I remember Ellis’s ranting.
All these stupid rules of how people
should be and who loves who
. I flash back on times I saw Ellis and Wendy together. How sweet they were, how fun. They were always laughing, and I thought, That’s good for her. Someone who can be a friend.

There’s my answer. What Ellis was lying about. Why he insisted, in spite of all the evidence, that he and Wendy were getting back together.

“Things like being gay,” I say.

Lindsey nods. “Wendy was already pretty far out as far as his parents were concerned. They’re sweet, smart people, but they come from a very conservative part of India. Gay is not going to work for them. And making Mom and Dad happy is priority number one for Ellis.”