The Suicide Club (8 page)

It took her a second. “Post Traumatic Stress? You think I’m going to get PTSD from finding a snake in my house?” Despite the fact that she hadn’t slept since that had happened, she managed a short laugh. “This is snake country. Every time I went into the woods as a child there was the threat of running into one.”

“Which you knew and accepted. That’s not the same as having someone put a rattlesnake into your laundry hamper.”

It wasn’t. Still, she didn’t really want to hear his analysis of how poorly she was dealing with this.

“I don’t need medication. And I don’t need counseling. I
do
need coffee. You’re welcome to stay if you want some.”

She was acting like an idiot. She hadn’t slept in two nights, other than in snatches interrupted by nightmares. So, yeah, she was coping just fine, thank you very much.

They were still standing face-to-face in the hall, with every light in the back of the house blazing. She watched his lips thin and a muscle in that dark jaw tighten.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” he said. “Enjoy your coffee.”

Although Jace’s tone had been neutral, she was experienced enough at reading emotion to know she’d made him angry. Maybe even insulted him. And for what?

Because he was sitting up all night so he could make sure you were all right? Or for offering advice that made perfect sense?

“Look—” she began, but by that time Jace was already moving past her toward the front of the house.

She attempted to grab his arm, but he shook her off, continuing to stride purposefully in the direction of the door. All she could do was follow.

“Jace, I’m sorry. What I said was stupid. I really appreciate the fact that you—”

“Lock up.” The command was punctuated by the slam of the front door.

Lindsey closed her mouth, still hanging open from her unfinished apology. Then she closed her eyes, once more welling with tears.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

Frustrated with herself and more than a little annoyed with Jace for refusing to listen, she turned on her heel, furiously blinking the moisture away.

She had said she was going to make coffee, and she was, damn it. Then she’d come up with at least ten essay questions before it was time to dress for school.

She had bragged that she didn’t need help in coping with what was happening. Now seemed to be a good time to prove it.

Even if she would only have the opportunity to prove it to herself.

“
D
o you have a minute, Ms. Sloan?”

Lindsey looked up from stuffing things into her tote bag to find Andrea Moore, one of her juniors, hovering in the doorway of her classroom. “Can it wait, Andrea? I’m running late for Scholars’ Bowl practice.”

Assuming the girl’s agreement, she remembered to add her grade book to the other material in her bag. She had to send out mid-six weeks’ warning notices on Tuesday for the kids who had a “C” average or lower in her classes.

Although few of her upper classmen would fall into that category, more of her tenth graders than she wanted to think about might. She was giving them a test tomorrow, a last-ditch effort to raise their scores, but she’d wanted to take a look tonight at how many of them were in the danger zone already.

“Oh. Okay. I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

Something in the girl’s voice belied her easy agreement, making Lindsey feel guilty for not taking time to talk. She’d sent the team to the auditorium to set up tables on stage for the two sets of buzzers they used for competition. They would be ready to start practice for Tuesday’s meet by the time she got there.

Was it possible Andrea had heard about the snake? If so, she would be the first person to mention it.

Lindsey had followed Rick’s advice, watching for anyone who seemed to be acting strangely. So far, no one had. Unless Andrea knew something about what had happened—

Even as the thought formed, Lindsey rejected it. Of all the kids she taught, this shy, quiet girl would be among the last she’d suspect of being involved in something like that.

So was this a boyfriend problem? Or something more serious? Trouble at home, maybe. In her experience, those were the two things girls generally wanted advice about.

“You want to walk with me down to the auditorium?” Lindsey offered. “We can talk on the way.”

“No, really, Ms. Sloan. It’s okay. I don’t want to keep you. I know y’all have got a match coming up.”

“Is something wrong, Andrea?”

Andrea was a diligent student, but by no stretch was she among the brightest in the program. Lindsey hated to turn her away, especially since she couldn’t remember the girl ever making a similar request.

“I was just going to ask you about the test on Monday.”

“Colonial period literature.” Lindsey added the anthology she would need to draw those questions from to her bag.

She should have pulled some old tests from her files and done some recycling of the short-answer questions. Since she was already late, she would have to come back by the room before she left school in order to do so. After practice she’d weigh whether or not it would be worth the effort.

“I know,” Andrea said. “I just wondered if it was going to be essay or short answer.”

“Some of each. Like always.”

Despite having been in the accelerated program for a year, Andrea, like the majority of her students, would no doubt prefer that she stick to multiple choice and fill in the blank. If so, Lindsey thought with a touch of uncustomary impatience,
they
should stick to the general track.

“So…anything else I can help you with?” Lindsey had bent to take her purse out of her bottom drawer. When she looked back up at the girl hovering in the doorway, she was surprised by the bleakness in her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ve just got a lot of tests coming up. I wanted be certain of exactly what to study for in English so I could start tonight.”

“You’ll do fine, Andrea. You always do. You always have.” Lindsey’s smile was intended to add reassurance.

“Things just seem to be so much harder this year.”

“In my class?” Something nagged at her about this. Some problem she obviously wasn’t getting at with her questions. “Or harder in general?”

“Everything, I guess. There’s just a lot more stress than there used to be.”

Welcome to my world,
Lindsey thought.

She’d tried all day not to think about having to go back to her house tonight to face more of the same tossing and turning. Her parents would welcome her if she decided to sleep there. In addition to the fact that would necessitate an explanation she didn’t want to make, she also didn’t want to do that. Despite growing up in a town the size of Randolph, where everyone tended to live in one another’s pocket, she needed her own space.

Even if you have to share it with a rattlesnake?

“Honestly, Andrea, you’ll do fine,” Lindsey comforted briskly as she closed the drawer and took one last look at her desk to make sure she wasn’t forgetting something.

“Well, thanks for telling me about the test.”

“You sure you don’t want to walk with me?”

“No, I’m gonna go on. Try to figure out how to get everything I need to do done before Monday.”

“If I know you, you’ve kept up in your classes. Just review thoroughly and get a good night’s sleep. Come back tomorrow and let me know how the day went.”

She almost added some platitude about how much she cared, but she knew how awkward that could make a conversation. If Andrea didn’t know after a year in her class that she cared, then Lindsey needed to turn in her grade book.

“I will. Thanks, Ms. Sloan.”

“You bet. See you tomorrow.” With a wave, the girl disappeared from the doorway.

Lindsey took a breath, wondering why everything seemed so damn hard lately.
Welcome to Andrea’s world,
she thought, mocking her earlier surge of self-pity.

She slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and picked up her tote bag. If she had time after practice, she’d come back for a quick search through her test files. If she didn’t, maybe she could pull some short answer questions from the files during her prep period tomorrow. After all, she’d have her two classes of sophomore papers to mark and grades to average over the weekend.

As she crossed to the door, she picked a couple of wads of paper up off the floor and tossed them into the garbage can. She pushed the light switch up with her elbow, but left the room open. The janitor would lock up after he swept.

Another day, another dollar, her dad would say. If she averaged all the hours she spent on her work, that was about what her salary amounted to.

And you wouldn’t change it for the world.

The reminder was automatic. Something that up until Tuesday night she had truly believed. She had once thought she would always feel that way. Now…

She swallowed the lump in her throat, positioning the strap of her purse more securely on her shoulder. No rash decisions, she told herself. And no more self-pity.

She had the greatest job in the world, and no one, not even some teenage genius with an adrenaline addiction, was going to take it away from her.

“We’ll leave from the north parking lot at ten of three.” Lindsey raised her voice to be heard over the sound of the tables being broken down and put away. “If you need a pass out of sixth period, it’s your responsibility to ask for it.”

She tried to think if there was anything else she should tell them about the meet. There were only two sophomores this year, both recommended by the Scholars’ Bowl coach at the junior high. They would know how all this worked.

“Any questions?”

“Can we ride with you, Ms. Sloan?”

Tammy Evans was one of the new members. Apparently she was speaking for the other tenth grader, Jamie Rouse, as well. That would surely be the arrangement their parents would prefer.

“Sure. I have room for one more. Anybody need a ride?”

“I’m good. Paul and Stewart can go with me.”

Roy McClain was one of her four seniors. Paul Dabbs and Stewart Reynolds were juniors, so that probably took care of everyone who didn’t have his or her own car.

“What about the rest of you?” Lindsey called to the boys who had taken the tables off the stage to return them to the rack. “You have transportation on Monday?”

“Providing it starts,” Steven Byrd said. “And that’s never a sure thing. If it doesn’t, I can ride with Mary.”

The best player on the team, Mary DeWitt possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of minutiae. Lindsey wished she could take credit for any of that, but Mary was the daughter of another of the military retirees who had settled in the area. Before she’d arrived at Randolph, Mary had lived all over the world and attended a dozen schools. Most of the local guys were intimidated by that, as well as by the fact she made no effort to hide her ability.

The boys on the team, and most of those in the gifted program, tolerated her brashness and lack of social skills because they recognized how bright she was. Another reason, in Lindsey’s book at least, for the kind of accelerated academic track this high school offered. It gave a place for the Marys and the Stevens and even the Justin Carrs of the world to fit into the landscape of rural Alabama.

“Todd? Dale? Jean?”

“I’ll need a ride over,” Todd Bates said. “My dad’s picking me up.”

“You can come with me,” Steven said. “Or in case of a lack of ignition, I guess we’ll all go with Mary.” As he put both hands flat on the edge of the stage to vault up onto it, Steven smiled at the girl he was clearly attempting to flirt with.

Lindsey hadn’t been aware of Steven’s attraction, but they would make a good couple. Smart, polite, and probably destined to spend their lives somewhere other than the Wiregrass.

“You said you have room for one more?” Jean Phillips’ thin body tilted as she slung her backpack over her shoulder.

“That’s right.”

“Okay if I come with you?” Jean secured a strand of straight fair hair behind her ear as she waited for an answer.

“Of course,” Lindsey said.

“And I’ll ride with Steven. If you’ll take me home?” Dale Carter, another junior, was one of the students who came to Randolph-Lowen from outside the county in order to be able to participate not only in the honors and Advanced Placement classes here but also in the activities like this.

“The more the merrier.” Steven drew the final word out, so that it sounded like “marrier,” obviously a play on Mary’s name.

Roy shook his head, catching Lindsey’s eye and grinning. The look said that as a senior he was beyond that kind of silliness, but being good natured, he didn’t see any need to openly embarrass Steven’s fledgling efforts.

“All right. Then I guess we’re set. Quarter of three in the north lot,” Lindsey repeated, knowing once was never enough.

“You said ten till,” Jean corrected.

“Let’s aim for quarter of and maybe they’ll all be there by ten till,” Lindsey said, smiling at the girl. “Okay?”

Jean nodded. “I won’t be late.”

And she wouldn’t. Lindsey had no doubt of that.

She watched as the team began to leave the auditorium, Steven trailed Mary, talking as they crossed the stage toward the stairs leading down to the auditorium. The two sophomore girls had already disappeared. The other boys had their heads together as they walked down the central aisle, probably discussing plans for the weekend.

Relieved the day was over, Lindsey went backstage to retrieve her purse and tote bag. As she picked up the latter, she remembered that she’d planned to go back by her room to go through the test files.

That thought triggered the next, a nagging sense that she’d missed something important in her conversation with Andrea. As she walked toward the control panel to shut off the lights, the memory of the girl’s expression haunted her. She pushed the switch, throwing the backstage area into darkness.

When she walked back onstage, she realized that daylight was still flooding into the auditorium from the double doors, open at the back. Her body canted to balance the weight of the book bag slung on her back, Jean was trudging down the aisle toward them, sneakers squeaking on the tile floor.

If the rest of the kids hadn’t disappeared in the minute or so that she’d been backstage, Lindsey would probably have let it go. Jean was a senior, but Lindsey had seen her talking with Andrea a few times in the hall last year. Maybe their lockers were close to one another. Or maybe…

“Jean?”

The girl turned, her brown eyes narrowing as she tried to see into the darkness. “Yes, ma’am?”

The thought of shouting her question across the auditorium was unappealing. “Wait up a minute, please.”

Obediently the girl swung her backpack off her shoulder, lowering it to rest on the floor. After taking a last look around to make sure they’d left the stage as they’d found it, Lindsey hurried down the stairs, choosing the narrower side aisle to make her way toward the front.

Jean’s eyes tracked her progress. She was probably wondering what this was all about. And now that it was time to broach the subject, Lindsey was wondering if doing so was a good idea.

“Something wrong?” Jean sounded apprehensive.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You’re friends with Andrea Moore, aren’t you?”

Something shifted in the girl’s eyes. “You couldn’t call us friends exactly. We don’t have a lot in common.”

“Oh. Sorry, I thought I’d seen the two of you together.”

“Maybe last year. Not anymore.”

Hardly promising, but Lindsey was in so deep it seemed she had nothing to lose by pursuing this. “Do you know if she’s having problems this year? Something at home? Guy trouble?”

Jean’s eyes seemed unwilling to meet hers. “Sorry, Ms. Sloan. I really wouldn’t know. We don’t talk.”

“Okay. I just—” Lindsey hesitated, aware that she had already stepped beyond the bounds of her own personal guidelines concerning student confidences. “I guess it was someone else.”

Jean nodded. “Is that all you wanted?”

“Can I help you carry some of those?” Lindsey nodded toward the overstuffed backpack.

“I can manage,” the girl said, again hoisting the bag to her shoulder. “You’ve got your own stuff. I’m used to this.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Quarter of three in the north parking lot. Right?”

“That’s right. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

Jean turned, heading in the opposite direction from that Lindsey would take to her car. Her mother would be waiting to pick her up, but Lindsey would circle the school and make sure that everyone had a ride home.