The Perfectionists

  They were supposed to be together, Mac told herself with determination. And she was just the friend.

  Blake led her through the old country kitchen and opened the door to the refinished basement. As Mac tromped down the stairs after him, it occurred to her how quiet the house was. She walked into the large basement room, which smelled a little musty and had a dehumidifier chugging in the corner. Several music stands and amps were set up by the TV, but the room was empty.

  “The others aren’t here yet?” she asked.

  Blake hopped off the last step and turned around and faced her. “They canceled again. Stuff to do, I guess.”

  Mac blinked. Blake didn’t seem as bummed about it as he had the last time. Had he told them not to come?

  She squeezed the handle of her cello case hard. “Oh. Well, in that case, I should probably go practice for my audition.”

  He nodded, but Mac thought she detected disappointment flash across his face. “Yeah, I bet you’re stressed. What are you playing?”

  Mackenzie bit her lip. “I’m debating between the first movement and the fourth of Elgar’s Concerto in E Minor. And I think I’ll do Tchaikovsky’s Pezzo capriccioso for the big finish. I don’t know, though. I’ve been second-guessing myself a lot. I did Popper’s Spinning Song for the state solo competition last year, and it’s still in good shape. Maybe I’ll do that instead.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “My mom has this friend Darlene who works at Juilliard and has an in with the admissions. If I wanted to, I suppose I could just ask her what she thought. But that seems like cheating.” The only thing worse than not getting into Juilliard, she thought, was getting in dishonestly.

  “Well, Claire’s going with Popper,” he advised. “You should stick with Tchaikovsky. You’ll stand out more.”

  He grimaced slightly, as if he realized that he’d said Claire’s name.

  “Yeah, um, okay,” Mac said awkwardly, ready to walk back up the stairs.

  Blake grabbed her arm. “Mac, wait. Stay. Please. Even just for one song.”

  She was surprised at the emphasis in his voice. Her heart thudded against her chest. But she cleared her throat. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said. “Not after . . . you know. Last week.” She definitely wasn’t going to say kiss out loud.

  Blake’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I was afraid you were going to say that. I totally shouldn’t have kissed you, right? You’re not . . . into me.”

  “No—I mean, yes. I am.” Mac slapped her forehead. “Wait. I mean, no. You shouldn’t have kissed me, though. Claire’s my best friend, Blake. I can’t do that to her.”

  He put his hands on his hips. “Wait, back up to that first part. You are into me?”

  Mac lifted one shoulder. She thought that was painfully obvious.

  “And if Claire wasn’t in the picture, you wouldn’t be saying this right now?”

  Mac stared at her embroidered flats. She couldn’t get mixed up in this. She needed to focus on Juilliard. It was bad enough she would probably be interviewed by the police soon. It was bad enough someone probably had seen her go upstairs shortly before Nolan did. And then there were those pictures she’d posted. . . . She was going to be questioned, she knew it. Too much stuff was going on already—she couldn’t get mixed up with Blake, too.

  But when she felt Blake take her hand, she didn’t pull away. His touch seemed to weaken her, her limbs suddenly feeling like noodles. He pulled her to the couch, which was soft and plush and had a crocheted afghan on it that Mac had always loved. He cupped her face in his hands and gave her a tender smile. “You are so beautiful,” he gushed. “I can’t stop thinking about you and me at the cupcake shop.”

  His breath tickled her earlobe. He smelled like Ivory soap, and a little bit like sugar—the cupcake smell lingered even when he wasn’t at work. She felt light-headed.

  “Me too,” she heard herself admit. But then she turned her head. “What are we doing, though? You have a girlfriend, Blake. This isn’t right.”

  Blake shook his head. “I’m trying to end things. I want to be with you.”

  Mac blinked hard. “You do? Why?”

  “Because you’re so . . . you.” He nodded.

  Mac smiled wryly. “Unfortunately.”

  “That’s a good thing.” Blake sat up and took her hands. “I’ve always wanted you.”

  “Then why did you kiss Claire at Disneyland?” she blurted.

  For a moment, Blake looked genuinely confused. “What are you talking about? Claire kissed me.”

  “What?” Mackenzie said, peering at him through her glasses. “Claire said you kissed her on a ride, but that she stopped it because she had to clear it with me first.”

  Blake shook his head slowly. “Um, no. We were on Pirates of the Caribbean. And I asked her if, you know, she thought you would ever go out with me.” Blake’s cheeks were red. “She said you were interested in someone else, but that she liked me—and she kissed me then and there.” He looked at Mackenzie earnestly, lifting her chin. “I never would have gone for her if I thought I had a chance with you.”

  Mac’s mouth fell open. That hadn’t been what Claire told her. In fact, it had been quite the opposite. And all this time, she had hidden herself away, letting them have their space. Her blood began to boil.

  He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her suddenly down on his lap. “Let’s not talk about Claire right now, okay?”

  Then they were kissing again. And Mac did as she was told: Her mind went blank. For once, she wasn’t worrying about how she looked or sounded—or about what she was doing to Claire. She wasn’t thinking about anything but Blake’s lips, Blake’s hands, and Blake’s body. In that moment, nothing and no one existed except her and the boy she’d loved for so many years from afar.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ON WEDNESDAY, AVA SHOWED UP to film studies class early, hoping to talk to Mr. Granger, but he didn’t come into the classroom until the final bell rang.

  “Okay, everyone,” he said, and turned to write on the chalkboard. “Today we’re going to start a new film. This one is called The Bad Seed. Anyone heard of it?”

  A lot of eager hands shot up, Ava’s included. He turned around and his eyes landed on her. “It’s the one about the little girl who commits murder,” she said, encouraged.

  Granger nodded. “A perfect-seeming child. Daughter of a perfect family. How on earth could she be capable of something so awful?”

  Ava’s stomach clenched. It was a strange choice of film after one of his students was murdered. She glanced at the others. Mac shifted. Julie tapped her toe incessantly.

  Granger walked over to the television and turned it on. “Those of you who have seen it, what would you say are some of the main themes?”

  Ava’s hand shot up again. She was determined to redeem herself after that big red C. “Nature versus nurture,” she volunteered. “A perfect family should, in theory, raise a perfect girl. What went wrong?”

  “Indeed.” Granger’s smiled gleamed. “So what could go wrong, Ava? Any thoughts?”

  “Well.” Ava could feel everyone looking at her. “Maybe some people are just born evil. They can’t help it.”

  Granger snapped his fingers. “That’s one of the central arguments in this film: Are people born evil, or good? Very smart, Ava.”

  She sat back and grinned. Alex caught her eye and raised his brow. Show-off, he mouthed teasingly.

  “We can even think of examples in our own life,” Granger went on. “There might be people we know about whom we ask that very question.”

  Granger dimmed the lights, and everyone quieted down as the film came on the screen. It was just as scary as Ava had remembered, and the little girl in the movie reminded her a lot of Nolan. When the final bell rang, she started to pack up her books, pulling nervously at the hem of the gray Theory dress she’d worn because she knew it made her look serious.

  “Hey,” Alex said, turning around with a grin. “Want to g
o off campus for lunch today?”

  She smiled at him. “Thanks. But I need to talk to Mr. Granger.”

  “Oh, right. Good luck.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  Ava waited until everyone else had left the classroom before she stood up and slowly walked to the front of the room. Mr. Granger was erasing the chalkboard, his back to her. Outside the classroom she heard the hallway filling with the chaos of freed students, lockers slamming and kids shouting. When Mr. Granger finally turned, he looked surprised to see her there.

  “Ava. What can I do for you?”

  The essay trembled in her hands, the big red C at the top catching her eye. She bit her lip and tried to sound as confident as possible. “I wanted to talk to you about this grade, Mr. Granger.”

  He sat down on the edge of his desk. “I see. Do my comments make sense to you?”

  She shrugged, still staring down at the paper. “I guess so. You thought it was stupid.”

  “Not stupid.” He stood up off the desk quickly, and all at once they were standing so close together she had to look up to meet his gaze. A warm, citrusy smell came off him, like tangerines sitting in sunlight. She swallowed.

  “The essay was very well written, Ava. Your prose is among the most sophisticated in the class. But the arguments were unfocused, nothing like your previous papers.”

  Ava nodded. “Yeah. I was kind of distracted when I wrote it.”

  “It was a tough topic, and this was a tough week,” Granger said, his green eyes steady on her. “It’s hard to lose a classmate—or, in my case, a student.”

  Ava bit her lip, casting her eyes down.

  Granger leaned back against the desk. “Perhaps you were at a disadvantage because of your group.”

  “Um . . . right.” Ava tried to gauge his expression. What did he mean by that?

  He looked at her expectantly, and she tried not to sound shaky as she forged ahead. “What I came to ask is, I’d like to rewrite the essay for a new grade.”

  Mr. Granger paused for a second, then nodded. “That sounds fair,” he said. “Why don’t we meet and talk about it. What’s your schedule like this week?”

  “I’m free whenever works for you,” Ava said agreeably.

  Granger pulled out his iPhone to check his schedule, then frowned. “Actually this week is pretty difficult for me, especially right after school. Would Friday work—maybe around seven?” He smiled at her encouragingly.

  Ava’s shoulders relaxed, the tension flooding out of her. “Oh, yes. Of course. Thank you so much, Mr. Granger. Should I meet you here?”

  He glanced at the wall, giving it a wry smile. “Unfortunately for me, the drama club is in dress rehearsals for Guys and Dolls, and the auditorium is flush with that wall. It’ll be pretty loud in here.” He thought for a moment. “What about my house? I’m just a few blocks from here. Besides, I have a book on villains by Chuck Klosterman I’d really like to lend you.”

  Ava blinked. She’d never been to a teacher’s house before. But he was going out of his way to help her with her paper, so the least she could do was come to him.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be there.”

  “Great.” He put his phone back in his pocket and quickly wrote down his address for her. “I think you’re really talented, Ava. You have a lot of potential.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Granger.” She squared her shoulders and turned to walk out of the classroom just as the door opened from the hallway.

  “Excuse me?” a man said, stepping into the room.

  “Yes?” Granger stood up fast, straightening his papers.

  The man strode across the room. “I’m Detective Peters. I’m wondering if I could speak to Miss Jalali.”

  His gaze turned to Ava. Ava shrank back, wondering how he knew her name—but then, maybe it was a cop’s job to know. Her head felt faint. What else did he know?

  “I just have a few questions for you, Miss Jalali,” Peters said, perhaps noticing the nervous look on Ava’s face.

  “That’s fine with me,” Granger said, his smile mild. “We’re finished here. You can use the classroom.”

  “Actually, I need to take her down to the station,” Peters said.

  Ava’s heart sank. “Th-the station?” She could feel Granger staring at her.

  “We can’t technically conduct interviews on school grounds, but I got permission from the office to come into the school.”

  “W-will you tell my parents?” Ava blurted.

  Peters’s mild expression didn’t change. “That you’re being questioned, yes. But everyone is being questioned, Miss Jalali. Is there more I should tell them?”

  Ava shook her head faintly. “Of course not.” Then she turned to follow the cop out of the room. Alex was waiting just outside the door. When he saw her with the cop, his mouth dropped open.

  “They’re just asking me some questions,” she said quickly, trying to erase the concern from his eyes.

  “Um, okay.” Alex gently touched her arm. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  She blinked, considering. Then she snapped her expression into something much more confident and brave. She had to get a grip. She couldn’t afford to look guilty. She’d done nothing wrong.

  “It’s okay,” she said brightly, giving Alex a peck on the cheek. “I’m sure it’s all just a formality. I’ll be back soon.”

  And then she turned her smile on the detective and followed him outside to where his squad car was parked at the curb. She paused at the backseat, and the detective laughed lightly. “You can sit up front with me. Unless you’re a criminal?”

  Ava’s cheeks reddened, and she managed to laugh as she scrambled to the passenger door. “Of course not,” she mumbled as she climbed in.

  Not yet, anyway.

  Ava had never been to a police station before, but it wasn’t that different from what she’d imagined: drab blue walls, people behind desks, WANTED posters, linoleum. The detective took Ava into a small room at the back and asked if she wanted coffee. She declined, afraid that it would make her hands shake even more badly than they already were. There was a long mirror on one side of the room; her wide-eyed, dark-haired, beautiful face stared back at her. She wondered if the mirror was actually translucent on the other side of the wall. Were officers standing there, ready to watch her?

  Her phone beeped. You okay? Alex texted.

  Ava turned her phone over, too freaked to type back. She looked at her expression in the mirror again. She needed to focus.

  Peters returned with his coffee and shut the door. “So. Ava Jalali. J-A-L-A-L-I, is that right?”

  Ava nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  Peters leaned forward. “Okay. It’s come to our attention that you were the last person anyone remembers with Nolan Hotchkiss the night of his death.”

  Ava frowned, her pulse racing double time. “I doubt that.”

  Peters didn’t blink. “An eyewitness said they saw you on the dance floor with him. You were ‘all over him,’ as he describes it.”

  Thank god Alex hadn’t come here with her. All at once, the memory of Nolan’s close, hot body pressed up against hers on the dance floor flashed into her mind. Does your boyfriend know you’re flirting with me? he’d said, his breath smelling like booze. It had taken everything in Ava’s power to keep it together. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. She remembered how hard her heart was pounding. How she kept peeking over her shoulder, terrified that Alex would step into the room and see what she was doing—she’d sent him on a wild-goose chase for her phone, which she said she’d left in his car, which was parked at the far end of the street. When Ava led Nolan upstairs, Alex was still probably searching for the phone that wasn’t there.

  “Who told you that?” she blurted.

  “Is it true?” Peters countered.

  Ava twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “I had too much to drink that night. But I have a boyfriend, and he knows Nolan and I were together a few years ago. He’s still jealo
us. I’d rather he didn’t know.”

  “None of this will get back to him,” Peters assured her. “So you were flirting with Nolan?”

  Ava weighed her options. If kids on the dance floor saw her, it might not be smart to lie. “I’m a flirt,” she said matter-of-factly. “Especially after a few beers.”

  “Did you go upstairs with him?”

  She drew back and made a face. “I wasn’t that drunk.”

  “Someone said they saw you.”

  From her bravest, strongest depths, Ava found the courage to look the detective in the eye. “Did one of Nolan’s buddies tell you that?” She leaned forward, batting her eyelashes. “Not every girl goes upstairs with guys at parties. Some of us have some dignity.”

  “Okay, okay.” The detective flipped some pages of his notebook, staring at scrawl. “But someone went upstairs with Nolan that night—several eyewitnesses said they were sure they saw him going up with a girl. Any ideas who that might be?”

  Ava shook her head, her long hair swishing back and forth. Her heart beat hard. “Nope.”

  “And you weren’t . . . mad at Nolan for some reason? Because I heard you two had a bad breakup. Nolan even started some rumors about you, if I’m not mistaken? Rumors that you were . . . more than a ‘flirt,’ as you say. And maybe Nolan brushed you off at the party, wasn’t into what you wanted. Maybe you got angry.”

  “I assure you, Nolan wasn’t the one who did the brushing off.” Ava paused, wondering if she’d been too sarcastic. “I’m sorry, Detective. But that’s all I know.”

  “Can you tell me where you went after you danced with Nolan?”

  “Back to my boyfriend. Where I belonged.”

  “And he can vouch for you?”

  “Of course,” Ava said, looking Peters straight in the eye. Alex had returned shortly after she’d snuck back downstairs; she’d found him in the kitchen after the prank. It was, mostly, the truth.

  The detective stared at her for what felt like ages. Ava stared back, willing herself not to blink. They don’t know anything, she kept repeating to herself. All they know is that he went upstairs with a girl. And they don’t even know that, not really.