DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE (9 page)

I strode to examine the backdrop, moving around a caged lightbulb hanging from an
upright stand with a heavy, ornate base. “Is this a prop?”

The students sucked in their breath, and Tinsley calmed them with a gesture.

“You have much to learn about the stage and we look forward to teaching you, don’t
we, darlings? That, my dear Miss Tucker, is our ghost light. We use it to light the
stage when the theater is blackened
,” Tinsley said.

“Ghost light?”

“One of our many superstitions. We always leave a light on for our theater ghosts,
who detest the dark. And it prevents us from tripping backstage. See, fantastical
and practical, just as theater should be.” Tinsley stroked his beard and rocked back
on his heels. “Now my puppets, we have visualized our concept of Verona as a beautiful
water world divided between the antagonism of two houses. Capulets to be represented
in blues and the Montagues in greens.”

Eager to have the limelight off my ignorance, I pulled a sketchbook from my messenger
bag, noted the colors, then moved to sit with the students.

“Mr. Tinsley, I don’t understand this setting.” A slight girl with straight blonde
tresses stood and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Two ruling houses at war in an
underwater planet doesn’t make sense. There would be no family loyalty in a water
world. The species only instinct would be survival.”

“Tell that to Aquaman.” I leaned toward a nearby student. “How does she know this
stuff?”

“Skylar is our valedictorian,” she whispered. “She’s brilliant.”

“What is Skylar doing in the theater program? Shouldn’t she be hanging in a science
lab?”

“You can’t be serious.” The girl curled her lip. “We have one of the best drama programs
in the country. If you want to hang with the burnouts, go check out the art wing.”

“Hey now,” I said. “Artists aren’t burnouts. We just think on a different level than
other people.”

“That’s because you’re all on drugs. Go take another hit off your bong, burnout.”

“That’s Miss Tucker to you, missy.” I lowered one eyebrow, but thought about the hard
drive Detective Herrera carried from the art wing. “So, is there a major drug problem
among the art students?”

Little Miss Priss rolled her eyes at me. “Considering Preston King runs fine arts,
what do you think?”

“Who is Preston King? A teacher?”

Priss scoffed and turned her back on me to listen to the continuing discussion between
Skylar and Tinsley.

“Skylar, use these excellent questions in building the characters’ motivations.” Tinsley
broke off his speech, frozen for a moment, then dug a hand into his pocket.

Around me, the students jolted upright from their cross-legged droops.

Hands wandered into pockets and purses, and a number of phones slid under legs, into
palms, and beneath notebooks.

“It’s settled,” Tinsley announced, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Verona WAS,”
he zinged a look toward Skylar, “a technologically advanced civilization and now covered
in water.”

“But how did the Capulets develop gills?” Skylar spoke before she raised her hand.

“They live in a bubble
.
” Tinsley
said
. “Class is over early.”

Skylar nodded, then bolted toward the side of the stage followed by other students,
their eyes on barely concealed devices.

Tinsley waited until they left, untied the cape, and let it drop to the floor. He
stared into the large auditorium, seeming to forget I remained on the stage with him.

“Did you get another text?” I asked. “Looked like an all-points-bulletin hit the airwaves
at the same time.”

Fishing his phone from his pocket, he drew it toward his face and touched the small
screen. Shuddering, he shoved it back in his pocket. “Not a text. A PeerNotes communique.
Or as you said, an all-points-bulletin. Announcements through PeerNotes are designed
to pop up before and after school unless it’s an emergency. Someone broke those rules.”

“Can a student make these announcements?”

“I suppose if they had the password.”

“What’d it say?”

Tinsley took a deep breath. “‘Don’t cry for me, Peerless. The truth is I never left
you. All through my wild days, my mad existence, I kept my promise. Don’t keep your
distance.’”

“What does that mean?”

Tinsley whirled around to face me. “It’s the chorus from
‘
Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina.
’
”

“Sounds pretty creepy.”

“You don’t understand,” said Tinsley. “That song is from the musical,
Evita
. Which we performed last year. I lost the Tiny Tony on that production.”

“Why?”

“Because my lead died shortly before competition finals. Ellis Madsen was my Evita.”

E
leven

“I need to see all your texts,” I said, crossing my arms over my color blocks. “I
don’t care about your dirty laundry. If you want my help, I’ve got to know what the
texter is texting.”

Tinsley shoved his hands in his pockets. “I can paraphrase for you, but I’d rather
not give the details. The specifics are unnecessary.”

“Have the police seen your texts?”

He shook his head. “If they have a warrant, I’ll have to show them, I suppose.”

“A warrant?” Whatever he was hiding, it must be good. “This last message seems to
be aimed at you. Has anyone else been targeted or just you and Maranda Pringle?”

He scuffed his shoe along the floor. “Oh, I’d say none of the faculty are safe from
attack. Some of us just make bigger targets.”

A bell rang, officially ending class.

“If the phantom’s a student, they sure don’t like you and they didn’t like Miss Pringle,”
I said. “If we know the other teachers under fire, then we might be able to check
student schedules and see if there’s some kind of connection.”

“It wouldn’t be any of my students.” Tinsley walked to the table placed in the middle
of the stage and began to shuffle through photocopies.

“Even Skylar?”

He studied me over his shoulder. “Skylar’s pigheaded but harmless. I encourage my
students to ask questions. I’d start with Dr. Vail’s students. There’s a real prejudice
against my theater darlings in fine arts.”

Of course, I’d have to play the heavy in the one department where I could have fit
in. “It might not be a student, you know.”

He splayed his hands on the table and his shoulders drooped. “Yes, I have thought
it could be a staff member. Someone jealous of my success. Like Dr. Vail. But I’m
not the only faculty member targeted, so it doesn’t make much sense.”

“I was thinking of a parent.”

He turned, clutching the sheaf of photocopies. “Why would a parent do this? They pay
an exorbitant fee to send their children here. The messaging disrupts classes, as
you saw today. What would they gain?”

“I’d say they got rid of the mean witch Miss Pringle, maybe just not the way they
intended. Now they’re fixing to get you to quit. Just because someone is a parent,
it doesn’t make them nice or even sane.” My thoughts drifted to my own mother, dumping
her fatherless kids so she could run off with the milkman. Who just might be Billy
Branson. My stomach squeezed and churned. Did that make Shawna my step-sister?

“No
.
” Tinsley shook his head. “The parents are my biggest supporters.”

“You aren’t as popular as you think.
N
either was Miss Pringle.”

Tinsley turned back to his table and photocopies.

“Listen, Halo High was a
D
ivision A team, but we kicked country ass and made it to the state championship playoffs.
And lost. Pissed off the tight end’s daddy so much, he started a private campaign
to get rid of the coach. Scooted around to all the Saturday night card games, church
groups, and the golf course, sowing his little seeds of discontent. Rumors started
floating around about the coach and a cheerleader.”

Tinsley kept his back to me. “I suppose the coach was fired?”

“Actually the cheerleader’s daddy shot the coach in the parking lot of the post office.
In the foot. The coach was laid up for the next season,
and
the cheerleader’s daddy arrested
.
”

Tinsley’s shoulders bowed. “I savvy your meaning.”

“You really should show me your texts. Might give a clue that points to whether it’s
a student or an adult.”

He shook his head. “I’ve erased them. By the way, have you spoken to Mr. Avtaikin,
yet? I’m looking at costume rental. You wouldn’t believe the price on retro-aquanaut
suits.”

Students began to file onto the stage for the next class. Tinsley’s shoulders pulled
back, his chin lifted, and voice brightened. Turning around, the Professor of Theater
was reborn. Greeting his minions, he swooped to center stage to recapture the fallen
cape.

I decided to skip class.

Not much changes in eight years.

I lost myself behind the stage and eventually found my way back to the lounge Tinsley
had created in the drama vestibule. Why students needed more areas to hang out was
beyond me, but hanging out suited my purposes very well. I wanted students’ opinions
on the messaging. Laurence snoozed on a bean bag chair, but a girl and boy sat across
a table, sharing a notebook and googly eyes.

For a moment, I watched the mating ritual of the young teens. Darting glances, fidgety
hands, and rigid spines, making an awkward lean toward each other. As they appeared
about to combust, they seemed distracted enough to shoot some helpful information
my way. I tossed my satchel on the table and pulled out my drawing pad. Tinsley had
given me the dimensions of the stage and some basic set pieces. I could accomplish
two tasks at once.

The students looked both relieved and annoyed to have me plop down next to them.

“Are you in
Romeo and Juliet
?” I asked. “My name’s Cherry Tucker. I’m helping with the set design.”

“We don’t know yet,” said the girl. “I’m Hayden Pendleton. I’m in Advanced, so I’m
sure we’ll be working with you some.” She had pretty hazel eyes and stick straight
auburn tresses. Peerless must sell straight irons with their tuition.

“I’m Layton Slater.” He had a sweet face and a brown mop top, popular with the boys
in the school. His hands played with the notebook, itching to touch Hayden, whose
long fingers lay about an inch away.

I opened my sketch book and flipped to a blank page. “Y’all have any ideas about the
underwater alien set? I’m fixing to brainstorm.”

“Not really,” said Hayden, darting a look at Layton. “Fish?” She giggled, then covered
it up by running a hand through her hair.

“Fish make perfect sense,” said Layton, staring at Hayden. A smile twitched his lips.
The boy had it bad.

I needed them to focus. “I suppose, y’all got
the
PeerNotes announcement with the line from that musical.”

They snapped out of their flirting. “
Evita
,” said Layton. “I played Ché last year.”

“You were so good as Ché,” said Hayden. “Really, really good. Super fantastic.” The
brilliant pink coloring her cheeks made her appear touched with scarlet fever.

Layton’s hands slid closer to brush against Hayden’s fingertips. “Yeah? You really
think so? I don’t know. Maybe Josh would have been better.”

I whacked my pencil against the table, drawing their attention back to me. “Do you
think someone’s trying to get at Mr. Tinsley? Or did the message mean something else?”

Hayden blinked. “Because the message was from
Evita
?”

Layton patted her hand. “He took Ellis’s death pretty hard. Remember how upset he
was? The announcement probably brought it all back to him.”
Layton stretched across the table to stroke Hayden’s forearm. “
But h
e’ll be okay.”

I slapped my pencil against Layton’s wrist, causing them to turn and look at me. “Sorry.
Pencil slipped. So I guess Tinsley was pretty close to Ellis, then? Or did he feel
guilty about her death?”

“Ellis loved Mr. Tinsley.” Hayden crossed her arms.

“I heard that when Ellis was bullied, no one stood up for her. Not even her friends.
That’s why she killed herself. She felt alone.”

Layton reddened. “The rumors were pretty vicious. Anybody who got involved with Ellis
was pulled in. We were worried about her, but she wasn’t exactly popular either.”

“Ellis was super talented, but a lot of students felt a senior should have gotten
that role.” Hayden’s gaze dropped to her lap and her fingers flicked through her hair.
“Ellis was really good, but she wasn’t even a drama kid.”

“So they bullied her because they were jealous?” I asked.

“If we had won the Tiny Tony with Ellis performing, she could have landed a big time
agent. And Ellis wasn’t even interested in a career. Just think of her resume with
the lead in
Evita
.”

“Her career? Wasn’t she a sophomore?” I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “Good Lord.
High school’s changed a lot since my day.”

“Yeah, I heard they didn’t even have computers back then,” said Hayden. “How did you
do any research?”

“We had computers,” I snapped and sketched a computer monitor on my pad
with a pencil
. “Hey, I saw a cop carrying a hard drive out of the art rooms. Do you know what that’s
about?”

Layton and Hayden straightened in their chairs. “No,” they chimed. Then giggled.

T
hey pulled phones from their pockets and began to type. Layton looked up and caught
Hayden’s eye. She giggled, then looked back at her phone, her thumbs flying over the
keyboard.

“Are you texting each other or somebody else?” I asked.

“Just a minute,” said Layton. He touched his screen and hopped into another app, then
began scrolling through the screen using his thumb.

“What are you looking at?” I moved onto my knees to see over his shoulder.

“PeerNotes.”

“Does it say anything about me in there?”

Hayden gave me an “as-if” look. “No. We’re reading posts about the art department.
Someone reported the cops coming in. They don’t know why they took the hard drive.
It’s from the design lab. And everyone knows Preston does his graphics on it.”

“Preston King? Did they confiscate computers in other classrooms?” If they did, it
might be related to Miss Pringle’s death.

Hayden and Layton began tapping the keyboards with their thumbs. Then giggled again.

I pushed on Layton’s arm to see his phone. “What are you writing?”

“Nothing,” said Layton, scooting his phone into his lap.

“We should get to class,” said Hayden.

“Exactly,” I said. “Why aren’t you in class? What’s the deal with all these students
wandering around, not in class?”

“Whatever,” said Hayden. She stood and before she could take her books, Layton slid
them in his arms. Bumping hips, they glided through the double doors and into the
arts hall.

I glanced at my sketchpad. I had a fish and a computer. Not an award winning set design.
Or even a good composition.

“They don’t know much,” said a voice from the floor.

I peered over the table at Laurence. “And why aren’t you in class? What kind of school
lets you sit in a bean bag all day?”

“Independent study,” he said. “But I’m not allowed to leave the campus.”

“Shouldn’t you be independently studying instead of napping?”

“What do you care?” Laurence blinked at the ceiling and stretched. “As long as my
grades are good, they leave me alone.”

“Who?”

“Everybody.” He pushed himself to standing and walked to the table. “You better watch
yourself. Kids like Layton and Hayden won’t pick up on your questions, but others
will.”

“Other students?”

“Not just students.” His smile gave me the jitters. “Something wicked this way comes
to Peerless.”

“I’m kind of a literal person,” I said. “Can you spell it out for me since you know
so much?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t really interest me.”

“Doesn’t interest you?” What was with Tara’s brother? Why didn’t he have the eager-beaver
Mayfield genes? “Would it interest you to speak to the police? I could arrange it.”

“The police interest me even less. But it makes no difference to me.”

“I need to know which teachers are targeted by anonymous texting.”

“Some might tell you, most won’t.” He snatched his jacket from the table, shrugged
it on inside-out, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“It’s not my business,” he said and ambled from the lounge. “Peace.”

“I don’t get this school,” I said to my fish drawing. “It’s too hard.”