The Perfectionists (3 page)

Anger pricked Parker's skin. He wasn't supposed to know about this place. And she was angry at him for other reasons, too. He'd been the one who made them watch that damned film. He'd been the one to sort them into groups after. He'd been the one to ask,
Is murder justified so long as the person really, truly deserved it?

Now Granger came closer, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket himself, which surprised her. “I didn't take you for a smoker,” he said quietly, lighting up.

Parker took a drag. She didn't know whether he was kidding—she looked
exactly
like a smoker.

“I have to go,” she said gruffly, throwing the butt onto the grass and twisting it out with her shoe. Even the Grove was ruined today. And when she walked back into school, she felt yet another stabbing migraine coming on.

Maybe, she suddenly thought, going to a therapist would be helpful after all. Maybe he would help her block out all those memories. Maybe he'd do some sort of hypnosis thing until she no longer had any feelings at all. Maybe he could fix her.

Or maybe, a small voice in the back of her head said, what she did to Nolan proved that she really
was
broken beyond repair.

CAITLIN MARTELL-LEWIS SHIFTED FROM FOOT
to foot on the Beacon Heights soccer field. The manicured lawn looked vivid green against the woolly gray afternoon clouds that hung low in the sky. It felt as if the gentle autumn warmth had been sucked out of the air overnight, leaving a moist chill that cut through her warm-up pants. Caitlin breathed in the scent of freshly cut grass and impending rain. The smells of soccer.

“All right—we're going to have to go heavy on the offense.” Caitlin rubbed her hands together as her teammates listened. “Megan and Gina, you two take the midfield. Shannon, Sujatha, Katie, and Dora, you're defense. You guys are going to have to stay on your toes. The rest of us are on forward.”

“We're going to crush those boys.” Katie O'Malley glared at the opposing team: Beacon's varsity boys' soccer squad. Today was the annual girls-boys play-off.

The boys' coach, Coach Marcus, and the girls' coach, Coach Leah—who were, incidentally, married to each other—paced the sidelines in identical maroon-and-white soccer anoraks. Caitlin glanced at her coach briefly, then looked back at her team. “Viking, you've got our goal, right? Don't let those bastards score.”

“I've got this,” Vanessa Larson said. At almost six foot two and stunningly beautiful with her long red hair and chiseled cheekbones, Vanessa the Viking was also Caitlin's best friend on the team.

Then Ursula Winters, who normally played center mid but had taken over as striker when Caitlin was injured, looked at Caitlin harshly. “Are you sure your ankle's healed? You don't want to hurt it more by coming back too early.”

Caitlin frowned. “I'm fine,” she insisted. Of course Ursula didn't want Caitlin to play—she wanted to take her place. But Caitlin
was
fine . . . mostly. She had a high ankle sprain, but she'd powered through it with physical therapy and the occasional hit of OxyContin—the same drug, actually, that Nolan allegedly OD'd on. And now here she was, back on the field after just three weeks. She had to prove to the coach that she was ready for the big play-off game in two weeks. Winning that was her ticket to an athletic scholarship at the University of Washington, something she'd been working toward her whole life.

Suddenly, Caitlin felt two strong arms wrap around her shoulders. “Gotcha,” her boyfriend, Josh Friday, murmured in her ear.

“Get off me,” Caitlin mumbled good-naturedly, elbowing him. “I'm trying to focus.”

Josh snickered. “You're cute when you're in game mode.” He bumped fists with two of his buddies, Guy Kenwood and Timothy Burgess, who'd also wandered over.

“Ha-ha,” Caitlin said with a laugh, trying not to be irritated that Josh wasn't taking this game seriously. “It'll be less cute when we kick your butts.”

She and Josh had been together forever. Their parents had been best friends since college—they'd been in each other's weddings and had moved to Beacon Heights at the same time. Sibyl and Mary Ann, Caitlin's two moms, had adopted Caitlin from Korea the same year Michelle Friday gave birth to Josh—and then when they went back to Seoul a few years later to adopt Caitlin's brother, Taylor, they left Caitlin with the Friday family for two months. There were framed photos in both houses of Caitlin and Josh holding hands on a playground, or red-faced and crying in a mall Santa's lap. There'd been a few of them sharing a bathtub as toddlers, too, but those had been banned by both Josh and Caitlin on the grounds that they were weird and creepy.

Over the years, the Martell-Lewises and the Fridays did joint vacations and holidays, held weekly board game nights, had standing Saturday-night barbecues, and were always on the sidelines at Caitlin's and Josh's games. And now Caitlin and Josh were both being courted by UDub's respective soccer coaches . . . which meant the Martell-Lewis/Friday lovefest could continue into college. And then, if everything went according to plan, they would graduate, get married, and have Martell-Lewis-Friday babies.

And that plan was more important than ever now. Josh and soccer were her only two constants, the only things holding her together when it felt like her world was falling apart. With Taylor gone, her whole family had shifted. She was suddenly an only child, and the family her parents had worked so hard to create was crumbling. Her moms kept it together in front of her, but she often heard Sibyl crying quietly in their room. Mary Ann stared out the window as she did the dishes, as though if she looked long enough, she would finally see Taylor coming in for dessert. The only times her moms seemed like themselves were at dinner with the Fridays or cheering for Caitlin on the soccer field.

Shannon, who played left defense, cleared her throat, breaking Caitlin from her thoughts. “So how weird was that memorial today?” she asked in a low voice, looking at the girls' team and all the boys who'd wandered over. “I guess I haven't been to too many things for people our own age.” Then she paled and looked at Caitlin. “I'm sorry, Caitlin. I didn't mean—”

Caitlin looked down. She wasn't about to have a conversation about her brother right now.

Sujatha, a lean Indian girl who ran faster than anyone on the team, placed her hands on her thin hips. “Do you really think he committed suicide?”

“No way,” Asher Collins, the boys' goalie, interjected. “That guy was too vain to kill himself.”

Marnie Wilson, who had an on-again, off-again thing with Asher, glared at him. “It's not nice to talk like that about someone who's dead.”

“Not if he's an asshole,” Ursula piped up. Then she stared straight at Caitlin. “Right?”

Caitlin's cheeks reddened. She'd heard something about Nolan jilting Ursula last year—then again, he'd jilted everyone. But it wasn't a rumor how much
Caitlin
hated Nolan. She cleared her throat, looking to Josh for help, but he was busy mock-wrestling Timothy.

“I wonder what it's like to take
that
much Oxy,” Ursula went on.

Shannon frowned. “How much did he take, anyway?”

“Enough to kill him, I guess,” Ursula said, still staring at Caitlin.

Suddenly, Caitlin heard a voice—
her
voice—from that day in film studies a few weeks before.
You know how I'd do it? Oxy. Everyone knows it's his drug of choice.

She blinked the memory away.

Ursula shrugged. “Do you think they're doing an autopsy? Have you ever seen those shows on TV where they do that? They're so gross. The coroner, like, cracks open the ribs with pliers and
weighs
the heart on a fruit scale.”

“Enough!” Caitlin said loudly. “Can we please focus?”

Everyone fell silent.

No one knew what went down between her and Nolan the night he died, but they all knew perfectly well that her brother had an autopsy performed on him only six months before—and that her brother was dead because of Nolan Hotchkiss.

Josh coughed uncomfortably, then grabbed Asher's arm and guided him away. “Let's talk strategy. See you, guys.”

The whistle blew. Caitlin faced her team, looking at all of them except Ursula. “Take your places,” she roared, her voice still a little shaky. “Let's kick some balls, ladies.”

They broke and moved into formation across from the boys. Caitlin felt anxious and unfocused, her body full of pent-up anger. When Coach Marcus blew the whistle for kickoff, she shot forward, her speed surprising even herself.

The world beyond the field became a blur. Caitlin charged forward to take the ball, her cleats tearing into the field as she passed to Gina Pedalino. The boys on the other side looked momentarily dazed—Gabe Martinez, the boys' best forward, hadn't even moved by the time the ball was halfway to the goal. Caitlin smirked.
That's right, idiots
, she thought.
Girls can play better than you think.

She raced up the field. The ball flew between her teammates' feet, passing back and forth through the defenders. For a split second, Rocky Davidson intercepted her, but Gina flew past him, stealing the ball right back. Fat raindrops were starting to fall, their rhythm slow at first and then picking up speed. Caitlin felt her blood singing in her veins, pumping with excitement and the thrill of the game.

Suddenly, the ball was hers, and she took off along the sideline, pounding straight toward the boys' goal. Behind her she could hear grunts of exertion as her teammates kept the defense off her tail. Her heart soared. But then a blur of maroon and white shot in front of her.
Ursula.
She stole the ball from Caitlin and ran toward the goal.

“What the hell are you doing?” Caitlin screeched. “We're on the same team!”

But Ursula just jostled her with her shoulder. Anger boiled in Caitlin's chest. It was bad enough when someone stole a ball, let alone someone from her own
team
.

A scream spewed out of Caitlin from somewhere deep and frustrated, and she stuck out her foot to trip her teammate.

“
Oof!
” Ursula shrieked, going down hard on the turf, her limbs flailing.

The whistle tweeted. “Caitlin!” Coach Leah roared behind her.

Her husband ran up as well. “Yellow card!” he bellowed, standing over Ursula. “Are you all right?”

Ursula was breathing heavily and dusting grass off her knees. “That
hurt
,” she whined.

Coach Leah narrowed her eyes at Caitlin. “What's going on with you? This is just a
practice.
I understand your need to be competitive, but there's no excuse for hurting someone. Hit the showers.”

“What?” Caitlin cried, her jaw dropping open. “Did you not see her steal the ball?”

“I mean it.” Coach pointed at the school. “Go.”

Everyone was gawking. A couple of guys nudged each other. Josh looked at her questioningly. Caitlin exhaled loudly. “Whatever,” she said, waving a hand and stomping off the field. Behind her, the whistle blew again. Ursula, perfectly recovered, took Caitlin's place as striker.

Caitlin stormed along the edge of the school, glaring at her reflection in the long windows that faced the fields; inside was the computer center, a massive space filled with state-of-the-art machinery. The place where her brother used to hang out all the time.

Unbidden, an image of him streaked through her mind. Taylor, short and scrawny even for a freshman, his glasses too big for his face, the hems of his too-long pants dragging on the ground. He'd been a happy kid—always crouched over his Nintendo DS or reading some enormous fantasy novel. But then he'd gotten to high school. It was one thing for Caitlin, a cute, athletic girl, to have two adoptive moms. But it was entirely another thing for her dorky brother, a skinny Korean kid with no interest in sports or booze or popularity—the social currency of Beacon High. Nolan and his friends had eaten Taylor alive.

“Babe?”

She turned around. Josh had jogged after her, his short dark hair slick from the rain. “Hey,” he said cautiously, as if she were a potentially dangerous animal. “Are you okay? What happened back there?”

Caitlin just shrugged. “I'm fine.” She hiked her gear bag higher and pulled her keys out of a small pocket in the front. “I shouldn't let Ursula get to me.” She waved him toward the field. “You should go back. Keep playing. Every practice is an important stepping-stone to UDub, you know?”

But Josh kept pace. “You heading home?”

Caitlin licked her lips. “I'm going to the cemetery,” she said, deciding it in that very moment. “I want to see Taylor.”

She couldn't say for sure, but it seemed as if Josh's face fell for the briefest second. But then he stepped forward, like the good boyfriend he was. “I'll drive you.”

Twenty minutes later, Josh and Caitlin parked in the lot at the McAllister Cemetery. As final resting places went, it wasn't a bad one, with a view of the lake; a lot of old, beautiful trees; and quaint little garden paths.

But as Caitlin undid her seat belt and climbed out of the car, Josh stared at his phone. “Shit. I think the UDub recruiter is calling me.”

Caitlin frowned. “Your phone's not ringing.”

Josh was holding his phone in a way that she couldn't see the screen. “I have it on silent. I gotta take this. You go.”

He put the phone to his ear and said hello. Caitlin watched him for a moment, not sure if he'd actually received a call or not. But would Josh really fake a phone call to get out of going to the cemetery with her?

He
did
hate it, though. He'd come only once since Taylor died. Anytime after that, he said he was busy . . . or that the flowers aggravated his allergies . . . or that it was too rainy . . . or any other excuse he could think of. Caitlin thought again of the brief flash of—what was that, annoyance?—that had passed across Josh's face at the soccer field when she mentioned Taylor's name. He had that reaction a lot, if Caitlin was honest with herself. But she couldn't figure out how to ask him what he was feeling—they didn't have that sort of relationship. Before Taylor died, they hadn't needed to. But now she wished she could talk to him about it. Even just a
little.