The Girl Is Murder Read Free

class?” I said.
    “Shouldn’t you?”
    I blushed. I couldn’t help myself. There was something about the way he talked that made me think I was doing something forbidden. Or maybe he just made me wish I was.
    One of the girls who’d been with him earlier reappeared at the top of the hall. She frowned when she saw me, and then cleared her throat to get Tom’s attention. “Look who got a hall pass,” she said when he turned and acknowledged her.
    “Lucky you,” he replied.
    “Want a smoke?”
    “Absolutely. I’ll meet you out back in five,” he said. “I’m helping Iris here find her class.”
    “I’m sure she can find it herself,” said the girl.
    “Cool it, Rhona. I said I’ll see you in five ticks.”
    “I’m giving you four.” She turned tail and disappeared.
    “I can find it on my own,” I said. “Really. It’s just down that hall, right?”
    “Right,” he said.
    “Thanks again for your help.”
    “Any time, Iris Anderson.”
     
    WHEN I ARRIVED in Mr. Pinsky’s class, one of his students was reading the morning announcements off of a mimeographed page. Rather than letting me take my seat, Mr. Pinsky gestured for me to remain near the door until the recitation ended, putting me on display for the entire room. I spent an eternity staring at my shoes while the pug-nosed girl ended her morning spiel by reminding the students that the principal wished them to “remain vigilant about their personal possessions until such time as the person or persons responsible for the locker thefts has been apprehended.”
    So public school not only welcomed fights in the hallway and smoking in the girls’ room, it attracted thieves, too. I made a note to retrieve my purse from my locker as soon as possible.
    By the time the announcements concluded, every eye in the class was watching me. Somebody faked a cough and muttered “Fresh meat” under their breath. I took a seat as the class buzzed with two topics: the new girl and who was behind the locker robberies.
    I tuned out the comments about my clothes and focused on the more interesting topic.
    “I heard they actually cut the padlocks open,” said one girl.
    “It’s one of the guys in the Rainbows,” said a girl with a pinched face and a husky voice.
    “Sure, but which one?” asked her red-faced friend.
    “Probably one of the Eye-talians.”
    My eavesdropping wasn’t as subtle as I hoped. The girl with the pinched face turned my way and offered me a sneer. “What are you staring at?”
    “Nothing,” I said. I could feel color bleed into my face. I looked away, hoping they wouldn’t see my embarrassment. It was too late.
    “Hold your tongue, Myrtle,” the pinch-faced girl said to her friend. “You don’t want to make the square from Delaware clutch her pearls.”
    Sadly, that was the kindest welcome I got for the rest of the morning.
    Every class I went to I was stared at. I was asked to introduce myself before the students assembled in Home Economics by announcing my favorite meal to cook. When I told them toast, I was laughed at. I didn’t know how to cook. There’d never been a need for me to do it before.
    My walk was mimicked, my voice was aped, and I was reminded at every turn that I didn’t belong. What had Pop been thinking, sending me into the jaws of public school without any kind of warning? He hadn’t been thinking: that was the point. How could he know who I was when he hadn’t known who I’d been?
    Finally, lunchtime arrived. I went to my locker to retrieve my lunch money, anxious the whole time that the combination I thought I remembered was incorrect. I needn’t have worried; the lock was gone and the locker was empty. My purse and everything in it was missing.
    That did it. For the first time that day, I let myself cry. I was beyond caring who saw me.
    I didn’t have the heart to report the crime—aside from my house key and the money Mrs. Mrozenski had given me, there wasn’t much of value in my purse. And I