The Headmaster's List Read online

  “Right,” Jackson said. Spencer was feeling simultaneously nauseous and exhilarated. If someone had slipped her something at the party, that would explain her memory loss. It was their first lead, and she could barely keep her breakfast down.

  Brent looked over his shoulder and licked his lips. “Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but I heard that Tabby got expelled from their last school for some crazy shit. Their family covered it all up, but things leak. Heard they were selling coke, heroin, meth even. Whatever it is, you should be careful. Tabby has all this bad energy. You never know with folks from Arizona.”

  “Noted,” Jackson said flatly. It appeared that his opinion of Brent was waning alongside Spencer’s. He didn’t sound like he believed Brent in the slightest.

  “Look, I really gotta go,” Brent said. “My students will fall asleep if I’m not back. Do you need anything else?”

  Spencer said they didn’t, and Brent returned to his group of yoga acolytes.

  “Heroin? Meth? You think Tabby was selling that stuff?” Jackson scoffed. “Maybe coke, but come on. It’s all a bit extreme. What is this, a show on HBO?”

  “We can’t rule anything out,” Spencer said. “The best we can do is talk to Tabby.”

  “If they’ll even talk to us.”

  “We have to try.”

  “Tabby called in sick from school today. We’ll have to wait until they’re back to talk, then.” Jackson clicked his pen thoughtfully a few times before putting it between the pages of his notebook. He had a habit of clicking his pen when he was particularly flustered.

  Hearing that Tabby might have had a hand in Spencer’s memory loss was frightening to say the least. If Brent’s suspicions were right, Tabby wasn’t someone to take lightly. But Spencer wasn’t in the habit of listening to rumors.

  Spencer bent down to scratch Ripley’s back and Ripley looked up at her, mouth open in a wide smile. Spencer felt like even the dog understood that they were on to something. It was a step, even if it felt like a baby step, toward piecing together what happened that night.

  EIGHTEEN

  OUTSIDE IN THE BACKYARD, SPENCER focused the telescope, then pulled back to look at the moon with her own eyes. Living in Los Angeles, Spencer hardly ever saw more than three stars, two if the moon was full. The light pollution and smog always made the sky hazy and impossible to see through. One of her dream trips would be a visit to the Cosmic Campground in New Mexico, located in the Gila National Forest. She could camp and watch the night sky, getting as many photos as she possibly could with the astrophotography camera she’d been saving up for all summer. Hike and cook on an open fire all day, and sleep under the stars at night.

  But for now, she was stuck at home, until she was finally able to sit in a car again.

  The moon was full and bright, a rarity in the city, and Spencer had set up her telescope on the deck, Ripley watching curiously from the grass. The crickets were out, the air was warm, and Spencer finally got to have some time to herself. She had lit some candles to see by and could blow them out when she needed to. For now, she had some time.

  “Hey.”

  She turned to see Jackson, emerging from her living room, sliding the glass door behind him and smiling, as always.

  “Hey!” she said cheerfully. “You made it.”

  She had invited Jackson over for a study session for their AP psych exam. Her parents were out at work, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Besides, they were doing things for school. Why would she get in trouble for that? But she had something else in mind before they got to work.

  “Hope let me in,” he explained. “What are you doing?”

  “Come see,” she said, tipping her head to the telescope.

  When he approached, she could smell him. Whatever he used when he showered, she liked it, a pleasant combination of cedar and rosemary. It reminded her of a forest trail on the northern coast. She was thankful for the dark, concealing the heat in her cheeks.

  He leaned down and peered through the eyepiece. “Whoa,” he said, completely—for lack of a better word—starstruck. “It’s so clear.”

  “She’s beautiful, right?”

  “Totally.” Jackson pulled back from the telescope and smiled at her; then he looked through the eyepiece again. “It’s—wow, amazing! You can almost see the ranges in the mountains. Everything is … wow!” Spencer smiled. She too sounded lost for words the first time she saw the moon with a telescope. By making the moon so large, one can really feel so small. It had the opposite effect of being alone in an empty room. Instead, it made her feel closer to the cosmos. Like she could reach out and touch it. If she were at a dark sky park, she imagined the night sky full of stars could open up and swallow her whole. Someday she’d get there.

  Jackson looked up at her. “Is this what you do most nights when you’re not studying?”

  Spencer smiled. “As if I couldn’t be any more of a nerd.”

  “Not like that’s a bad thing. I think sometimes we see the moon so much, sometimes we take it for granted.”

  He had a point. “I’m curious, though. What do you see in the moon?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like, when you look at the moon, what looks back?”

  He looked through the eyepiece and said, “I think I see a man. The eyes, and the mouth, making it look like he’s surprised.” He tilted his head up again. “Is this some kind of Rorschach test? Did I pass?”

  Spencer lowered her voice and stroked her face, as if she had a long beard. “Ah yes, you see a man in the moon, therefore you are at war with your conscious and unconscious mind.” She laughed and dropped the act. “I’m joking. It’s just fun to ask what people see. Everyone sees something different. It’s called lunar pareidolia. What people see in the light or dark spots of the moon.” The dark craters of the moon could form the impression of handprints, or the profile of a dog howling; some people saw the face of a man, others saw a woman with an updo. People could argue for decades about which was correct, but in the end, no one would be right. The only truth was that people saw patterns in random shapes as a result of asteroids hitting the surface with no atmosphere. And Spencer found comfort in the idea that there was an inherent need in people to see patterns and faces in randomness. Everyone was always looking for answers.

  “Really?” he said. “I always thought it was pretty standard across the board.”

  She nodded. “You’d be surprised. Tons of people around the world see different things. I see a rabbit. The ears, the little tail.”

  Jackson looked back through the eyepiece and ooh’d. “Now I see it! But I can’t see the man anymore. That’s wild.” He kept looking through the telescope, completely drawn in. Spencer stood by, holding herself and smiling as she looked at the sky, too. A plane flew overhead, its wingtip lights blinking.

  Spencer glanced at the time on her phone. It was almost time.

  “This is amazing. I’ve never seen the moon like this before … What are you doing?”

  Spencer blew out the candles and counted down the seconds on her phone. “You don’t think I wanted you here just to look at the moon, did you?” she asked with a grin. “Look again. Three, two, one…”

  Jackson lowered his gaze to the telescope and after a second, he tensed up. “What is—it’s moving! What is that? It’s so fast!”

  Spencer smiled wider. “Right on time. Perfectly predictable.”

  Jackson looked at her, his expression tight. “Aliens.”

  Spencer laughed. “I wish! No, that was the International Space Station. Pretty cool, right?”

  “For real?” Jackson moved back to the telescope, but it would have been long gone by now.

  “Four-point-seven-six miles per second. That’s how fast it’s falling. Can you imagine that? Weightlessness? Zero gravity?”

  “No, I really can’t. I’ve never even been on a roller coaster. Freaks me out too much. Heights? No thank you. That’s way too intense for me. But still, this was so cool. Thanks for showing me.”

  “I’m glad you could see it! The conditions have to be perfect; fortunately we didn’t have any cloud cover. Sometimes things just work out when you need them to.”

  * * *

  Spencer half-heartedly kicked a rock down the sidewalk. It rolled down the pavement a few steps away, for Spencer to kick it again. They had taken a break from their AP psych notes to take Ripley for a walk. The conversation turned back toward Ethan and the case.

  The first day of his trial was coming up next weekend. Inevitably, it stirred up excitement for people who were paying attention to the case.

  “It’s awful reading what people are saying about him online,” Spencer said. The phone lit up her face in the dim light of the fading evening. “Reddit is the worst. And everyone’s private stories on Snap.”

  “Yeah, it’s brutal, they all say he’s guilty.”

  “Spencer?” Jackson asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “What if he is?”

  Spencer put her phone away. “He can’t be. He wouldn’t. Even Brent said Ethan was sober.”

  “But he doesn’t know if he was sober that night. And you don’t remember.”

  “I just—I just don’t want to believe it’s true.”

  Jackson put his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Yeah.”

  “The faster we figure all this out, maybe the faster we can prove people wrong,” she said.

  Jackson pushed his glasses up his nose and took a breath. “You really think when faced with the truth, people will change their minds?”

  Spencer didn’t want to think about the alternative, that even with all the facts, people have already found Ethan guilty and there was no going back. She didn’t answer his question and turned Ripley down the corner, making sure she didn’t stick her nose in the lawns with the warning signs about spraying pesticides in the grass. In a way, going online these days felt like she was sticking her own nose in poison.

  It was surreal to think that everyone had an opinion about Ethan’s case.

  After the fifth celebrity tweeting about how they wanted #justiceforchris, Spencer couldn’t take it anymore. Truth was discovered in split-second decisions, posted online for all to see, no going back.

  “Any luck finding more videos from the party?” she asked.

  “We’ve collected most of what I could track down. I think we’ve got a pretty good timeline of events.”

  The streetlights overhead crackled on, one by one down the street, lighting up the road in a pale orange hue, and Jackson’s glasses caught the glint of a passing car, their high beams on bright. The flashback hit her head-on.

  Ethan’s face. Lit up. Shadows cast across his cheeks. Crash.

  Spencer took a steadying breath and gripped Ripley’s leash tighter.

  “What do you know about Tabby Hill?” she asked.

  Jackson bowed his elbows out, maintaining his hands in his pockets while shrugging his shoulders. “Nothing really. They seem aloof and we’ve never had a chance to talk. What Brent said about them makes me think that there’s a lot we don’t know. But how do we get them to talk to us?”

  Spencer explained seeing Tabby while at work the other day, and how suspiciously they were acting when Spencer even tried to look in their direction.

  “Weird,” Jackson said. “But are we being just like these strangers on the internet, trying to accuse people of things before we even have all the facts?”

  “We’re not doing this for fun. This is real. Tabby should be able to tell us more about that night. The only way to know is if we ask.”

  But that was easier said than done.

  * * *

  All week at school, Spencer continued organizing the events of that night. She pretended to be listening in class, even going so far as to use her large textbook to block Mrs. McNamara from seeing that she was really watching videos from that night and recording her thoughts in her notebook. She’d gotten in deep with the investigation, tracking down all the videos that she could, sometimes even cornering people in the hall to get them to give up any videos or photos of that night. She kept all of it in a small black notebook, which she could tuck easily into her bag and whip out at a moment’s notice.

  The whole time, Tabby almost made a point to avoid Spencer at all costs, ducking out of sight whenever Spencer and Jackson drew near. It was like trying to catch a cloud.

  Once, by random encounter, Spencer managed to find Tabby in the bathroom right next to the cafeteria. When Spencer opened her mouth to speak, Tabby shot her the coldest look Spencer had ever seen. It actually stopped Spencer in her tracks.

  “Tabby, I—”

  “I’m keeping my mouth shut. Same as you.”

  Spencer didn’t know what to say, let alone try to stop Tabby as they pushed past her to leave, looking over their shoulder only once, glowering at Spencer like she was the filth of the earth.

  Get Salty: A True Crime Podcast with Peyton Salt

  Lifestyles of the Rich and Reckless Segment Transcription

  [Get Salty Intro Music]

  Peyton Salt:

  I wanted to get a bigger picture about Ethan after several of you have flooded our inbox about this story. (Don’t forget to hit us up online, even just to say hi! We love hearing from our fans!)

  Tabby Hill, the acclaimed child star you might recognize from those cookie commercials, continues to decline any chance at an interview. We’ve been trying our best to get their side of the story, but it would appear there’s nothing else to say about the matter, otherwise they would want to talk to us, right, Sasha?

  Sasha Firth:

  That’s right. We want victims to have the chance to tell their story, but we also want to make sure we get the full picture about Ethan. I have to admit, like so many others, I’m obsessed. This case has taken over my brain.

  Peyton:

  [laughs] I too can’t give up. I need to know why Ethan did what he did. Since I have almost exclusive access, I interviewed several people about him from Armstrong and beyond, including those directly affected by his reckless behavior, to get behind the psychology of the rich and reckless.

  [SFX: school bell rings, voices in a crowd, lockers closing]

  Harrison Ressler (senior):

  Ethan’s a cool guy. He used to throw the biggest parties. I learned a lot from him, but he’s a bit of a hothead. Makes him good at soccer, though. Bet he could have made the national team. His dad’s got enough money to buy it for him if he doesn’t anyway. [laughs]

  Tracey Pujolaso (junior):

  I nearly got run over by Ethan in the parking lot at school last year. He came peeling into an empty parking space, nearly killed me. Oh my gosh. Do you think maybe he tried to?

  Abigail Brak (sophomore):

  Everyone said he was the hottest guy in school. I still do. I mean, he’s a piece of [BEEP] but it doesn’t make him any less hot.

  Nick Moore (victim Chris Moore’s older brother):

  Ethan needs to be locked up for a long time. He got my brother killed, my girlfriend’s in a coma because of him … The world would be a better place if he wasn’t in it.

  Patrick Hackett (senior):

  I heard he got shipped off to military school or whatever, total maniac. They do that to seriously messed-up people, right? I also heard his parents were sick of him, too. I’m not surprised he’s going to jail.

  Alejandro Rojas (junior):

  Dude’s loaded. He just didn’t care he was driving fast. If he got a ticket, he could just pay it off or whatever. A two-hundred dollar ticket is chump change. With people like him, it’s either get out of the way or get flattened, simple as that.

  Teresa Ferrera (senior):

  I heard a rumor he had a stalker, but isn’t that what all scumbag guys say about girlfriends? “That chick was crazy.” I don’t buy it for one second.

  Daphne Deargacha (freshman):

  I don’t really know him, but he’s been all over the news. If everyone’s saying all that stuff about him, it’s true, right? Why else would people hate him?

  NINETEEN

  THE DAY OF ETHAN’S FIRST appearance in court, Spencer went to the garage, following the sound of the metal hammering coming from inside.

  While Spencer always thought she was smart and got good grades because she worked hard for it, Hope was a real genius. It never bothered Spencer that Hope was naturally talented at all things engineering and invention. Math and physics came to her as easily as breathing came to most people. When she was four, she built her first robot. At ten, she made a solar-powered automata out of pinewood.

  Her current obsession was Rube Goldberg machines. She used various mechanics, like bowling balls as weights, pulleys, and springs. A few times the neighbors complained to the homeowners’ association about a raccoon infestation, but it had just been Hope scrounging around in their garbage for anything she could use to make her machine bigger and better.

  Her current project was huge, spanning the entirety of the garage, so much so that both family cars had to be parked in the driveway because there was no room to fit either one.

  Hope had entered a contest for young engineers and needed to submit a video for the judges showing her work in progress. She was in the midst of recording a video, testing the machine. The grand prize was four thousand dollars and an article about the winner written in a magazine. Hope had been working on her project all summer, spending most of her days and some nights in the garage, finessing every detail and planning out each stage in a stack of notebooks. If there was any doubt they were related, Spencer and Hope’s love for notebooks was a dead giveaway.

  Spencer kept to the edge of the garage, staying out of frame of the camera as Hope’s machine had run its course, the final domino falling over. Hope got started setting up for another run.

  Spencer asked, “Did you steal my shoes?”