DEATH IN PERSPECTIVE by Larissa Reinhart Read Free Book Online

our phones?” The brunette dropped her cool stance and
     twisted a lock of hair around her finger.
    “Was Miss Pringle cyberbullied?” I guessed the news of Pringle committing suicide
     had already made it into the Peerless grapevine. Probably by electronic memo, judging
     by all the devices. “I heard she was kind of mean.”
    “Yeah, really mean,” said the brunette.
    “Miss Pringle got a ghost text, too,” said the third girl.
    “What’s a ghost text?” This conversation made my head spin.
    “You know, when you get a text and it’s not from a phone and like a random name. Ghost
     text,” said the blonde. “You can tell someone what you really think of them and it’s
     totally anonymous.”
    How do you get a text that’s not from a phone?
    I jumped, hearing my name.
    “The artist Cherry Tucker,” the droning voice called.
    I turned and witnessed a balding, goateed man with glasses sweep into the room in
     a long, black cape. With one arm held out and the other drawing the cape to his chin,
     he called my name again, this time adding a long, mocking laugh.
    What in the hell was going on at this school?

Five

      
    “Mr. Tinsley?” I guessed, figuring the whole dramatic bit fit the stereotype.
    “‘Seal my fate tonight.’” He moved forward, the velvet cape billowing as his hands
     swept toward me and retreated to cover his face. “‘I hate to have to cut the fun short,
     but the joke’s wearing thin.’”
    My eyebrows landed somewhere near my hairline. I glanced around the office. The groups
     had stopped chatting to watch the performance. No one looked particularly shocked
     or confused. I didn’t even detect any eyeball rolls, whereas this little stunt deemed
     eyeball-rolling worthy material. However, I was from a less genteel background. My
     brother probably gave wedgies to a Mr. Tinsley-type in high school.
    “‘Let the audience in.’” He extended his arm to acknowledge the faculty and students
     glued to his performance.
    I had dealt with some divas in art school, but I felt a bit lost among this theater
     crowd.
    “‘Let my opera begin!’” Holding the cape out, he stopped in front of me and finished
     with a round of maniacal laughter. Followed by an enthusiastic applause by the office
     audience.
    I waited for the producer of the reality show to walk out with the camera crew.
    No producer or camera crew appeared.
    Pulling off the cape, Tinsley folded it over one arm, then bowed. “Pardon me, Miss
     Tucker. A parent just handed me this to add to our costume collection, and I found
     myself carried away by this vehicle of creativity disguised as a cloak.”
    I suppressed my confusion. “Mr. Tinsley, I came by hoping to catch you before the
     faculty meeting. I have already turned in my background check.”
    “Your ‘can do’ spirit is duly noted and appreciated.” Tinsley pulled a folded envelope
     from his pocket, handed it to me, and pointed toward the doors. “Shall we walk?”
    Glancing at the envelope, I noted that it was check sized and peeked. With a gasp
     at the zeros, my mercenary heart blessed the Disney parents of Peerless for their
     generosity and shoved the check into my satchel. We left the office, walked through
     the half-moon shaped foyer and toward the first of a series of long halls spoking
     off the main lobby.
    “This is the arts hall.” Tinsley pointed toward the first sets of double doors that
     lined both sides of the corridor. “The chorus and band rooms. They both feature state-of-the-art
     recording studios.”
    “Nice.” I wondered how these students handled the depravity of university life after
     leaving Peerless. College must feel like a mission trip to some impoverished nation.
    We proceeded at a fast clip down the football field length hall.
    “The dance studios.” He waved at another set of doors, then to the double doors on
     the opposite side. “The art classrooms.”
    “Wait,” I said. “Can I see the art