The Girl in the Park by Mariah Fredericks Read Free Book Online Page A

young, I think she’s a freshman. She couldn’t have known Wendy. But she knows a girl just died and she doesn’t know why.
    I should say something to her, a Hey, it’s okay.
    But I can’t. Because really, it’s not.
    I am not alone in trying to find out what happened thatnight. There’s a weird buzz, a hum, an Oh my God, and Did you hear? A lot of kids have their phones and iPads out. I spot Oliver Welks, who works on the paper, as he peers at his cell, then slow down to hear him say, “Another woman is saying she was attacked by a sicko in the park …” People immediately crowd him, wanting details.
    I pass a group of guys by the water fountain. One says, “I’d never go to the park at night. My cousin did once. These guys jumped him, took all his stuff.”
    “Chick was seriously wasted,” another says.
    “Yeah, that probably didn’t help.”
    On the stairs, a girl clatters past me, saying, “My sister’s sick at home. She just texted me that when they found her, she didn’t have clothes on.” Her voice is almost gleeful.
    There is outrage. Daisy Loring announces to her crew, “I just hope when they get the guy, they hurt him. I mean, because, you can’t … you can’t …” In my head, I finish her thought. You can’t make someone like me feel scared and unsafe. Because I have never felt that way before and I don’t like it. At all.
    Then there are the kids who are out of it. The ones who either didn’t know Wendy or have no group to swap rumors with or make pronouncements to. For them, it’s just another party they weren’t invited to. Some of them march past the groups, glaring angrily as if to say, Who cares? Some of them just wander, hoping they’ll bump into someone. It occurs to me—that’s basically what I’m doing.
    And I do bump into someone. Wilbur, another lost soul, ambles over to me, head down like he’s embarrassed. “Hey, dude,” he says.
    “Hey, Wilbur.” I give him a hug. Wilbur’s easy, one of the few people who’s shyer than I am. He’s not someone I can shove my feelings onto, but I can at least listen to him.
    “It’s weird,” he says, looking around. “Like—I didn’t know her, but …” He swallows hard. “She seemed sweet. Slightly twisted, but you know.”
    I smile. “Yeah, I do know. Stay mellow, okay?”
    “… trying,” says Wilbur.
    Then I run into Deirdre, sweet, chubby Deirdre, who says, “I can’t believe it,” over and over as if someone will tell her she doesn’t have to.
    She gulps, “I knew she lived on the edge, but this is way extreme.” She looks around, lowers her voice. “Do you think it had anything to do with all that Nico stuff?”
    I go still. “What do you mean?”
    Deirdre squirms. “No, just she was a girl who pissed people off, you know? The way she went after everybody’s guy? And she was way trashed that night. It’s kind of like …”
    Like she got what was coming to her
. That’s where Deirdre’s going. She doesn’t mean to, she’ll feel bad about it later.
    Rubbing her arm, I say, “It’s beyond strange,” and walk away.
    Turning the corner, I see a huge crowd around Karina Burroughs. Karina who gave the party, Karina who always gives the party. She has a huge apartment. Her parents travel a lot and they don’t ask questions.
    I despise Karina Burroughs. Hate, detest, loathe, and any other word you want to use. She tortured me when we were kids. Her particular kick was to let her jaw go slack and make grunting noises whenever she saw me. Gorilla? Stroke victim? I wasnever sure. She can’t get away with that these days. Supposedly, we’re all more mature. She even has to let me into her parties, now that I’m seen as an official sane person.
    Still, I slow down to listen. Because when you give the party, you know what went on at that party.
    I’m good at being invisible; the group doesn’t notice me at all. I know these girls. They replaced me in Wendy’s life. They were the girls she