Dark Turns by Cate Holahan Page B

Nia had overheard referred to the victim as that girl Theo cheated on .
    The school’s e-mail had upped the volume on the hallway chatter. Though it had encouraged students to discuss their feelings with faculty, the teens seemed to take the letter as a permission slip to publicly share theories. A bookmaker listening to the gossip would put the short odds on suicide. Nearly every teenage girl thought it natural that a smart, attractive sophomore would end her life after her older, popular boyfriend cheated. The assumption said something about the smallness of the students’ world. Life and death revolved around high school romances and college acceptance letters.
    Then again, her world wasn’t much bigger. All she’d cared about two years ago were ballet companies and her boyfriend. Now, though, she had to focus on her health and rebuilding her career.
    Dimitri had not called again. Maybe he’d never meant to phone in the first place. He’d probably pocket dialed her. Soon, he would realize and delete her number so it wouldn’t happen a second time. Her chest tightened at the thought.She squeezed her eyes shut, an attempt to blind herself from the memory of his face. She couldn’t speculate on Dimitri’s call anymore. It was almost eleven o’clock, and she needed sleep. Round-the-clock counseling sounded good in a letter, but the school couldn’t require such vigilance. She taught in the morning. Injuries happened to tired bodies.
    Nia marked her place in the book and set it on her nightstand. She extended her legs until they dangled off the edge of the bed, pulling her weight toward the floor. Time to get ready for bed. Soap, shampoo, shave, stretch, and sleep—in that order.
    She plodded over to the bathroom. A knock echoed in the room. Nia stopped, unsure the sound she’d heard came from her door. It sounded again: three staccato raps.
    Nia ran through bullet points she knew without the book. Listen. Reassure the student of her own safety. Refrain from any mention of Jesus, God, Allah, or any other deity. The school was officially nondenominational, despite the massive Christian chapel lording over the main campus. Besides, most students wouldn’t take comfort in the idea that a master plan somehow included a young girl’s death.
    She opened the door. The overweight girl from ballet class stood in the hallway. Marta wore a boy’s Wallace sweatshirt that hid her belly. With it covered, she didn’t seem heavy. Youth, not added pounds, rounded her face. The girl’s big brown eyes shone like river stones. Red rimmed the bottom lids. “May I come in?”
    “Of course.”
    Marta checked over her shoulder before stepping into the room. She shut the door behind her.
    Nia gestured toward the gray-and-tan-striped sofa in the center of the room. It appeared pilfered from a retirementhome. Even Wallace had to skimp on something. Clearly, the RAs’ furniture budget was not a high priority.
    Marta sat on the couch like it was upholstered with cement. Nia joined her on the opposite cushion.
    The girl’s hands folded in her lap. She rubbed the back of her knuckles with her thumb. Her bottom lip trembled. “I, um, just didn’t have anyone else to talk to . . .”
    “I’m glad you came. Would you like some water?”
    Fresh tears filled Marta’s eyes. She shook her head.
    “Let me grab you some tissues.”
    Nia realized she didn’t have tissues as the words escaped her mouth. She left Marta on the couch to grab a roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter. Marta stared at her lap as Nia held out the poor substitute for Kleenex.
    The girl accepted the roll without eye contact. She unwound a sheet and pressed it to her eyes before balling the rough paper into a giant worry bead.
    “I’m sorry for your loss,” Nia said.
    The girl’s head snapped upward. Her mouth dropped like she’d seen a ghost. Her eyes darted toward the door.
    Nia didn’t understand why the words bothered her. Didn’t everyone say