emotions surrounding Lila’s death.”
There’s so much here to unpack—the accusation of lateness, the idea that the students would be up for performing tomorrow night, the substitution of processing for grieving—but what I come out with is “Complicated? A beautiful, vibrant young woman is dead. What’s complicated about that? Shouldn’t we let our students grieve rather than trying to process their emotions like canned meat?”
Noor Saberian, the school counselor, raises an elegant, well-manicured hand. “I agree with Tess. We need to let our students express their grief without judgment, but we also have to be careful not to allow their grieving to become a cult of mourning.”
“So we have a memorial service and get on with finals,” Bill Lyman, the physics teacher, says. “I feel horrible about what’s happened to Lila—I have a daughter her age, for Chrissakes—but I’ve also got a passel of students taking the SATs next weekend. They need to focus on their work or their own futures will be compromised.”
“We’ll certainly have a memorial service,” Jean says. She looks older and more tired than she did when she walked in here ten minutes ago. “Celia”—she nods at the Unitarian minister who is our campus director of religion—“will be working with me and Noor on the details of that.”
Planning a teenage girl’s memorial service will be hard on Jean. I raise my hand. “I’ll be happy to help too,” I say.
“Thanks, Tess,” Jean says. “Which brings me to the last bit of business. The police have asked to speak to each of Lila’s teachers after the assembly, as well as a few students whose names they’ve given me.” She holds up a piece of paper. “I suggested, and Celia agreed, that they use this room for their interviews. I ask that you all stay in the chapel after the assembly until you’re called by the police.”
“I have a meeting with the cast to discuss tomorrow’s performance,” Jill says, “and this is our dressing room. We’ll need it.”
“I haven’t decided yet about the play,” Jean says sharply. “Our most pressing responsibility now is to honor Lila and tend to the emotional well-being of our students. Let’s put everything else aside for now, shall we?” She gets to her feet, signaling the end of the meeting—and an end to discussion. I admire her resolve and her strategy. Keeping us in the chapel, with its repressive atmosphere, should at least limit histrionics. I wonder if the police suggested it. And I wonder which students are on that list.
I LOOK FOR Harmon as soon as I enter the chapel and am relieved to see him sitting a few rows back talking quietly to Paola Fernandez. He’s bending toward her, one hand on her shoulder, talking softly to her. Paola nods and wipes her hand across her red-streaked face and Harmon hands her a tissue. It occurs to me that with all the drama online I didn’t see one post from Paola. And unlike the drama girls, she isn’t wearing black. She’s wearing the same outfit of crisply ironed button-down shirt, wool cardigan, and jeans that she always wears, her only jewelry a gold cross at her throat that she’s touching now with a trembling hand. I rebuke myself for not thinking about Paola earlier. Lila wasn’t just her roommate, she was her mentor and friend. I’m grateful that Harmon has stepped forward to talk to her.
When I approach, Paola looks up and seems startled to see me. She gets to her feet, hugging a chemistry textbook to her chest.
“Paola,” I say, “this must be so horrible for you. If there’s anything Harmon or I can do for you—”
Paola turns her stricken face to me. “It’s just . . . if I had gone to the police . . .”
“Paola feels bad that she didn’t notice that Lila didn’t come back to her room last night,” Harmon explains. “And I was saying that I felt guilty too for not going with you when you picked up Rudy last night. Maybe I’d have seen something . . .”
“You wouldn’t have,” I say quickly, wishing Harmon hadn’t used this particular strategy to comfort Paola. “I picked Rudy up in the parking lot and drove straight home.” I notice that Harmon’s neck is red and raw from a hurried shave; his navy tie is knotted crookedly and it clashes with the black jacket he’s wearing. He’s not thinking about placing Rudy so close to where Lila was last night; he’s rattled and upset. I remember when