“Mason and Bobbi. Can you fucking believe that?” said Scarlet, remembering Owen’s gossip from the Berkshires.
“What are you talking about?” Casey said.
“I heard they hooked up,” said Scarlet.
Casey, visibly stunned, began to shove her books into her backpack.
“It’s just a rumor,” Luna said to Casey. “Don’t leave.”
“Bobbi must have told you about it,” Scarlet said.
“I got a thing,” Casey said. “Anyway, gotta roll. See you later, Luna. Scarlet.”
Casey departed. Scarlet waited until the sound of her footfalls faded away.
“That was weird, right?” Scarlet asked.
Luna briefly lost control: “You need to get a fucking life.”
* * *
—
Mason was sublimely baked a few hours later when he decided to confront Owen. The three lazy knocks on Owen’s door were pure stoner percussion.
“It’s open,” Owen said.
Mason opened the door and peered around the corner like a stagehand beckoning the headliner. “Hello?” said Mason.
“Hello,” said Owen.
Owen was nestled in the corner of the room with a book. It took Mason a moment to spot him.
“I was looking for you,” Mason said.
“You were looking in the right place,” said Owen.
Mason thought Owen sounded hostile, but sometimes pot made him paranoid. For a moment, Mason forgot why he’d dropped by.
“Was there something you needed?” said Owen.
“Yes. Yes. Dude. Dude. Why?” Mason said. He was more animated than Owen had ever seen him.
“I’m going to need a few more details to answer that question,” said Owen.
“Why are you telling people that Bobbi and I hooked up?”
Owen’s memory clicked into gear and he shifted from smug to contrite. “Oh, man, I’m so, so sorry,” Owen said. “Let me explain.”
* * *
—
Over the next few months, Scarlet did everything she could to make Owen jealous. She hung out or hooked up with anyone remotely attractive. She assumed the gossip engine at Markham would take care of the rest.
The gossip engine worked just fine. Owen was served breaking news on every one of Scarlet’s hookups. What Scarlet didn’t understand was that Owen was done. There was no part of him that wanted her anymore.
Luna said only one thing to Owen on the subject: “If you fuck her again and ice her out, I—I will lose all respect for you.”
Owen agreed. He couldn’t fathom a situation in which he’d sleep with Scarlet again. But Scarlet wanted closure. At least that’s what she told herself. What she really wanted was to see Owen and make him want her again. It wasn’t so much that she missed him or had been happy with him. She simply wanted to win. She wanted to hook him one last time and then release him into the sea with a nasty piece of metal in his mouth.
Scarlet waited. One week, two, three weeks passed, and she got no more than a nod of acknowledgment if she passed Owen in the quad. She told herself that she’d be patient. That he would eventually come back.
By the time midterms rolled around and the threat of spring break loomed, Scarlet and Owen hadn’t been alone in a room together for more than two months. Her grades slipped, her friendships began to fade, because her Owen obsession was exhausting for anyone in her company. At first, Scarlet blamed herself. She’d stare into the mirror and count her flaws. But self-loathing wasn’t enough. Scarlet needed another receptacle for her rage.
Owen had learned his lesson with Scarlet. He eventually understood that he couldn’t open the door even a crack. Every few weeks, despite Scarlet’s best efforts, she’d get drunk enough to send him a text. Owen had ignored every one of those texts, until the night of March 5.
Scarlet returned home from a party where the only guy who remotely interested her was chatting up another girl. Drunk, weak, and defeated, Scarlet texted Owen.
Hey.
After ten minutes without a response, Scarlet texted again.
why won’t u talk 2 me?
Five minutes later, Owen replied.
You have to stop, Scarlet. It’s over.
Scarlet felt a rush of adrenaline. He’d finally replied. She had to see him.
She had to give him a reason to see her.
October 10, 2019
The desks in the bullpen were set up in pairs—formidable steel squares headbutting each other. It was the end of the day on Thursday. Detectives Burns and Goldman had worked twelve-to-fourteen-hour days since they’d been assigned the Boucher murder. Burns watched Goldman’s entertaining but fruitless interview with Amy Johnson, while Noah screened Margot’s far more compelling interrogation of Leo Whitman. When she glanced up from her screen, Margot caught Noah smirking.