Page 2 of The Fall of Iris Henley
“Iris? What’s wrong?” Sophie slides in next to me, her eyes wide. “Did you get hurt?”
“No, I…” I can’t bring myself to say it. But by then, I don’t need to. Others are starting to notice.
“What the hell,” Hayden mutters, staring up into the stands.
She’s not the only one. The whole squad’s started to notice.Bella Zseleczky’s mouth has fallen open in a small O of shock. Tammy Bates looks like she’s ready to fly into the bleachers and give them a piece of her mind. And slowly, the rest of the crowd turns to see what’s happening. The movement is subtle at first, a wind in the leaves, but as more and more people turn to look, a murmur wells up.
I close my eyes for a moment, then turn to look again. Mr. Koenig hesitates on the steps, looking like he’s as likely to bolt for the exit as anything. But Mrs. Koenig? She ignores everyone. She pushes her way past Mr. Blanton and his family to get to an empty spot on the bleachers. After a moment, her husband follows.
“Why would they come here?” Hayden’s voice trembles softly. “They shouldn’t be here.”
There’s a wide radius around Rocky’s parents as they sit. It’s like they’re radioactive. It’s like they’re diseased and no one wants to catch it. And just like that, the illusion that we’re all okay, that we’re all moving on, goes up in smoke.
Because you can’t just show up like that. Not if your son is a murderer.
CHAPTER 2
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 7, 7:36PM
VARDA HIGH FOOTBALL FIELD
For a moment we all just stand there, each of us weighing the change, the sharp before and after—what we lost, what Rocky took from all of us. The anger and pain are palpable.
But I can’t help it. My heart feels blistered with pity, rubbed raw by it, as I look up toward them, their resolute faces ravaged with grief. Mrs. Koenig has lost weight. Mr. Koenig, who’s always been neat and well-groomed, has patches of stubble over his face. They’ve lost nearly everything that mattered to them, and even though, yes, they’ve got a lot of nerve to think they can come here, I can’t help but feel for them too.
It was Rocky’s sister that found the bodies in mid-April. She was out for an early morning run. The Koenigs have a two-thousand-acre ranch, and she took to one of the winding trails in the thin dawn light. I sometimes picture her flying past cedar trees and prickly pears, opening the creaky fences and carefully closing them behind her. I know the trails well; Rocky and I used to wander there, sometimes on his chestnut gelding, sometimes on the exhaust-spewing old ATV. Twentyminutes on foot from the main house there’s a little cabin, half falling down, a single room where his grandparents lived when they first set up there on the ranch. It would’ve been easy for Kendra to run past it and pay it no mind. But that day she saw something that made her stop.
Vultures. Maybe ten, twelve of them, perched on the roof, on the fence, fluttering up as she ran toward them and then settling back where they’d been.
She said, later, that she figured it must be a cow, or maybe a deer. Something big enough to attract that kind of attention. But something made her stop. Something made her push the cabin door open and peer into the gloom. And when her eyes adjusted, that was when she saw them.
Rocky, flat on his back, blood curdling in his hair. And a few feet away…
“I thought it was Iris,” she’d told the deputies on the scene. That was what the paper said, anyway. I haven’t talked to her since it all happened. “Her face was covered with blood. I didn’t really examine her features. I was just trying to wake them up.”
But of course she couldn’t.
And of course, it wasn’t me.
It was Lynette Zeiger. My ex–best friend.
There wasn’t a note, but according to the sheriff it was cut and dried. The gun belonged to Rocky. It’d been in his hand, though when Kendra tried to do CPR it fell away. But there weren’t any other prints, and there wasn’t any evidence anyone else had been there. No one had even known they were hooking up.
I don’t remember much of the spring or early summer. I stumbled around like a zombie for weeks, barely able to see what was right in front of my face. But it wasn’t just my loss. It tore our school apart. Not just our school—our town. The whole thing is something no one wants to touch.
And the Koenigs showing up, like they still have someone to cheer on in this game? It’s making people remember things they don’t want to.
I get to my feet and grab a pom. It takes a moment; the other girls are all whispering to each other, looking nervous. Sophie’s the first to see me, and she scampers to my side. And then, one by one, we all take our places.
“We. Are. Varda!” I shout. A moment later, their voices join in with me. “We! Are! Varda!”
Slowly, the crowd starts to pull its attention back to us, back to the field. The Koenigs still hold a little island in the middle of the bleachers, but no one’s staring at them anymore. Some people clap along with the chant. Sophie’s eyes are shining with tears. Behind us the boys are huddled, and they break apart with a clap, ready for the next play.
It might be my imagination, but for a second, I think Mrs. Koenig meets my eyes again. I look away. Just because I don’t think she deserves to be punished for what Rocky did doesn’t mean I want to exchange glances.
“We! Are! Varda!” I shout. I imagine every word as a burst of speed carrying me that much farther away from Rocky’s parents, from Rocky himself. Here I am in the glow of the stadium, shaking my pom-poms like someone who’s never seen a hint of evil or tragedy.
Here I am, smiling like someone who has nothing to do with the act that nearly tore our town to pieces.
