Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [47]
A long pause. rn’t we on 4 thurs?
i can’t. have 2 meet with this agent and b at SC by 8.
agent?
yeah, musicians need agents 2 get jobs.
did he get u a job?
maybe. there’re openings 4 a pianist at some chamber music festivals in wyoming, texas n oklahoma. mozart piano quartet. i have to play it for him so i need 2 b perfect.
u only play perfect.
c, that’s y i like u so much. can u make fri morning?
no, i have a math test.
so come sat, plzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
A long pause. ok. i’ll come sat. i’ll think of something.
Thx,thx,thx. Then he wrote, u know i really m crazy 4 u.
She responded: i feel the same way.
Gabe texted: a thousand kisses.
a million kisses.
it’s l8. u have school. go to bed.
Yasmine wrote: i will. it’s just that i’m soooooo happy when i talk 2 u.
i know. it’s so hard to let go. But it’s after 1. u need 2 go 2 bed, i’ll see u on sat.
okay.
gnite n sweet dreams.
they’ll b sweet if i dream of u.
Gabe wrote: ur intoxicating. i can’t stop thinking about u. i can’t w8 4 sat., gnite, my luv, gnite, gnite.
Yasmine wrote: gnite, my angel gabriel, gnite, gnite.
His phone went dead.
His heart was thumping in his chest. He closed his eyes and let his brain and other things take over, imagining the feel of her lips, the taste of her skin.
It didn’t take long.
The second time didn’t take long, either.
It seemed sacrilegious to do it after talking to her. She was so gorgeous, and pure and angelic. But he couldn’t help it.
He was a dude. He was fifteen. He was Chris Donatti’s son.
It was what it was.
Chapter Fifteen
Wednesday morning—the day after Myra Gelb put a gun to her head—Bell and Wakefield had canceled all classes. The daily grind of AP calculus and advanced composition had been replaced with special programs on the hour every hour starting at eight in the morning. Scheduled were three all-school assemblies held in the massive auditorium as well as smaller class seminars. The topics ranged from bullying to establishing healthy peer relationships to teenage depression and suicide, all the information printed on packets embossed with the B and W lion logo in crimson. The cover page featured school photos of both Gregory Hesse and Myra Gelb with an in memoriam and the dates of their truncated lives printed underneath the photos.
Waiting in Dr. Martin Punsche’s office, Marge and Oliver sat on hard-back chairs and perused the pages of the paper packet. It was now ten in the morning and they had been there for fifteen minutes. Oliver was getting antsy. Today he wore a brown suede jacket over a black shirt and black pants. His penny loafers were shined to maximum reflection. Marge was dressed in one of her favorite cashmere sweaters. Good knitwear was like wearing a blanket—roomy and soft. These particular sweaters fell below the waistband of her pants, camouflaging the imperfections. She had bought the same garment in six colors. Today, it was baby blue day.
Oliver hit his hand on the papers. “You think any of this psych crap helps?”
“Who knows?” Marge said. “Teenagers are on another planet. Only fate and pain stop them from self-destruction, and sometimes even those are not enough.”
Oliver studied the pictures of the deceased teens. “So there was like a month between the two deaths.”
Marge nodded. “Six weeks. If they were two random suicides, that’s bad enough. But you can’t help but wonder if something weird is going on inside the school—like a suicide club or gun games.”
“Gun games are a white male thing. Maybe Gregory Hesse. Not Myra Gelb. Do the two victims have anything in common besides going to the same school?”
Marge thought a moment. “They’re not exactly outcasts, but they certainly weren’t part of the ‘in’ crowd like the B and W Mafia, nothing more than a bunch of stupid rich kids playing criminal idiots. But that doesn’t mean that the boys can’t do damage.”
“Yeah, teenagers with guns aren’t good news for anyone,” Oliver