Vinerdale drive had a close proximity to a reputable high school in town that gave it a funny sort of honorary status. The street was jammed with giant trucks, driven by bulky men with sleeve tattoos behind the steering wheel whistling to the country music channel.
The fathers rarely hurried, mostly because their solid union jobs gave them a kind of security with which they believed they were the type of men who could do anything.
The two-story houses were crammed next to each other with space enough for an ant to sleep in between. The mothers, white and curvy, always holding the newest iPhone, spoke with strong east coast accents.
They paired their Lulu leggings with brown UGG boots and were pleasant and friendly, though just a touch condescending at times. They got their hair done at Chatters and looked like they were in school themselves, but they were always kept busy with mothering and picking up dirty laundry after their pretty kids.
Fort McMurray seemed all under control. That was the message.
Right? Wrong.
I was sitting on the sink that day. It was barely 4 o'clock in the morning, but Wood Buffalo had already started burning oil. Huge plumes of inky exhaust choked from pipes as the shift-city's residents had started to rise. They weren't going to miss a chance to make money. No matter what.
The street lights were on, and when Selena looked at them, her eyes burned from the brightness. Her golden hair lost all of its pigment, her blue emerald eyes were damp, and I could tell that she had been crying. Her body was raw when the moonlight shone over her skin and it left her whiter than she already was.
The tap was running, and the sound of flowing water filled the room. She hated being in public in anything less than a sweater. Fully clothed, she stepped into the water. Her hoodie bled a dark grey as she gracefully slid down. Ah.
Drip. Drip. Drip. It felt so good to have the mild water slowly seep through her. She didn't turn off the water. There would be no need. Selena rested her head on the tub and it suddenly felt like the heavens were falling.
It was a great feeling not to be at war with herself, to rest without seeing or touching, or thinking, or feeling. Dawn crept gradually through the glass window. She knew the time had come to truly let go of all her worries; she was ready. This was it.
She put her head to the wall and closed her eyes in satisfaction. Selena smiled, and the grave night ended with a sealed bond of intimacy between us, even though we hadn't exchanged a single word.
***
"Mornin' baby," said Demanda. The voice came minutes later from a queen size bed in the master's suite. Demanda, undressed, was snuggled up nicely in the wide arms of her king. Atlas wasn't exactly tall, but he was handsome and built like a boxer.
The couple had just awakened from their full eight-hour Saturday-night rest and were having the same conversation as last Saturday. It was an easy conversation that always ended in a deep consensus about family, that their boys and Selena came first before anything. Always. That couple lived in a permanent state of denial: smiling at each other and chattering their days away had the magic of making their averageness seem okay. At least they had their kids.
Atlas leaned in for a kiss, but Demanda shifted away.
"Oh come on, don't go," he said.
"The boys will be up soon. Aren't you hungry?"
"Only hungry for you." She blushed and pulled the covers away.
"Oh stop it. Seriously, what do you want?"
"Eggs."
"Sunny-side up?"
"Always."
"Wait. Honey, do you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"The tap. It sounds like it's running."
"It's probably Selena taking a bath or whatever," he said with a grin, grabbing her by the waist.
"What? If you knew anything about your daughter, you would know how much she hates morning baths."
"Really?"
"She says they're useless. You end up going to sleep dirty anyway." Atlas rolled his eyes and plumped back into the pillow. "And plus, Sunny's here." Atlas's eyes widened.
"Oh right. Why did she come anyway? It's not like she was invited."
"That's what I thought. Weren't they still fighting?
"Apparently. I guess Selena forgave her."
"After everything she has done? No way."
"Our daughter is capable of being the bigger person you know."
"Impossible. Not when it comes to Sunny. Nobody has that kind of heart."
"Yeah, I guess. Sunny did go too far. Okay, go check. You don't think they'd be in there, together do you?"
"What?" She chuckled. "Selena might be a handful but she's definitely not gay." Demanda took a pillow and muffled his big button face. "I'll be right back." She scooted to the edge of the bed and said in a loud motherly voice, "Selena! Is everything okay? It's been running for far too long now." She paused.
"Selena?" She lightly pushed open the bathroom door. Then she stopped. Her legs turned to liquid. "OH... oh my GOD. SELENA?"
The tap was running, and the sound of flowing water echoed louder than ever. Drip. Drip. Drip. The water went over the edge of the tub, past the toilet and the sink. It seeped out from the opening of the door to stain the hallway carpet a darker brown.
The steam had created clouds that thickened the bathroom air. Two broken glass bottles and shards of glass lay on the edge of the bathtub, where Selena, dressed in grey, sat in a puddle of her own sadness. Her eyes were closed and her arms floated onto the surface of the red water. She was frozen in place, stationary.
"SELENA!? Oh god NO!" Demanda bolted toward her daughter. She fell to her knees.
"No baby. You're okay. No. No. Come... come look at Mom." Demanda felt under the tip of her nose, nothing. She reached for her neck, nothing. There was no pulse. She switched to the other side, nothing. Only beads of condensation forming on the mirror and broken shards of broken glass. Demanda's face scrunched into a ball and she began the ugliest sob.
"NOO! God... Atlas, CALL 911!" She crawled out of the bathroom, peeked her head out the frame of the door, and yelled into the bedroom directly. Heavy footsteps followed. She crawled back.
"What's wrong?"
"Selena... sh-sh-she's not breathing."
"What? GOD. Oh God no." He reached in his pocket and tapped his phone frantically. It was at this moment that Demanda realized that there was another crippled body.
"Sunny? Oh my god, Sunny!" Demanda placed her shaky finger under Sunny's cheek. There was a pulse. Demanda started to shake because somehow she was not relieved.
Suddenly, she saw Sunny's bloody palms. The glass shard in Sunny's arms. The pill bottle next to her half flung open on the ground. Demanda's eyes burned a Burgundy red. She noticed the tears in Sunny's eyes and smelt the scotch in her breath. She squirmed in her seat, threw punches in the air to wash off all that evil and hate. No, Demanda wasn't clueless. That's when she knew that Sunny had done it.
Sunny, as if anticipating her anger, fell into a trance, her body broke out into a succession of squiggles. The water splashed and she looked like a desperate fish. It was seconds before she completely lost control of her body. She was having a seizure.
Atlas, standing at the frame of the door, had stone eyes. He dove into the ground, used his hands to shake the meat and skin that was once his precious daughter. He froze, looked toward the ceiling, and mopped his brow with his sleeve.
Tears and tears, screams and more screams. Demanda turned and looked at Sunny straight in the eye. She was still flopping like a fish. Sunny was barely conscious when she grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed her head into the wall. Sunny had underestimated her strength. There was more blood. Demanda started to scream at her.
"You... YOU FUCKING MURDERER... YOU KILLED HER—" The father came from behind and slapped the girl with his mighty strength. They wanted her dead. He turned and punched the wall; it left a dent. Demanda returned to sobbing, slobbering so much she forgot how to enunciate. Her words become hard to understand. "How cod youse.. dose... this to... Selena?"
She whimpered some more, then raised her voice. "NO. I shouldn't have let such worthless CHINK into the house!" Sunny was still shaking. They continued this act until the police came. Two officers arrived with guns. More came after, ducking under the yellow tape.
The officer looked over at Sunny. At the bloody glass in her hand. Though strenuous, couldn't help but feel weak at the sight of all this cold blood. He toughened up and grabbed Demanda with the grip of an athlete. "We'll take over from here. We will find out the truth I can promise that but ma'am you need to calm down." Men came in with a stretcher, lifted Sunny on, and carry her away.
The officer turned to face the sink. He stared straight at me, blank as possible, his feet anchored to the floorboards. We made eye contact for a long three seconds; I throbbed in excruciating pain from all the yelling. Then, with a tint of vulnerability, the officer lowered his weapon and turned back to Sunny who was already halfway down the stairs, two steps away from escape.
***
Some bystander snapped a dangerous photo of the White House as it was wrapped in a ribbon of yellow police tape looking like a messed-up Christmas gift. The blinking ambulance cars and the horrifying mood went viral instantly because when a girl with as many friends as Selena dies, you know there is more to the story.
"SELENA WHITE'S DEATH: SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD CHINESE STUDENT SUSPECT"
Almost immediately afterward, there was an explosion of text messages and Snapchats. Social media was booming with gossip. Rumors of Sunny with bloody hands spread like a thick odor in the already polluted air, and these people had every reason to believe that she had done it. The entire town, which privately fed off of the thrill that something extraordinary had happened, exploded in a discussion.
Overwhelmed by the tragedy, I was called into an interrogation. I was ready for what was to come partly because I had carried the weight of knowing for far too long. It was time to come clean. Sorry Sunny, but your secret is out.