Gryffith

Of two things I was certain. First, that Gryffith, or someone close to him, had murdered Amanda. And second, that if he didn't start showing up to our group sessions, I would be forced to let Mr. Hun know that he wasn't pulling his fair-share of the assignment. I hoped the second would never happen. I really needed an A. Or at least a B+.

Could I confront him? On either issue. It seemed unlikely. Gryffith was, lightly put, stupid as H-E-double-hockey-sticks. Often, I'd watch him stare idiotically at some pretty face in the cafeteria, drool hanging from his parched, pale lips. Part of me wanted to buy him some chapstick. Part of me wanted to smack him over the head with our history assignment. Part of me wanted to know more.

"Hey you," I called in what was clearly not as antagonistic and cool sounding a way as I was going for. Gryffith picked his head up, drawing his caramel eyes away from a freshmen still in her volleyball uniform.

"Um."

Not my most brilliant follow-up.

I sat down at his table with a glower to match his.

"Hey listen, I really need an A on this assignment. Would be super helpful if you ... You know. Pitched in. Or, you know, something. Seriously."

His placid eyes flickered emptily and turned away again, those pale lips sucking milk through the straw in his carton. Milk is gross. It comes from cows. Chocolate milk is better. It comes from chocolate.

"I'm not kidding, man," I pleaded, raising my voice slightly to see if it would have any effect. It did. He stopped slurping and went for his tater-tots.

"Speak to me!"

"Not great with history," he said finally, with rolling tones to match the depth of an Olympic swimming pool and the obvious wit of a Ryan Lochte interview. "Like to forget the past."

"And I'd like to forget this conversation but I can't till we've had one. Are you going to help out or what?"

I waited for him to finish chewing. It took a while. Like maybe he had a fourth stomach. Like a cow. . . Chocolate milk. . .

"Yeah, sure."

"You will? You will help?" I nearly cried in relief. Grabbing my bags quickly, I stood up. "Library tonight. 5 o'clock."

He nodded his head of thick, wavy brown curls and returned to his meal.

Strange having a conversation with someone you think is a murderer. Especially about homework. Would he murder me? Would he be really bad at footnoting?

I was half-way through these thoughts when I found myself colliding into a very soft, very pink object that screamed shrilly and threw her books into the air. Completely unnecessary.

Tears. Immediately. Not sobbing tears but like, annoying ones.

"I am so sorry," she quickly and quietly assured me as I helped her pick up her books. "I'm new and I don't know the halls that well."

"Whatever," I assured her back. No. Stop crying, I silently begged through a clenched jaw.

"Emma," she said, hand extended.

"Erin."

Her hand was soft and small. No dumb jewelry. One good feature, at least.

"Thanks for helping with my books," she said. "I really appreciate it."

"Not at all," I said, starting to walk away.

"Oh wait! Um, do you know where this classroom is?" She pointed to a schedule. I cringed.

"I'm going there now. You can come with me."

"Thank you so much," she said effusively. Maybe it was to prevent her from talking, which I could tell she was about to do by the way she opened her mouth hesitantly and took a stalled but decisive breath, but whatever the reason, I said it.

"Did you hear about the girl that got killed last week?" Emma looked a little taken aback.

"Our age. Went to school here. Captain of the cheer squad. They say it was an animal attack." I watched her register this information and continued. "Her name was Amanda and she had just started seeing this boy from another school. He was a little creepy. His shoes were a little too polished last prom, if you know what I mean."

"How... How do you know how polished his shoes were if he's from another school? You wouldn't have been at the same prom."

Pretty and not totally stupid.

"I'm in a band," I said, dismissing her question. "It's kind of a thing."

"Cool."

I lifted my chin a little. "Yeah, it is."

So maybe this Emma chic wasn't bad.

Gryffith, however, was. I was still certain. Even if his unassuming demeanor at lunch did betray a naivety too great to be capable of murder.

He was late, of course. Waltzed into the library 5:30, no books. No bag.

"Sorry. Couldn't find the building."

Ignoring the fact that he clearly had never stepped foot inside the school library, I challenged him about his books. He shrugged his shoulders. His notes? Didn't have any. Was he planning to help? Could I rephrase the question?

"How did you do it?" I finally managed to shout.

I thought he looked puzzled. More than his usual vacancy, at least.

"How did you manage to kill someone when you can't make it to school with your shirt tucked in?"

There. It was out there.

"I know what you are," I continued when he said nothing. "I've seen you stare at people like they're food. You're the first one to the cafeteria after the bell but your classroom is at the opposite end of the school! No human is that fast. Or that strong. I've watched you break pens like they were pencils. And I know you don't sleep because your house light is always on, even at 2 in the morning when I come home from my shift at the bowling alley. . . Trying to save money for college. Don't judge me."

Still, he said nothing. He just stared at me. Or through me. Or maybe he was looking at the wall. I couldn't really tell.

"You're a vampire, Gryffith."

Finally he made a sound. It was like a grunt or a snort. Not sure which. He swung his arms aimlessly and then spoke.

"I didn't kill Amanda. Galyn did."

...to be continued.