He stared at her openly, waiting for her to finish.

"Just…" Lena began, then stopped again. "Did it seem like Jenny was sick?"

"That's what the chief asked," Brad said, and it seemed like he felt this was a compliment to Lena. "He asked a lot of questions about Jenny and how she looked, who she was hanging around with."

Lena closed the locker and indicated that they should continue walking. "So?"

"She didn't look sick to me," he said. "I mean, like I told you, they kept to themselves. They didn't seem to like the other kids. Honestly, I don't know why they went. They're not exactly part of that group."

"Meaning what?"

He shrugged. "Popular, I guess. I mean, Lacey could've been. She's real cute, like a cheerleader." He shook his head, as if he was still trying to figure it out. "Jenny definitely wasn't popular. I didn't catch anyone being mean to her-I would'a done something about that-but they didn't go out of their way to be nice to her, either."

"Weren't you supposed to be chaperoning them?"

He took this as it was meant, and immediately became defensive. "I watched them as best I could, but it was just me there, and the boys were getting into a lot more trouble than the girls."

Lena bit her tongue, wondering how someone as dense as Brad had gotten on the force.

"Here we go," Brad said, stopping in front of the library. He held the door open for Lena, something Brad's mama had taught him to do from an early age. Working with Frank, then Jeffrey, Lena was so used to men opening doors for her that she barely noticed it anymore.

The library was cool, yet friendly. Student projects were tacked up on the walls, and row after row of bookshelves were packed almost to overflowing. About twenty computer stations-another education initiative funded by Georgia 's lottery-sat empty, their monitors dark because the school's electrical system was not equipped to handle the extra load. There was a second-level balcony with an open railing lining the back wall, and for just a moment Lena imagined that some kid had probably sat up in that second level, thinking about how easy it would be to open fire on his classmates.

Brad was staring at her, an expectant look on his face. "That's them," he said, indicating three girls and three boys sitting by the librarian's desk. Lena knew instantly what Brad had been talking about. These were the popular kids. There was something about the way they sat there, talking and laughing with each other. They were an attractive bunch, dressed in the latest fashions and with that casual air of entitlement that kids have who are worshipped by their peers.

"Let's get this over with," Lena told him, walking purposefully toward the table. She stood there for several seconds, but none of the kids acknowledged she was there. Lena gave Brad a wary look, then cleared her throat. When that didn't work, she rapped her knuckles on the table. The group started to quiet down, but two of the girls finished their conversation before looking up.

Lena said, "I'm detective Adams, this is Officer Stephens."

Two of the girls giggled as if they knew the best secret in the world. Lena was reminded of one of the many reasons she did not like kids, especially girls this age. There was nothing more vicious than a teenage girl. Maybe it was because boys were more capable of settling an argument with their fists, but girls at this age were much more conniving and torturous than anyone wanted to believe.

One of the giggling girls smacked her gum while the other said, "We know Brad."

Lena tried not to be hostile as Brad introduced the kids. "Heather, Brittany, and Shanna," he said, pointing them out. Then, indicating the boys, who were slouching so far into their chairs their butts were nearly touching the ground, " Carson, Rory, and Cooper." Lena wondered when parents had stopped giving their kids normal names. Probably around the time they stopped teaching them manners.

"Okay," Lena began, sitting opposite them. "Let's wrap this up quickly so y'all can go back to class."

"Why are we here?" Brittany demanded, her tone as hostile as her posture.

"You were on the ski retreat with Officer Stephens," Lena told them. "Jenny Weaver was there. You know what happened to her Saturday?"

"Yeah," Shanna said, smacking her gum." Y' all shot her."

Lena took a deep breath and let it go. As shitty as she had been at this age, Lena would never have talked to a cop like this. She said, "We're just asking some routine questions about her, trying to figure out why she did what she did."

One of the boys spoke. Lena couldn't remember his name, but it was hardly relevant as they all looked alike. "Does my father know you're talking to me?"

"What's your name?" Lena asked.

" Carson."

" Carson," she repeated, returning the belligerent stare he gave her. His eyes were bloodshot, the pupils dilated.

"What?" he said, finally breaking the stare. He crossed his arms, looking around the room as if he was bored.

"One of your classmates is dead," Lena reminded him. "Are you not interested in helping us find out why?"

"The 'why' is because you shot her," Carson answered, picking up his backpack. "Can I go now?"

"Sure," Lena told him. "Why don't we get Dr. Clay to take a look in your bookbag?"

Carson smirked. "You don't have probable cause."

"No," Lena agreed. " But Dr. Clay doesn't need it."

Carson knew she was right. He dropped the bag onto the floor. "What do you want to know?"

Lena exhaled slowly. "Tell me about Jenny Weaver."

He waved his hand. "I didn't know her, okay? She was on the retreat and all, but she and Lacey didn't really socialize."

The other boys nodded. One of them said, "They didn't like to party."

Lena assumed that by "party" he meant get high. From what little she knew about Jenny Weaver, this was not surprising.

"She was younger than us," Carson added. "We don't hang around with babies."

Lena turned to the girls. "What about y'all?"

Brittany started first. Her posture was as poor as the others', and her backbone seemed pliable, molding her into the back of the chair like Silly Putty. She sounded just how Lena had imagined she would: whiny and put-upon. There was something wrong with a society that let children talk to adults this way.

Brittany said, "Jenny was weird."

Lena tried to stir them up, asking, "I thought y'all were friends."

"We most certainly weren't," Shanna toned in. "I for one couldn't stand her."

She said this as if she was proud of the fact.

"That so?" Lena asked.

Shanna's bravura dropped down a notch when she saw Lena was taking her seriously. She was considerably less confident when she said, "We weren't friends."

"None of us was really," Heather said, and she seemed to be the logical one. She had uncrossed her arms, and Lena thought that, of the six, she was the only one who seemed to show any regret. Actually, Heather reminded Lena a little of herself at that age, on the periphery of things, more interested in sports than school gossip.

Heather said, "Jenny was quiet most of the time. Even back in middle school."

"You all went to the same school?"

They all nodded.

Heather indicated the other girls. "All of us live near her. We rode the bus together for a while."

Lena asked, "But you weren't friends?"

"She didn't really have a lot of friends." Heather was quiet for a few beats, then said, "When she first moved into the neighborhood, I tried to talk to her and all, but she liked to stay home and read a lot. I invited her to hang out a couple of times, but she didn't want to, then I just stopped trying."

"No one liked her," Brittany provided. "She was a real-what do you call it?-introvert."

Shanna laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. "Yeah, right," she said.