Ellie Sandberg would love to reinvent herself. When she earns a spot at an elite boarding school for young inventors, it seems like the perfect opportunity: A summer away from home, away from her overprotective parents, and away from the hopeless cr...
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E L L I E
"Sit down, Ms. Sandberg."
Dr. Carlyle sits behind a mahogany desk, flanked on either side by two unfamiliar faces.
"This is Dr. Tanaka from the Medical Examiner's office," he explains, indicating the man on his left, dressed in a blue oxford shirt and tie. "And Ms. Peterson here is a clinical social worker trained in trauma and grief counseling."
"OK," I reply, slipping into the chair facing them. The social worker smiles at my warmly, but it doesn't do much to ease the tension in my throat.
"How are you coping with all of this, Eleanor?"
Eleanor.
The sound of that name fills the room like a gun shot. My pulse was already uncomfortably fast but now it's thundering. The social worker must see the surprise flash across my face because she glances sideways to Dr. Carlyle.
"Ellie," he corrects, templing his fingers on the desk. "I believe Ms. Sandberg prefers to go by Ellie."
I nod quickly and look down at my lap to cover my unease. "That's fine. I answer to whatever." My voice sounds funny. Distant and strained. "And I'm coping OK, I guess," I add in answer to the original question. "I wasn't really friends with—with her."
"You were group members, though," Dr. Carlyle replies. "You were collaborating on a project."
I can't read on the expression on his face. He looks blank, like a poker player concealing his hand. I'm outnumbered in this room – facing questions from three adults – and I can't tell if he's an ally or an adversary.
The uncertainty isn't doing much to settle my nerves. I stuff my fingers under my thighs to hide their trembling.
"Yes—I mean, technically, we were—we were a four-person group. Reese, Eleanor, Maddox, and me. But not really. I mean—I didn't—She and I—" I'm stammering badly, and I cut myself off in mid-sentence, searching for words. "She and Reese were partners. I was working with Maddox on a separate part of the project."
Dr. Carlyle seems to accept this explanation. He turns in his chair toward the man beside him, offering him the floor.
"OK, Ellie," Dr. Tanaka begins. "I'm here gathering information to help determine the decedent's cause and manner of death. I just have a few questions that you might be able to help with."
Something about this whole interview doesn't sit right. Why do I have the strongest feeling that I'm being questioned as a suspect? This man is some kind of doctor, not a policeman, but that doesn't change the fact that he's investigating everybody here at Winthrop—including me. I swallow hard and look for reassurance to the other two adults
