Blood on My Hands

art poster on it. “Well, uh, I have to study. I’m sure Tallon will be here any time now.”
    “Thanks.” I give her a wave.
    Even in the apartment I feel nervous. What if Jasmine did recognize me and just pretended not to? What if the next person through the door isn’t Tallon but a police officer? Being tense and alert all the time is draining, and that is coupled with the little sleep I got last night. My senses are dulled and sketchy, as if I could easily miss something important because my brain can’t process as quickly or as thoroughly as normal. I try to practice what I’ll say to Tallon but I’m so woozy and sleep-deprived that it’s difficult to put words together.
    The door opens and Tallon comes in, carrying a green backpack with a peace symbol on it. Her dark hair is longer than it was last year and she’s wearing lots of silver bangles and rings. She sees me on the couch and gives me an uncertain smile. “Hi.”
    “Hi, Tallon.”
    She cocks her head and furrows her brow, as if she’s trying to figure out what her connection to this small punk girl could be. I stand up and the perplexed look on her face gradually morphs into one of astonishment.
    “Callie?” she gasps.
    I press a finger to my lips. “I have to talk to you.”
    Tallon’s eyes dart left and right, as if she’s wondering what to do now that she’s discovered a killer in her apartment.
    The door with the art poster opens and Jasmine sticks her head out. “Tallon, can I speak to you for a second?”
    Tallon’s head swings back and forth between her roommate and me. My insides clench. They know something’s wrong. I have to get out of here.
    “You know she hates her,” Jodie once said. We were sitting in Dakota’s backyard, watching her play Katherine in badminton.
    “But they’re best friends,” I said.
    “You know what the Chinese general said? ‘Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.’ ”
    I thought about it, but didn’t see how it related to Dakota and Katherine. “What makes you say that?”
    “Watch.”
    I watched. To me they looked like two red-faced girls careening and swinging and trying to win a silly game that involved hitting a strange little bally thing over a high net. Katherine, with her compact, boyish body, was a model of deft movement and quick reflexes. Dakota, with her heavy, bouncing chest, often appeared off balance and seemed to lurch from one shot to the next. Neither girl smiled, whereas I imagined that I would have had a hard time not laughing at the absurdity of it. But if there was one thing Dakota and Katherine had in common, it was how serious and determined they were about almost everything.
    “They just look like they always do to me,” I said.
    Jodie turned and studied me for a moment, as if searching for some clue to why I couldn’t see what she saw. Then she lowered her voice and said, “You can’t see that Dakota is one inch from smashing her racket into Katherine’s face?”
    “Ahhh!” Just then Dakota yelped in frustration as the shuttlecock fell to the ground on her side. On the other side of the net, Katherine grinned triumphantly, red-faced and panting, with her hands on her hips.
    “I hate you!” Dakota cried, picking up the shuttlecock.
    “No, you don’t,” Katherine said.
    “Oh, I so hate you!” Dakota insisted, and served. Once again they started batting the little ball back and forth. And almost immediately Katherine hit it just out of Dakota’s reach.
    “Grrrrr.” Her face glistening, Dakota gritted her teeth and kept playing.
    “Did Dakota say something?” I whispered to Jodie.
    “No. She never talks about Katherine. Ever. Even that’s a sign. It’s like she knows she can’t trust herself to say the right thing. I mean, think about the family she comes from. They’re all politicians. It’s all about saying and doing the right thing.”
    That might have been true, but it also meant that Jodie had no real evidence of animosity between the two girls. Meanwhile, Dakota and Katherine were once again absorbed in thrashing at the shuttlecock. Still whispering, I asked, “I know what you said about the Chinese general, but seriously, if Dakota hates Katherine so much, why does she want to be her friend?”
    “Because they both want the same thing.”
    Before I could ask what that thing was, Katherine balled her hand into a fist and cried, “Yes!”
    On the other side of the net, Dakota took several determined steps toward a