[iSpuds]

The chairs were cheap - metal frames that dug into my ample thighs and vinyl seats that collected the beads of sweat dripping down my ass into a pool right beneath me. And I wondered, did it have to be a hundred degrees in that room?!

Beth and I sat with more patience than normal in the sweltering principal's office while Mr. Gregory paged through some files on his desk.

Have you not heard of central fucking air? I fidgeted in my seat - not out of nerves, but rather, out of the fact that any moment I knew I would crack. I hated heat. I hated humidity. I hated that room. If he didn't hurry up and let me go, I--

"It seems that there's been a crime committed in the church," he said, eyeing us both. I knew what he was talking about: behind the school was a church where the students would gather for Tuesday Mass. When not in use for sermons, the students and staff had access to the church at all times for individual prayer. That was the intention, but really, all you'd find there nowadays were students fucking behind the altar. So it wasn't about the rape, I thought, somewhat relieved. "Some witnesses, both students and passersby, recognized the two of you leaving school late. Care to explain what you were doing there?"

At either side of Mr. Gregory's desk were two officers in standard Pennsylvania State uniforms. In the corner, I caught a glimpse of a suited man--probably an investigator. He sat with a tape recorder and notepad, jotting down words every so often as we conversed.

Beth was becoming impatient. She stomped a boot into the ledge of Mr. Gregory's new-looking cherry wood desk, a present from the directors for putting up with our shit, I figured.

"Ya think girls like us got time to be wasting vandalizing churches?" Beth groused, rolling her eyes. Out of everyone at the school, she was probably the only student who could get away with talking to the principal like that. Word had it that she had so much dirt on him that if he even looked at her the wrong way she'd have him locked up in mere seconds. They didn't call that girl Blackmail Beth for nothin'.

"I thought you knew me better, Barry," she continued to gripe. "I got better things to do than to be fucking around with silly pranks."

"It wasn't a prank," Mr. Gregory cleared his throat and pushed up his plastic-rimmed glasses, clearly red in the face after being disrespected so openly in the company of law enforcement. "It was a murder."

"Jamie Whitaker, age 17." One of the officers laid a photo of one of our junior students on the table in front of us. He cleared his throat authoritatively as Beth leaned in and cursed in surprise. "You recognize her?"

"Fuck yeah, I do!" She spat on the picture. "That hoe stole my boyfriend! Shit! She ought to be dead!"

"Shut up, dumbass," I said, swatting her upside her head.

"Funny you should feel that way," the investigator spoke up from the corner, "She was found early this morning by the janitor, strewn across the altar with a wooden cross jammed in her throat. It seems the weapon was also used to sexually violate her, and we found severe vaginal and anal fissures as well as large splinters upon our initial inspection."

"Whoa...shit..." Beth sank into her chair, dazed as she seemed to finally grasp the gravity of the situation.

"That is to say, girls..." Mr. Gregory folded his hands, fingers interlaced and rested over his mouth as he spoke. "If we find anyone withholding information, they'll be in a lot of trouble."

"We don't know anything," I said sternly. "Ms. Thompson asked us to stay behind after school to talk with us. Ask her. Or Mr. Lovett. They both know."

"Mr. ... Lovett..." the investigator mumbled as he scribbled down the names.

Once they'd decided they had gotten enough out of us, and that we wouldn't give them any more, the investigator dismissed us, jotting down our phone numbers in case he had any more questions.

Then, the two of us let ourselves out of the office and padded down the hall, shoulders slumped as we mulled over the news.

"I remember her, although if I remember correctly she just went by Whitaker. I didn't know her name was Jamie." I said.

"Yeah, word was that she was known for doling out sexual favors in exchange for cash," Beth mumbled. "Left and right, whenever, however, whoever...if you could afford it, she'd be down for some real kinky stuff. St. Maria's own hardcore prostitute."

"No shit," I nodded solemnly. "In that case she might have just been working, business as usual, and things got out of hand."

"Maybe," Beth muttered. It wasn't like we had any reason to believe otherwise.

Lunch time couldn't come soon enough. After learning what we did, there was no way we'd be able to continue normally with everyone else. Even Ms. Thompson was far from our heads. All we could think of was the murderer among us.