Free Fury by Shirley Marr Page A

wasn’t true, and I knew it.
    “Come on, Eliza. I know and you know there’s a connection. Give me a carrot here.” Dr Fadden is pushing me like a goddamn pimp.
    “I’ll talk about Ella if you let me come with you. It was all her fault.”
    “Ella’s been cleared and sent home. By the way, she spins a very different story.”
    “Take it or leave it.”
    Dr Fadden bites his bottom lip. His eyes search mine.
    “Fine. But I’ll get into trouble if they find out about this, so I’m warning you—”
    “I won’t try anything. Anyway, if you manage to get all the info out of me, doesn’t ‘the end justify the means’ and all that Maccabelly or whatever crap?”
    “Let’s go,” says Dr Fadden flatly.
    “I’ve got blood spatter,” I say and I pinch at my school shirt.
    Dr Fadden’s solution is to give me a woman’s blue trench coat. It’s not glamorous and it smells a little like cat piss, but it fits. I wonder if it’s an ex-evidence sample and I’m rubbing myself in someone’s guilty DNA.
    Dr Fadden grabs me by the arm. “Let’s go now.”
    This seems to be another recurring motif. The me-being-dragged-around thing. Maybe I should just get used to it.
    ***
    On Monday we noticed something different about Ella. Something—or more precisely, someone—had altered her school blouse. The sleeves had been embroidered with a white silk pattern that crept gradually up the sides of her arms, and the shoulders had been pleated. I guess it’s nice if you go for that whole Victorian picnic-at-hanging-rock-chic. Okay, I’ll admit it. It looked stunning.
    “Do you think Ella knows how to sew?” I said to Marianne as we strolled arm in arm toward the library. “That could really come in useful.”
    It is a pain getting to the library. It was designed by some snotty famous architect who agreed to build it on thecondition it was on the other side of the lake. So it wouldn’t be, like, touched or God forbid, actually used by the students. I mean, it’s a work of art.
    “Well, she knows how to do everything else doesn’t she?” replied Marianne bitterly. “I went to look at dresses in Old Mooreland with my mother on the weekend and I couldn’t find a single one I liked. I mean, I couldn’t find anything that didn’t have a gaping hole in the front, down the back, up the sides or a combination of all three.”
    I grinned. “I can’t believe you’ve started looking already for the end-of-school ball. Oh, I forget—you’re the head of the Ball Committee. So naturally, you have to look better than everyone else.”
    Marianne blushed and said nothing.
    We enter the round, glass and metal library. If the library really was supposed to be a work of art, it would be less the National Gallery and more like the new limited edition giant cotton spool from Swarovski. Study desks like long metal operating tables gleam inside. In summer the library is burning hot and in winter it is freezing cold. Obviously this famous East Rivermoor architect didn’t really think functionality was a big factor.
    “I can’t even believe you’re on the Ball Committee! I have no idea how you’re going to be able to suffer all those bimbos and supermodel wannabes.”
    “Have you ever heard of extra-curricular activities, Lizzie?” Marianne replied, grabbing the books out of her bag.“My mother says it makes you a more accomplished person. Maybe you should try it some time.”
    “Yeah, yeah,” I shot back. “The real question is—when are you going to do something for yourself for once and not your mother? I’ll ask Ella who made the alterations for her.”
    “Thanks,” said Marianne grudgingly. It meant that we had made up from the other day. It was her way of saying that’s okay and my way of saying I’m sorry.
    ***
    “Why thank you!” beamed Ella. “It is really pretty and feminine, isn’t it? I have no idea why anyone would wear the white dress shirt as it is.”
    If I was not mistaken, Ella was quite happy to