On stage the principal is introducing Angelica and the other counselors who will present the special awards to select members of the senior class. This part also takes forever, if I recall. Perhaps we’ll start with Arts, an A, it could happen? But it doesn’t.

David reappears, slides into his seat next to me. His parents look relieved to have the buffer back, despite how lame he is. I smile at them and they both lean back in their seats as if they’ve seen a ghost, eyes darting away.

It occurs to me that they really are afraid of me. I actually like that. Perhaps I’ll use that to my advantage someday soon. They’re old. I think I told you what happens when you scare someone who has a heart condition like David Sr.’s. Huge flow of adrenaline, and you’re dead. So let’s say I know that David Sr. is afraid of me. What if I sneaked into their home one night, woke him up as I stand next to his bed, maybe with my favorite little knife, and he has a heart attack, would that be murder? Of course not.

I’d just come over to check on them, a worried daughter-in-law, because they hadn’t answered my phone calls. Old people fall and get hurt all the time. We’ve all seen the television ads: I’ve fallen and I can’t get up. I was worried, that’s all. In the confusion of the 911 calls and the ambulance ride to the hospital, the fact I had a knife wouldn’t be remembered by Mrs. Rosemary Harris, would it? No, but after he died, she’d be gone shortly after. They’re actually that disgustingly committed to each other. And then David would get everything, and I’d get half of it. I lean forward and look down the aisle. Rosemary stares back at me.

If only looks could kill, Rosemary would get rid of me for sure. I smile at her and she looks away. I win.

“And now, for the Arts awards.” Angelica is at the podium. This is it. Poor Betsy’s probably convinced she’ll win. “And the Senior Arts Scholarship winner is...” Onstage, Angelica is having trouble opening the envelope. It’s like we’re at the Academy Awards or something. She’s the one who wrote the name inside there—she doesn’t need to open the thing to know the winner, yet we all sit and wait. “Betsy Harris. Betsy, please come on up to receive your award!”