The Perfectionists

Chapter 4

AUDREY ROSE SLID INTO HER desk in the film studies classroom just as the bell rang for fourth period on Friday. She was usually fashionably late to class, but she'd had so much on her mind this week that it was worse than usual.

"Cutting it close, Miss Rose," said Jay Maraj, but she could tell he was mostly teasing. Mr. Maraj was one of the youngest teachers in school, just a year or so out of college. He couldn't even pretend to have an authoritarian air when his students were only five years younger than him.

Audrey turned her thousand-watt smile on her teacher. "Sorry, Mr. Maraj. Vending machine emergency. Sour Patch Kids are back in stock, everyone!" A ripple of laughter cut through the classroom. Her boyfriend, Chad, craned around from the seat in front of her and winked. A different teacher might have gotten mad, but that was what Audrey liked about Mr. Maraj—and why she knew she could get away with this stuff. He just gave her a dry smile.

"Well, now that our candy-shortage crisis has ended, we can focus on what we're here to do." Mr. Maraj picked up a piece of chalk and started to write in sloppy handwriting across the chalkboard: MORALITY AND ETHICS IN CRIME FILM. "We're starting a new unit today."

Audrey flipped her notebook to a blank page and poised her pen to take notes, ready to think about something other than Ben. His picture was plastered every two feet in the hallways, and she'd barely made it through the assembly yesterday. Advanced film studies was her favorite class—she'd originally signed up because it sounded like an easy A, a chance to watch movies all semester, but she'd ended up really getting into the classic films they watched. So far, they'd talked about representations of women in early monster movies, the way World War II–era Bugs Bunny cartoons had been used as American propaganda, and identity and trauma in psychological thrillers. There was so much to learn. Under the glitzy, glamorous surface of the simplest popcorn flick, there were often hidden depths of meaning.

Just like with her, she thought. Audrey hadn't always taken school seriously. Her freshman year, she'd thought studying was for losers. Nerds. Geeks. Uglies. Audrey was gorgeous, and she knew it. Half French and half Irish, she had striking almond-shaped eyes, smooth caramel-colored skin, and a long-limbed figure with impressive curves. She'd even worked a few modeling gigs, posing for an upscale makeup company based in Seattle and shimmying into skintight designer jeans for a department store's ad campaign. Who cared about getting into Yale or Stanford—maybe she didn't even need to go to college.

Then her mom had died, hit by a drunk driver one night on her way home from a meeting. Her mom had always insisted that Audrey was smarter than her report cards. Every time Audrey brought home another mediocre test score, Audrey's mom defended her to her dad: "She's figuring out who she is, Philip. She obviously has a great role model for how to be brilliant"—she pointed to herself ironically—"but no one around here can show her how to be brilliant and beautiful at the same time. That's a burden only she can bear." Audrey's dad would laugh, and the storm would pass.

In the void after her mom's death, Audrey had found herself wanting to study for the first time. And it turned out her mom was right—she was smart. Her dad noticed the change in her behavior and her GPA, and constantly told her how proud he was. Teachers began to take her seriously. That is, until Ben Florian sent all her hard-won efforts crumbling to sand.

"The crime genre is one that's changed shape dozens of times over the years, always morphing to provide a commentary on the moral stance Americans take at any given point in time." Mr. Maraj's voice pulled Audrey back to the present. "A lot of crime movies investigate the idea of a gray area of morality, where heroes would be challenged to behave as criminals—and vice versa. Some people love this about crime film, and some people hate it."

Audrey glanced down at her notes. She'd written the words heroes, criminals, and hate. She realized with a sinking feeling that the hate she'd written looked far too similar to the hate she wrote on Ben's face last weekend, the one that was featured in newspapers and newscasts and nationwide blogs. She quickly flipped to a new page before anyone could notice.

"Now, before we keep going, I'll hand back your papers on And Then There Were None." Everyone in class sat up, on alert, as most kids did when a teacher was handing back a paper or a test. Audrey knew that in the next few moments, there would be huge smiles . . . and some tears, too. Yes, even a class like film studies mattered. Every grade mattered at Auradon.

"Some of you did very well," Mr. Maraj murmured, peeling a paper off the stack. Audrey was sure Mr. Maraj looked right at her as he said that, and she sat up a little straighter in her chair. "Some of you, however, need to be challenged. The moral questions this movie asks are complicated and maybe even a little subversive. I'd like to see you really push your arguments on this next unit." Mr. Maraj picked up a stack of papers from his desk and started to move around the room.

When he got to her row, Mr. Maraj set her paper facedown on the desk. Audrey turned it over, eager to see his notes—and gasped at the bright red C scrawled across the top. A C? She couldn't believe it. She put lots of effort into this class, watching long-winded interviews with directors and reading film theory articles online. Her papers on the first movies they'd watched, Psycho and Vertigo, had earned her A-pluses. Then again, she'd written the And Then There Were None paper after that eerie group discussion in class—and after she'd lured Ben upstairs at his party. She remembered the heaviness of his body as he leaned on her, the smell of beer on his breath as he tried to kiss her sloppily. The moment his muscles had gone lax...

She shook her head. The last thing she had wanted to do was think about Ben, the movie, or what she'd done. "How'd you do?" She glanced up to see Chad, his arm resting on the back of his seat. His expression changed quickly when he saw that she was upset. "Um, not so great," she mumbled. "It's okay. Maybe he'll let you rewrite it. We can watch the movie again together—"

"No," Audrey said quickly, then winced at the flash of hurt in his warm brown eyes. She just didn't want to see that movie again, no matter what. "Sorry, I just—" "Miss Rose, if you don't mind, we have more material to cover." Mr. Maraj was watching them both with a frown. Chad quickly turned back to face front.

Audrey barely heard the rest of the lecture. She turned through the pages of her essay, staring at the red ink in the margins. What point are you trying to make? Mr. Granger had written next to one paragraph. This argument doesn't hold up was scribbled next to another. She felt crushed. It had been so, so long since she'd gotten a C. The grade almost made her feel dirty, and she stuffed the paper into her Hervé Chapelier tote bag, not wanting to look at it anymore.

Finally, the bell rang for lunch. "We'll be assigning new groups for this next unit," Mr. Maraj called out over the buzz of people standing up and starting to pack their bags. "Get ready for a new project next week."

Thank god, Audrey thought, looking up to see her relief mirrored on the faces of her other And Then There Were None group members. Evie took a heavy breath. Jane drummed her fingers against the desk. Audrey looked away. She didn't have anything against any of those girls. She just wanted to put that whole project—and what it had led to—behind her. She knew it was unfair, but if it hadn't been for those girls and that one conversation, everything would be different. She wouldn't have gotten a C. She wouldn't be racked by guilt.

And Ben, maybe, wouldn't be dead.