The Profile
When Mandy Judd was fifteen years old, her father was offered a high-paying job in Pennsylvania, and she had to say farewell to her friends and classmates in Vermont. She soon discovered that life in mountainous Northeastern Pennsylvania was different from that in the quaint New England village. Previously, she had attended a small high school where she knew most of her fellow students' names as well as where they lived and who they were dating. Her new school, on the other hand, was part of a large regional school district. The senior high school alone had an enrollment of nearly three thousand, more than four times that of the Vermont high school.
When the new student got off the bus for her first day of classes, she was astonished by the size of the school, which resembled the campus of a small college rather than a senior high school. She had to refer to a map just to find her way to homeroom. Her first impression of the school—that she hated it—did not change during chemistry, gym or geometry: the first three periods of the day. Lunch was not any better since she did not have anyone to sit with. In fact, it was not until her last class in the afternoon, World Cultures, that Mandy saw the remote possibility of happiness in Northeast Pennsylvania. Sitting in the seat in front of her was a young man named Kirk Tillman, a sixteen-year-old she thought bore a striking resemblance to Robert Pattinson.
The hour-long class came to an end much too soon despite the boring lesson the teacher presented. Mandy simply enjoyed being near Kirk. Whenever he turned sideways, she marveled at his handsome profile.
When the final bell of the day sounded, the students jumped to their feet, eager to go to their lockers and out to the fleet of school buses in the parking lot. As she hurried down the hallway, Mandy kept a close eye on Kirk, anxious to see if he met a girl along the way. She was relieved to observe that the only friends he spoke to were male.
"How did everything go today?" Mrs. Judd inquired when her daughter walked into the house.
"Okay," Mandy replied.
"Just okay? Did you make any friends?"
"There was one girl in my language arts class who seems pretty nice."
"Why don't you invite her over?" her mother suggested.
"Sure, Mom. That might be fun."
However, it was not the potential girlfriend that Mandy was thinking about when she headed upstairs to her bedroom to do her homework. It was Kirk Tillman, the Robert Pattinson lookalike who sat in front of her in world cultures. She could not keep his profile from her mind as she tried to calculate the slope of a line and memorize the periodic table of elements. The only homework assignment that she could fully concentrate on was reading The Great Gatsby since she envisioned herself as Daisy Buchanan and Kirk as the mysterious, romantic Jay Gatsby.
* * *
Mandy rushed through her dinner and, after helping her mother wash the dishes, she ran back to her bedroom to use her computer. She could not wait to tell Carly and Samantha, her two closest friends from Vermont, about her first day in her new school. Yet when she logged on to her Facebook account, the word profile in the menu reminded her of Kirk Tillman. Deciding her old friends could wait a little longer to hear from her, Mandy typed Kirk's name in the search field.
Her heartbeat quickened when she saw his profile photo. Her first thought was, God, he's gorgeous! Her second thought was to send him a friend request, but she feared he would not recognize her name. Or, even worse, he would recognize it and reject her request anyway.
Using her new email address, she set up a second Facebook account, but one in the name of Daisy Fitzgerald, combining the first name of a character in The Great Gatsby with the author's surname. For a profile picture, she used the image of an attractive blonde she found by googling the phrase "teenage girl." Only after she had created what she believed was an interesting (yet vague) profile, did she send a friend request to Kirk Tillman.
By the end of the evening, Mandy received a reply: Kirk accepted her friend request.
"I don't think I know you," he wrote, "but I'd sure like to. You look hot."
Mandy blushed and her spirits lifted, but then she remembered that he was referring to her profile picture, one that did not look anything at all like her.
"Thanks," she replied. "You look hot, too."
The two young people talked about school (in general), music, movies, sports and parents. Mandy was prepared to stay online until midnight, but just before eleven, he sent her a message.
"Gotta go now. I have to get up early tomorrow. I have football practice first thing in the morning."
* * *
The following day, Mandy eagerly awaited her last-period class. When Kirk walked toward his seat, she shyly smiled at him. He nodded his head in acknowledgment but made no effort to speak to her. She wished she could ask him how football practice went, but she was afraid of giving her secret identity away.
I'll just have to wait until tonight when I can talk to him online, she thought with resignation.
After school, she hurried through her homework, except for reading The Great Gatsby, which she actually enjoyed. Although her mother made her favorite meal, spaghetti and meatballs, Mandy was anxious for dinner to be over so that she could do the dishes and go up to her room.
Finally, at ten minutes to seven, Mandy logged on to Facebook. Her spirits plummeted when she saw that Kirk was not online. Dejected, she decided to take a shower and wash her hair. When she returned, she noticed that he still had not come on. She was beginning to think she would not get the opportunity to speak to him at all that night, but just after ten, she saw he was online.
Their conversation began with a brief discussion of the day's events but soon changed to members of the opposite sex.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" Mandy asked.
"Not at the moment. My girlfriend and I broke up at the end of last school year."
"No likely prospects in any of your classes?"
Fingers hovering over the keyboard, Mandy stared at the computer screen with trepidation. She had not typed that question.
"No," he wrote back. "Just the same old girls I've known since grade school."
"Surely there must be one or two new faces!"
Who is doing that? Mandy wondered. Who has taken over my Facebook identity? And why?
"There is one new girl in my last class, but I'm not interested in her."
Mandy's anger and shock at having her identity hijacked was temporarily muted by the keen disappointment she felt when she read his answer to the hijacker's question.
"She's a real skank, huh?"
"No. She's just the quiet type."
"What's wrong with being quiet?"
Mandy stared at the conversation on the screen, unable to move. She felt like a driver who was racing down a hill in a car with no steering or brakes.
"Nothing. I just like a girl who's a little more spirited."
"I'll bet you do! Well, Kirk, if it's spirited girls you like, you and I ought to get along really well."
Mandy felt a tremor of fear when her Internet Explorer suddenly clicked off and her computer shut down without any direction from her.
She hardly slept at all that night, kept awake by the disturbing thoughts that plagued her. What if she had typed Daisy Fitzgerald's portion of the conversation and was unaware of it? What other explanation could there be? She doubted it was possible for someone to hack into her Facebook account while she was using it.
* * *
It was hard for Mandy to stay focused on her schoolwork the next day. Not only was her lack of sleep wreaking havoc on her ability to concentrate, but she also could not stop worrying about the events of the previous evening. To make her day even more unpleasant, during last period she learned that Kirk was absent. Without his presence, her world cultures class was as boring as geometry. At least a dozen times during the period, she looked longingly at his empty desk, feeling like Gatsby gazing at the green light at the end of Daisy's dock.
Finally, three o'clock arrived, and the bell sounded to announce the end of the school day. When she got home, Mandy immediately went up to her bedroom and took a nap, sleeping until dinner time.
"Are you feeling okay?" her mother asked when she went downstairs to eat.
"I'm just tired," she replied.
"It's from all the time you spend on the computer. You ought to be asleep by ten."
"I know, Mom. I've already decided not to spend so much time on Facebook."
"That's my sensible girl," her mother proudly commented and promptly put the matter out of her mind.
With only an hour's worth of homework, Mandy had time to watch television before going to bed. While she watched a cake-decorating challenge on the Food Network, she turned on her computer to check her email. There were two e-cards from her friends in Vermont and a newsletter from her language arts teacher. Mandy felt fear grip her heart when she saw there was a Facebook friend request from Daisy Fitzgerald.
But there's no such person! she thought with exasperation. I made her up. Unless ....
Doubt nagged at her again. Was she sending herself a friend request? Or could there be an actual person named Daisy Fitzgerald?
This might all be a simple misunderstanding, she rationalized. After all, there might be dozens of Daisy Fitzgeralds out there.
Her curiosity got the better of her, and she accepted the request. A few minutes later she received an email from her mysterious new "friend."
The message was short and to the point: He didn't like you. In fact, he barely noticed you. To him, you were nothing but a nameless, faceless body that sat behind him in world cultures.
Without answering the email, Mandy shut down her computer and went to bed.
* * *
From the moment Mandy got off the bus the following morning, she sensed something was wrong. An eerie silence hung over the parking lot. In the halls, there were hushed whispers from huddled groups of students. There were also occasional sniffles and muffled sobs. Even the normally vivacious homeroom teacher was silent and somber when the students entered the classroom.
What's wrong? Mandy wondered.
It was during morning announcements that she received an answer. After the reciting of the Pledge of Allegiance, the principal announced the death of a student: Kirk Tillman. Mandy gasped. The principal went on to say that grief counselors would be available for any students who wanted to talk about their classmate's sudden passing.
When the announcements were over, several students hypothesized about the cause of Kirk's death. A fatal car crash was mentioned as was a drug overdose, although the deceased student-athlete was not known to have a history of drug abuse. Even the word suicide raised its ugly head. Apparently, no one, not even the grief counselors, knew how or why the young man died.
During third-period geometry, Mandy's name was called over the loudspeaker, and she was asked to report to the principal's office. Normally, there would have been laughter, and at least one student would have called out, "You're in trouble now." But no one felt like joking that day.
"You wanted to see me, Mrs. Rossi?" Mandy asked when she reported to the principal's office.
"The police would like a word with you, Miss Judd," the administrator replied.
"Police?"
What on earth did they want with her?
"Miss Amanda Judd?" the senior of the two detectives, inquired. "We would like to ask you a few questions about one of your friends, a Miss Daisy Fitzgerald."
"She's not my friend. I don't even know her."
"According to Miss Fitzgerald's Facebook account, you were her friend. What's strange is that, unlike most teenagers, she had only two friends: you and the dead boy, Kirk Tillman. Your principal tells us this boy was in one of your classes. We were wondering if there might be a connection."
"N-no," Mandy replied. "Like I said, I didn't know her."
The younger detective then spoke.
"Would you be willing to take a polygraph test?"
The frightened young student broke down in tears and finally confessed.
"There is no Daisy Fitzgerald," she cried. "I made her up."
For the next hour, Mandy told the detectives about the fictitious Facebook profile and how she lost control of her computer.
"Are you saying a hacker broke into the account and began sending Kirk Tillman messages?"
"Yes."
Mandy did not want to suggest to the detectives that she might subconsciously have become Daisy Fitzgerald.
* * *
It was not until lunch period that the students of the Pennsylvania high school learned the truth about their former classmate. One of the members of the school band heard the news over his car radio when he sneaked outside to smoke a cigarette. Word spread rapidly through the student body: Kirk Tillman did not die in a car accident, commit suicide or overdose on drugs. The sixteen-year-old Robert Pattinson lookalike had been murdered.
Mandy took the news harder than her peers. Not only did she have a major crush on the dead student, but she also feared she might in some way be responsible for his death.
The text of the email Daisy Fitzgerald had sent her suddenly came to mind.
He didn't like you. In fact, he barely noticed you. To him, you were nothing but a nameless, faceless body that sat behind him in world cultures.
The email clearly referred to Kirk Tillman in the past tense. The person who wrote it knew before anyone else that he was dead. The person claiming to be Daisy Fitzgerald, Mandy concluded, must be the murderer.
When the bell signaling the start of the last period rang, Mandy, pale and trembling, stood outside the classroom. She could not cross the threshold and look at the empty seat where once the handsome football player used to sit.
"Are you all right?" her teacher asked when she saw the new student leaning against a locker next to the doorway.
"I'm feeling a bit queasy."
"Why don't you go to the nurse? We won't be doing much in class today."
The teacher then wrote out a hall pass and handed it to her.
"I hope you'll soon be feeling better."
Rather than go to the nurse's room, Mandy walked into the main office and knocked on the principal's door.
"Yes?" the harried administrator said.
"I have to talk to the police," Mandy blurted out before she could lose her nerve.
Within ten minutes of the principal's call, the two detectives walked through the door.
"What is it you wanted to tell us?" the younger detective asked.
"I think I did it. I think I killed Kirk Tillman. I don't remember doing it, but I must have done it."
She told the police what was written in the email, specifically the use of the past tense verbs.
The two detectives exchanged a look, and then the second one sighed and announced, "You didn't kill anyone, Miss Judd."
"I didn't? But how do you know?"
Now it was the detectives who looked uneasy.
It was the older one who broke the uncomfortable silence.
"What I'm about to tell you, you must promise to keep to yourself."
Mandy nodded in agreement.
"With the help of the state police in Harrisburg, we've learned that the earlier messages sent to Kirk Tillman from Daisy Fitzgerald originated from your computer, but the IP address of the later messages didn't match yours."
"So, someone did hack into my Facebook account?"
"We traced the IP to a family named Eckert. It turns out their daughter dated Tillman last year until he broke up with her because she was, according to the deceased's closest friends, too possessive."
"And you think Kirk's ex-girlfriend killed him because he broke up with her?"
"Yes, but it's doubtful the case will ever be closed. You see, the Eckerts haven't had that Internet account since June."
"But you said you traced the IP address to them?"
"Yes. That's one of the things we've uncovered that we can't explain."
"One of the things? You mean there are more?"
"The Eckerts gave us their daughter's laptop. Our forensics guys proved the messages were sent from that computer. They also matched fingerprints on the laptop with those found at the crime scene."
"I don't understand. How could she send messages without Internet access?"
Mandy was not the most computer-savvy person, but she knew you had to be online to log on to Facebook.
"We honestly don't know."
It was the younger detective who answered.
"And the most disturbing aspect of the case is that the Eckerts' daughter committed suicide after Tillman broke up with her."
"Then how could she kill him?"
"That's a good question," the detective replied. "And it's one to which we have no answer."
* * *
The investigation into Kirk Tillman's death eventually wound up in the cold case files. Mandy kept her word to the detectives and never mentioned the bizarre events that led to the murder. Thankfully, she received no more emails from Daisy Fitzgerald. But then why should she? The jealous dead girl would have no reason to email Mandy since she succeeded in getting her former boyfriend all to herself.
I got the idea for this story from Diana Castillo, who has been reading the Old Wife's stories for some time now. Thank you, Diana.
Salem had to create a fictitious profile on Facebook since no one would accept his friend requests.
