You’re Next

by Kylie Schachte

  I approach her table.

  Without taking her eyes off me, she says to the table, “Could we have a minute? I’ll see you guys in class.” As one, her minions depart.

  I get right to it. “Tell me about the fight club.”

  She blinks. “I have literally no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I know kids from this school fight in the basement of an abandoned hospital. I know money changes hands. Now I want to know what you know.”

  She gives me a demure, pouty smile. “How fascinating. You need something from me.” Elle pretends to look over my shoulder. “Where’s the trusty sidekick?”

  “Cass isn’t my sidekick.” I can’t stop the twitching in my eye, and she notices it.

  “No, she isn’t, is she? We all know who’s the brains of the operation. Did you chase her off, too? I guess it was only a matter of time before you actually made it to zero friends.”

  I clench my fist to stop myself from reaching across the table and ripping her glossy brown hair out at the roots. My nails dig into my palm. I haven’t cut them in a while. They’re sharp.

  “I’m not here to talk about Cass. Tell me what you know.”

  Her smile widens. Her teeth are so white. So straight. “Honestly, I’m surprised you don’t know. If anyone loves to insert themselves into other people’s business more than I do, it’s you.”

  She’s not going to distract me. “Yes, we’re all amazed by my ignorance. Now tell me about the fights.”

  She lets out a dramatic sigh, like I’m ruining her fun. “I know that only the most desperate losers in this school have anything to do with that place. They’re trash doing trashy things for money. If Ava was involved, I guess she really did hit rock bottom.”

  The tight leash I’ve kept on my temper snaps. I slam my palms down on the table loud enough that Elle jumps, as do a few people at nearby tables. The whispering resumes, louder, but I’m not listening.

  “What is the matter with you?” I lean across the table. “A girl died. A girl you knew. Have you surgically removed all the humanity from your body? You can’t spare five seconds of decency for a goddamn murder victim?”

  Elle blinks at me several times. I’m a wreck, and I’m never going to get anyone in this school to talk to me if I can’t get my stupid emotions under control. This is why I let Cass do the talking, if that wasn’t already clear enough today.

  “They call it the Basement,” Elle says.

  Wait, what?

  She looks down at the table. “I’m not a monster. I get that it’s fucked up Ava died.” She shakes her hair out of her face, looking away.

  I sink into the chair opposite her. Elle twists the cap on her water bottle. We’re both silent for a moment.

  Finally, I ask, “Why the Basement?”

  “Because it doesn’t sound super sketchy, I guess. If your parents read your texts and find out you’re going to the Death Dungeon or whatever every week, that’s something of a red flag.”

  I nod, thinking it over. The Basement. It could sound totally innocent. This is the suburbs. Hanging out in someone’s basement is one of approximately four things to do in this town.

  “When did you first hear about it?” I ask.

  “When school started up. I thought it was a rumor at first, but then there were so many people talking about it.”

  That would make sense. Last summer was when Ava stopped hanging out with Lainie. When she started ignoring me.

  Elle adds, “It must pay well, because a lot of people do it. People you wouldn’t expect.”

  I think of what Cass said before, about grudges. “Has it caused any problems? Rifts?”

  “There have been some shifting alliances lately.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Fights at team practices, people storming out of rehearsals, friends not speaking to each other.” She slides the diamond pendant on her necklace left and right, considering me. “Here’s the thing: money at this school? People never used to notice it, but everyone’s finally starting to realize who’s a have and who’s a have-not. The proletariat is restless, and now they know how to fight.”

  It’s a ridiculous way to put it, but I see her point. Our school sits on the border between Hartsdale and Whitley. Half the kids get brand-new cars the day they turn sixteen. The other half make minimum wage working at the grocery store.

  “Okay, so what about Ava?” It still doesn’t seem like her to be involved in something like this, but then I feel weird and judgmental for thinking that.

  Elle says, “If she was fighting, I never heard about it.”

  “So who have you heard about?”

  Elle looks around the room. “Jack Teller?” She nods to where Jack sits with the gamers and amateur coders, a few tables away. “Processors aren’t cheap. Everyone else at that table? Their parents buy them new computers, new graphics cards. Jack wants to go to MIT. Hard to keep up with the latest technology when your single mom is a part-time paralegal.

  “And Georgia Felton?” Elle’s head swivels toward her new victim, like a snake with the scent of prey on its tongue. “Her father was sentenced to five years in prison for insider trading. All their accounts have been frozen, she’s sharing a bedroom with her mom and little brother in some sad apartment, and yet Georgia shows up to school with a new bag from the Gucci fall/winter line?”

  Elle turns her attention back to me. A pretty flush has risen in her cheeks, and there’s the mad glint of delight in her eyes. For Elle, secrets equal power.

  “What about Penn Williams?”

  “Well, he did finally score a date with Victoria Ramirez. Her father co-owns a football team. Girl like that, I can see why he might not want to take her out to Sal’s for pizza.” So Cass was right. She really is a genius.

  I consider Elle again. Everything she’s said makes sense, but can I really trust Elle Dorsey?

  “You could be making all of this up.”

  “True.” She takes a dainty sip of her Diet Coke. “But it’s all right there if you bother to look.”

  “Why are you helping me?”

  She folds her hands in front of her on the table. “This fight club thing is upsetting the natural social order of the school. I don’t want that, for obvious reasons. But I wasn’t lying to you yesterday. If you’re after Ava’s killer, I think you’re going the wrong way.”

  I lean back. “And why’s that?”

  Her eyes are sharp and sincere on mine. “Maybe Ava was involved with the fights, maybe she wasn’t. But my father has friends on the police force. I’ve heard the evidence. I know it’s all pointing toward a mugging. And I know you, Flora. You’d rather believe in some conspiracy than the sad truth that Ava was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You’re trying to play the hero, but it’s too late. Ava is already dead.”

  I flinch, and I know she sees it.

  She says, “Whatever you might think, you’re one of the few people at this school I don’t actively despise. But you walk around broadcasting your inner trauma to the entire world. You obviously care. You should stop that.” The pity in Elle’s eyes has me ready to scalp her again.

  My chair shrieks against the linoleum as I push back from the table. “Thanks for the advice.”

  I spend the rest of lunch period attempting to corner some of the people Elle pointed out, but no dice.

  Jack Teller sees me and immediately walks in the other direction. When I catch up, he seems to have lost the power of speech. I mention what Elle told me, and he darts away into the post-lunch throng before I can stop him.

  And Georgia? Yeah, that doesn’t go well.

  “You’re pathetic!” she screams when I ask about her father’s legal troubles. “Don’t you dare talk about my family.” Everyone stares as she spins on her heel and walks away, clutching the Gucci bag tight to her body.

  As I walk away, the whispers follow.

  “Crazy bitch.”

  “What a freak—”

  “—co
mpletely making it up.”

  Nothing I’m not used to. Besides, the voices in my head are much louder. Cass, telling me to go to the police. Elle, saying I’m trying to be a hero, with that infuriatingly sympathetic tone. Ava wheezing, Wes Grays.

  I walk faster, plowing into a few people along the way. English is my next class. Cass will be there. I can hear about her audition, let her distract me. Tell her what I heard from Elle.

  My locker comes into view, and I freeze. The rest of the people in the hall don’t stop. They carry on laughing and chatting and pushing each other around, but I am motionless.

  There’s a message for me. Scrawled on my locker door with thick black marker pen.

  STOP ASKING

  QUESTIONS.

  I look up and down the hall. People stare at me. A few of them smirk and laugh.

  Cass’s theory isn’t totally crazy. Someone in this school could be Ava’s killer. If that’s true, they might have been standing here just a few moments earlier.

  Someone knows I know, and they want me to back off.

  The whispers press in close around me.

  Or someone knows I’m paranoid as hell, and wants to fuck with me.

  I touch the black ink. My fingertip comes away stained purple-gray. It’s still fresh.

  In the bathroom, I pull out my phone. My hand shakes, and I have to redial the number.

  I’ve been doing this too long to let these people get to me.

  I hesitate before hitting the Call button. I know this isn’t going to help. If anything, it’s going to cause more problems. But Cass had a point. Elle even had a fucking point. It’s worth a try.

  Don’t shut me out.

  You’re trying to play the hero, but it’s too late.

  Ava is already dead.

  The detective picks up after two rings. “Homicide, this is Richmond.”

  “Detective, it’s Flora Calhoun. I think I have something for you.”

  “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

  “Yeah, and the longer I’m on the phone with you, the longer we delay my education. Do you want what I have or not?”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “I thought we agreed you were staying far away from this case.”

  “I am,” I lie. “I haven’t gotten in your way, right?”

  She doesn’t respond.

  I push forward. “Fine, take it or leave it. But you need to go to 4044 West Grace Street. It’s this abandoned hospital, but there’s illegal fights being held in the basement. I’m not sure if it’s happening tonight, but there’s gambling, underage drinking, the whole deal.”

  “And you’re telling me this because?”

  “I think Ava McQueen might have been involved. Her last words were Wes Grays. I think she was trying to tell me the address.”

  There’s a sharp little exhale of frustration. “Flora, I’m not playing this game with you. We are not partners. We are not collaborators on this case. You’re a kid, and I’m a cop. You need to stay out of my case, or I will make good on those consequences I mentioned.”

  I knew I would regret this. “All right, I heard you. But will you go check it out? Please?”

  Another long pause, then she drops her voice and says, “I’m busy right now, but I’ll see what I can do. Get to class.” Richmond hangs up.

  I do want Ava’s killer found. I know I come across as some adrenaline-junkie freak, but I want justice. I just wish I believed the cops were capable of that.

  I splash some water on my face. The skin under my eyes is paper-thin.

  I will make it through the rest of this day.

  I leave the bathroom, but the sight of my locker makes me stop dead in my tracks again. This time, it’s for a different reason. Static crackles across the top of my scalp. How did he even get into the school?

  VT is slouching against the locker next to mine—hands in his pockets, bored eyes at half-mast.

  “Figured this one was yours.” He tilts his head toward the angry black threat smeared on my locker door.

  I tighten my grip on the strap of my bag and march up to him.

  “VT.”

  “Red.” The black eye has already faded to a plum-colored stain over his left cheek.

  “What do you want?” The low, simmering anger I felt around him last night starts up again. It feels good.

  He shrugs one shoulder. “Caught a lead. Wanna play hooky?”

  The droning buzz of whispers builds behind me, like a swarm of bored wasps. I glance over my shoulder. Several people are watching. Did one of them write the words on my locker?

  “Freak,” someone hisses, and a low chuckle ripples up and down the hall.

  They’ve called me much worse before. I don’t want them to think anything they say can touch me.

  “Where?” I ask VT.

  He watches me with keen eyes, not missing a thing. “Where does every good investigation start? The scene of the crime.”

  All the breath whooshes out of me.

  Ava, on the ground. The smell of blood on asphalt. My fingers plugging the hole in her chest.

  I grit my teeth and blink the memories away. “Okay. I’m in.”

  I make sure to text Cass before I leave to see how her audition went and if she wants to come with. She promises to fill me in later but has to stay behind for a French test.

  Guess it’s just me and this idiot, then.

  The second I walk out the front doors of the school, my shoulders relax an inch.

  The radio comes alive when he starts the car. Classical. Something by Tchaikovsky. Huh. And it’s a CD, not the radio. Every new piece of information I get about this guy only makes him harder to figure out.

  We park down the block from our destination, but I don’t get out of the car. By the entrance to the alley, a tattered strip of crime scene tape flutters half-heartedly on the ground. I can’t make myself move.

  “All right, Cherry?” VT asks. “This too much for you?”

  I know he’s trying to piss me off, and it works. I get out of the car.

  The alley looks so ordinary in the light of day. A couple of garbage cans tucked against one wall. The tacky smears of old gum on the ground. The smell of urine, road dust, and fast food.

  But there, in the back left corner: a brown stain, about two feet wide. It looks almost innocent in the bright gray March light, like it could be oil or rust. But I know better.

  Every hair on my body stands straight up. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose.

  “Sure you’re okay?”

  I open my eyes to glare at him, but the mocking challenge from before has been replaced by real concern.

  VT. Valentine. I can’t help but think of them as the two sides of him. The sly drawl. That soft look in his eyes. I can’t figure out where one ends and the other begins.

  Honestly, that’s more confusing than I can deal with right now.

  “Fine,” I mumble. “Just getting my bearings.”

  I walk the length of the alley twice. Open both trash cans, but they must have collected the garbage earlier today. Nothing inside but a few soda cans and what looks like a bag of dog poop.

  Brick buildings loom tall on either side. The only windows are the long, narrow kind with frosted glass, like each apartment was built with its bathroom facing this way. Convenient place to murder someone. Witnesses are unlikely.

  VT leans against the wall, spinning a cigarette between his fingers. The feel of his eyes on me is more than a little bit distracting.

  I trace my finger over a chip in the brick wall. At its center is an almost perfectly round hole, surrounded by a crater of brittle, crumbling edges. Another hole comes to mind, this one in soft, delicate skin. Blood oozes out of it, slower and slower as Ava’s heartbeat falters. I swallow down the sticky, warm thing that climbs up my throat.

  I force my gaze to the bloodstain again. It’s rippled and faded, like someone tried to wash it away. I’m probably imagining it, but I swear there are two lighter patches where
my knees would have been.

  “What’re you thinking, Red?” I jump when his warm breath scrapes against the back of my neck.

  Maybe this was a mistake. Coming here has my brain all scrambled.

  “I don’t know,” I force myself to answer. “Nothing stands out. Why did you bring me here?”

  He shrugs and lights his cigarette. “Figured you should get another look at the crime scene. Fresh eyes, light of day, that sort of thing.”

  “But you said you had a lead,” I insist.

  He takes a long drag. “A lead? Well, I don’t know. I looked into this place, though. This block alone has had six counts of armed robbery within the last four months, plus a dozen car thefts and a sprinkling of larceny for flavor.”

  “What are you saying?” He told me he had something, and now he’s backpedaling.

  He squints at me. “You so sure it’s not a mugging?”

  I stare at that bullet hole in the wall again, but now I notice others, scattered across the length of the alley. Too many to all have been from Ava’s killer.

  Maybe he’s right. Maybe everyone’s right. It could be a coincidence, I guess, that Ava had a connection to this super-dangerous fight club and now she’s dead. Other kids from school are involved, and none of them got shot in an alleyway.

  VT watches me as the doubt creeps in. I watch him right back, trying to pick apart his unreadable expression. I can’t shake the sense that he’s trying to push me away from my investigation.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Why what?” He fidgets under my gaze, reaching for his pack of cigarettes before remembering he already has one lit.

  “Why bring me here?” I step closer. “Don’t lie. What are you really after?”

  He rolls his eyes. “What, you’re so determined for there to be some conspiracy, now I’m part of it?”

  I won’t let him shake me off. “Why do you want me to believe that Ava’s death was an accident? What do you know?” I move closer still.

  He doesn’t back down. We’re nearly nose to nose. “A girl wanders down a dark alleyway at night, gets shot, wallet missing. I was never much for math, but I can do my two-plus-two with the best of ’em.”