by Kara Taylor
Sounds like Vanessa Reardon is running from something—or someone.
“Anyway, Dennis was able to pull her phone records,” Anthony says. “To see if she’s keeping in touch with anyone in Massachusetts. Only two numbers came up, and one is registered to Steve Westbrook.”
“She’s keeping in touch with him?”
“No. His daughter.”
Well, I was not expecting that.
“Now if you want to call Dennis to make sure I’m not lying, go ahead,” Anthony says. Then he hangs up.
My stomach dips. But it’s not Anthony’s attitude that’s bothering me.
If what Dennis found out is true, I have a much bigger beast to slay.
A beast named Alexis.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
The first thing I do when I get back to Amherst is text Brent: Are we okay?
The message is barely done sending when I get a text from Remy: Where are u? In the CR☺
I head up the stairs and find the girls on the common-room couch, pawing through Kelsey’s epic bucket of nail polish.
“Hey.” I plop down on the couch next to Remy.
“Oh, good, you got my message,” she says. “We were thinking about grabbing dinner in the city after dress shopping. Indian or sushi sound good?”
Crap. I figured when I’d told Remy we could go dress shopping “whenever,” she wouldn’t pick the night of The Drop.
“Actually, I don’t know if I’m up to it tonight,” I say. “I don’t feel good.”
“Aww, come on,” Remy says at the same time Kelsey asks what’s wrong.
“Cramps,” I say automatically. “I’m really sorry guys.”
“I have extra-strength Tylenol!” Remy says. “Take some and we’ll wait for you to feel better.”
All three of them watch me with such hope in their eyes that it kills me to lie to them. And I really would rather hang out with them than following the guys around, waiting for them to do who knows what.
“These aren’t normal cramps,” I say. “I get them really bad. Like my ovaries are exploding.” I mime fireworks with my hands, adding a few pew-pews here and there for effect.
The girls blink at me. “Ew.” Remy looks disappointed, but she doesn’t push the issue.
“Speaking of the formal, I saw Cole earlier,” April says. She looks at me. “He said Shep invited us to his after party?”
Kelsey looks at me expectantly, while Remy’s eyes are on the bottle of Essie Russian Red in her hand.
I shrug. “Yeah. It’s no big deal.”
“It’s perfect,” Kelsey says. “We were just talking about not knowing what to do this year … right Rem?”
Remy looks up from the nail polish. The corners of her mouth turn up, but her eyes are unsmiling. “Yeah, sure.”
A voice in the back of my head screams You are a horrible person! Remy trusted me enough to tell me what happened between her and Shep, and now I’m going to ruin her spring formal by subjecting her to being around him all night.
“We really don’t have to go,” I blurt. “If you guys don’t want to.”
Remy finds my eyes. There’s a hint of a real smile on her lips now. “No, we should. I couldn’t turn down a party on the Cape even if it were at Creepy Lee’s house.”
The girls laugh, but I’m quiet. If only they knew how creepy he really is.
I hang out in the common room until the girls have to leave for the city. They try to bribe me into coming one more time before giving up and going to the bathroom across the hall, leaving their purses and Kelsey’s nail polish on the couch.
I eye Remy’s peach saddlebag. Her phone is sticking halfway out the side pocket.
The nagging voice in my head is back. I hate myself for even thinking about using Remy to get to Alexis again, but this is the best chance I’ll have.
I glance at the door to make sure the girls are gone; my pulse is in my ears. I reach for Remy’s phone. Alexis is the first person in Remy’s contacts. I copy her number into my phone and make sure to arrange Remy’s bag exactly as she left it.
Moments later, the girls come back to collect their stuff.
“Bye, Anne!” Remy grins at me on her way out. “Feel better!”
It takes everything I have to return her smile. On my way back to my room, I get a text message. My heart sinks when I see it’s not from Brent.
But strangely, it’s from Anthony.
What’s the plan for tonight?
The Drop. He thinks he’s coming with me.
I ignore it and turn my phone off.
* * *
It’s a quarter past ten. Casey had said The Drop was to be at ten thirty. I stand by my dorm window, looking out onto Aldridge through a pair of binoculars. I count up to the third floor, to the corner suite. The lights flick off.
Brent and the guys are on the move.
I lower the binoculars to the side door. I know the guys still use it to sneak out, because I heard Dan Crowley, AKA Bill Gates, Jr., brag about how he found a way to disconnect the fancy new alarm system.
After what feels like an eternity, no one emerges from the door. As I suspected, they’re using the tunnels.
I double-check myself in the mirror. I’m in all black, with my hair tucked into a knit cap. In the dark, no one should be able to tell it’s me. But hopefully it won’t come to that.
I sneak down to the laundry room and enter the tunnel beneath Amherst. I wait there pressed against the wall, straining my ears for voices.
The sound of walkie-talkie feedback from down the tunnel nearly gives me a heart attack. I can’t make out what the voice on the other end says, but I recognize Cole’s voice.
“Shep says the tunnels are clear. Let’s go.”
I hide in the dark as footsteps sound. I don’t know how many of them there are. When the beam of their flashlight disappears around the corner, I tiptoe down the tunnel after them, feeling the walls to find my way.
The guys made a right toward the basement of Lexington Hall, where the parking garage is now. I follow, making sure to stay several feet out of the range of their light.
When their footsteps stop, I press myself against the wall again. A door creaks open, followed by muffled voices.
“We have to carry these the whole way?”
“Quit complaining, or I’ll make you carry his, too.” Brent. His voice makes my inside coil up with unease.
The guys shuffle off, making a right down the hall instead of heading for the stairs that lead to the parking garage. What are they doing? The garage exit is the only way out of the tunnels from here.
When their voices fade away, I creep down the hall. I have to move an inch at a time so I don’t fall flat on my face: This is unfamiliar territory to me, and I can’t risk using my flashlight.
My heart shoots into my throat when I see a light at the end of the hall. I exhale when I realize it’s just the guy’s lantern: They left it behind, propped against the wall. The guys are nowhere in sight.
I inch toward the wall. As it comes into focus, I feel my lips form the words: Holy crap.
The wall is turned at a 45-degree angle. I lift the lantern up to reveal a soft-looking brown stone. There are words carved into the front:
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.
—Thomas Paine December 19, 1776
I move the lantern to illuminate what the wall is hiding.
It’s another tunnel.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
I know I’m no longer under the school the second I see the dirt floor and walls. The ceiling is so low that I’d probably have to crouch to fit if I were a foot taller. It can’t be a comfortable walk for the guys—especially Cole, who is over six feet tall.
A chill creeps up my spine. Something tells me the school doesn’t know this part of the tunnels exists.
I follow the makeshift tunnel, crinkling my nose at the smell of wet earth. If my internal GPS is right, they’re head
ed for the forest. I have to suck in a breath and remind myself that the walls aren’t actually closing in on me, even though it feels that way.
I can’t hear the guys anymore, probably because they’re so far ahead of me and their voices won’t echo off the dirt walls.
I lose track of time eventually. Cold and exhaustion take over my muscles so bad I have to talk myself out of turning around. It’s been an hour, minimum, since we left the dorms. I have no idea where they’re going, and the thought of getting there just to repeat this walk back to the dorms later makes me want to cry.
The sound of voices makes me stop in my tracks. Have they reached the end?
“How are we supposed to get them up there?” I recognize Zach Walton’s voice.
“One person climbs up at a time, and the person at the bottom passes it to them,” Cole says.
There’s some grunting and cursing, but eventually it’s quiet. I wait for what feels like an eternity to follow them. My phone says it’s only been ten minutes.
Moonlight peeks in from a hole in the ceiling. I look to my right: There’s a makeshift ladder leading up to it. Thankful I wore boots, I make sure my phone is tucked safely in my back pocket and climb up the ladder.
I poke my head out of the hole in the ceiling. We’re somewhere in the forest, and I’m in a crudely constructed shack of some sort. It takes some finesse to lift myself out of the tunnel and onto the dirt floor, but I manage to get one leg out and shift myself onto my stomach.
I stand up and brush myself off quickly before going to hide behind a tree next to the shack. By the light of the full moon, I see the guys more clearly. They’re heading down a dirt path that cuts through the woods. I can make out Brent, Cole, Murali, Erik, and a couple of other upperclassmen I don’t know. Trailing behind them are six younger kids carrying cinder blocks. Zach Walton is among them, trailing behind.
What the hell are they doing? I tiptoe behind another tree, trying to get closer. As quiet as I try to be, my boots still crunch the leaves underneath them. The sound blends into the cacophony of creepy noises out here—owls hooting, animals darting from tree to tree, knocking acorns and other debris to the ground.
I have to steady myself as the forest clears, and where the guys are headed comes into focus. A lake stretches ahead of us, the moon reflected on its surface. An enormous cliff overlooks it; it slants away from the lake, like something you’d go rock climbing on.
I hear one of the guys say something that sounds like quarry.
“All right, listen up, ladies,” Casey Shepherd’s voice rings out from a ledge halfway up the cliff. “Tonight we separate the real men from the pussies.”
My throat tightens with horror as Erik and the other seniors thrust potato sacks over the heads of the new recruits. Brent, Cole, Murali, and Phil spin the guys around and bind their hands behind their backs before leading them up the side of the cliff. Erik and the remaining guys trail behind them, carrying the cinder blocks.
Bile churns in my stomach as they disappear from my view.
Casey cackles as the guys join him on the ledge of the cliff. They’re easily a hundred feet from the lake and the ground. I’m getting sick just looking at them. There aren’t many things I’m afraid of. In fact, there are only three things: My father. Public bathroom soap. And heights.
The upperclassmen guys disappear around the side of the ledge as Casey addresses the recruits.
“You’re about to be tied to the cinder block you carried up here. On the count of three, you’re all going to do a little cliff diving. Last one to jump and the last one to untie himself will face the jury. They’ll pick a loser to be publicly humiliated at next week’s race.
“Meet your jury,” Casey cackles.
He motions for the three guys to step forward. Erik, Cole … and Brent.
“Wait, you’re gonna tie us to those blocks?” One of the guys squeaks. “We’ll die!”
“The water’s only eight feet deep,” Casey barks. “But if I were you, I’d start thinking about how you’re going to untie yourselves.”
I swallow down a gag. They can’t do this—the guys could get seriously hurt—
“You’ve got to be kidding,” one of the other guys says. His voice is tiny, as if he hasn’t even hit puberty yet. “You guys are nuts. I’m not doing this.”
Casey gets in his face. I don’t want to imagine the kid’s expression behind the potato sack. “You sure about that, Halpern?”
Halpern’s voice shakes. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to die, yeah.”
Casey nods to Erik, who yanks the potato sack off Halpern’s head. “Don’t bother showing up to practice Monday, then.”
“But—”
“You think I’m messing around?” Casey grabs Halpern by the neck. I swallow away a whimper. Please stop him, Brent. “You think being on a nationally ranked team is a joke? You think everything we do is a fucking joke?”
“No,” Halpern stammers.
“Then get out of my sight, dipshit. And don’t. Show up. For practice Monday.”
Halpern shakes himself free of the rope around his wrists and hurries down the side of the cliff. He runs back toward the forest without a glance at the rock I’m hiding behind.
“Anyone else have a problem?” Casey asks. The guys are silent, unmoving. Except for Zach Walton: His legs look as if they’re going to collapse. I picture his face beneath the potato sack, pale and sweating. Leave, I want to scream at him. Being on the stupid team isn’t worth it.
I can barely watch as the upperclassmen rest the cinder blocks behind the recruits. Each block has rope tied around the middle; the guys loop the other end of the rope around each recruit’s bound hands.
I’m shivering and sweating at the same time. Please don’t do this, you guys. Please don’t get hurt.
“Ready?” Casey asks.
When no one replies, he counts down from three. The recruits jump off the cliff.
And a scream rips from my throat.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
I take off running as soon as I realize what I’ve done. In the split second it takes me to get on my feet, I look at the lake.
All of the recruits are … floating?
That can’t be right.
Casey’s voice booms across the night. “What the fuck was that?”
I keep running until my chest feels as if it’s going to explode. With a surge of panic, I realize that I don’t know how to get back to the tunnel that leads to school. Find the shack. Footsteps sound in the leaves several yards behind me.
“Who’s there?” It’s Casey’s voice. He’s pissed off.
“Go cover the entrance,” Brent says. “I’ll get them.”
One set of footsteps takes off in the other direction. I can’t breathe. And the other set is closing in on me—
My foot snags on a log sticking out of the ground. I stick out my hands to break my fall and cry out in pain. I’m trying to drag myself to my feet when Brent jumps over the log and lands on the ground next to me.
“Anne?” His eyes are wild, his knit cap pulled down over his ears.
“I—” I can’t get the words out. I lean over, giving into dry heaves.
Brent pushes me down until we’re hidden by the log. “Did you follow us here?”
I nod. “The recruits—”
“We replaced the cinder blocks with foam ones,” Brent whispers. “It was all a prank. Anne, what the hell are you doing here?”
“I thought … I thought The Drop was how … how he died.”
Brent’s eyes are worried, like he’s watching someone who has gone completely batshit out of their mind. “How who died?”
My eyes sting. My chest stings. Everything hurts. “Matt Weaver.”
Brent’s mouth hangs open.
Casey’s voice makes us jump. “Conroy, what’s going on?”
Brent turns to me. “Stay here. I’ll distract him. When I yell something about a bird, run for the tunnels.”
I nod as he launches himself off the ground and runs toward Casey. “Got away.”
“It sounded like a girl,” Casey says. “You got outrun by a girl.”
“It was kids. Two of them.” Brent sounds out of breath. “They were just messing around.”
I can’t hear the rest of what Casey says, but it sounds like an angry rant against whoever screwed up The Drop.
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my heart to calm down. When Brent yells, “Dude, was that a hawk?” I force myself to get up and make a break for the tunnel entrance.
* * *
Over an hour later I get a text from Brent.
Meet me in the basement of Amherst
I’m shaking as I get out of bed. I’m still in my black jeans and sweater, and my hair is an eagle’s nest.
I want to shrivel up and disappear and never have to face Brent. This could be the end of us, and it’s all my fault.
And worse, I don’t want this to be the end.
I slip my room key into the pocket of my sweater. As an afterthought, I stick the crew team photo in there, too. It’s the only thing I’ve got other than an insanity plea.
Brent’s sitting against the wall near the tunnel entrance when I get to the basement. He’s not smiling, but his voice isn’t angry when he speaks. “I never used this entrance before. The bookcase is a nice touch.”
I sit next to him so our shoulders are touching. “You never responded to my text. The one asking if we were okay.”
A sigh escapes his nose.
“Well, are we?” I ask.
“Anne, what is going on with you?” He turns to me. From the light of the moon leaking into the basement, I can see all of the freckles on his nose.
I draw in a breath and pull the photo out of my pocket. Brent takes it, his eyebrows knitting together. “Where did you get this?”
“It was between the pages of a history book from the library,” I say. “Brent … turn it over.”
He does. I watch his eyes move across the words. He sets it down on his knee, the back facing up. “You think this is about Matt Weaver?”