“Did he ever hurt you?” Katie had asked.
Mark had shrugged. “He’d scream and punch holes in the walls, that kind of thing. Now he’s just sad. He still misses her, even after everything.”
“I shut down after my dad died when I was twelve. It hurt so bad that I didn’t want to feel anything at all,” Katie had said before she could stop herself. Mark’s confession had struck a chord, and she felt even more connected. “It was like he’d walked out on us, and I guess that’s what he did. He just bailed instead of sticking around to deal with the bad stuff, like we would’ve loved him less because he’d screwed up.”
“I’m sorry.” Mark had sighed and held her hand more tightly. “That sucks.”
“Yeah, it does.”
For a long moment, they’d stood there, fingers entwined, saying nothing.
Then Mark had cleared his throat. “C’mon, let’s go.”
Before Katie knew it, he’d taken her deeper and deeper into the tunnels. Some places were so tight they practically had to crawl on hands and knees. But in the end, where he’d led her was worth it.
He shut off the flashlight and pushed open a grate above them. He helped Katie up through it before climbing after her into the very warm room dappled with moonbeams. The air was heavy with the earthy scent of moss and flowers.
“Are we on another planet?” she joked.
“Almost. We’re in the greenhouse.” Mark drew her deep into the rows of plants, leaves brushing her face as they walked, until they were surrounded by blooming rosebushes. It was like finding paradise at the tail end of winter.
“Do you bring all your girlfriends here?” Katie said, only half teasing.
“No, you’re the first,” he admitted, and he took out his penknife to cut off a rose. He even pared off the thorns before he brushed the soft petals against her cheek, then tucked the flower behind her ear.
Katie had never had anyone do anything so sweet and romantic. She’d grabbed him and kissed him like she’d never kissed anyone before. He’d tasted like whiskey and warmth, and her heart had pounded so hard she’d thought her chest would explode. What happened between them that night had bound them so tightly that Katie was sure nothing could ever pull them apart. No matter what anyone said about Mark—that he was cocky and wasn’t serious about anything but hockey, that he was using her—Katie trusted him.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Joelle Needham had remarked after the hockey team’s big win, when everyone was slapping Mark on the back and high-fiving him.
But Joelle was wrong, and Tessa, too.
What Katie had with Mark was real. She felt it in her bones.
Sighing, she clutched her iPhone and turned over in bed. She could hear Tessa’s rhythmic breathing but sensed that she wasn’t asleep. “No one understands him like I do,” she said. “He’s different when he’s with me.”
“Just because you convince yourself something’s true doesn’t mean it is,” Tessa replied, and Katie hated that her best friend didn’t understand.
“You’re jealous.”
“Jealous? Please!” Tessa’s bedsprings creaked. “You might see Prince Charming, but all I see is a frog. Now would you put your phone down and go to sleep?”
But Katie had a hard time falling asleep. It felt like hours before she finally drifted off. When she did, she dreamed again of someone standing beside her bed, watching her, and she breathed in the smell of damp earth and roses. She struggled to wake up, gasping as she finally surfaced. She opened her eyes, panicked.
“Tessa?” she called out, and looked across the room for the familiar lump beneath the covers.
Only Tessa’s bed was empty.
Boom ba ba boom ba ba boom.
The music throbbed inside Mark Summers’s head, the bass pulsing through his chest and banging his rib cage like a heavy-metal heartbeat.
Someone had turned off the lights in the basement rec room and switched on a lava lamp, spilling clouds of red and blue across the walls. Steve Getty had snuck in a couple of townies eager to impress Whitney Prep’s hockey club. Though, at the moment, only one girl was in sight. The other had disappeared on her way to the john. She’d been gone so long that Mark wondered if she was stealing something. The girl left behind was in the midst of a sad striptease, shedding all but her bra and panties. She moved sloppily from one drunken guy to another, doing her best imitation of a lap dance.
When she tripped over Mark, he got up and moved out of reach despite her slurred “Hey, where ya goin’?” and the protests of his friends. But he felt sick watching her pathetic bumps and grinds, and not just because his mind was on Katie.
The colored lights pulsing and swirling made him dizzy, and he blinked to clear his eyes. Only that didn’t work. With every second, the fog in his brain thickened, his stomach churned.
He hadn’t drunk that much, had he?
He headed toward the stairs, holding a cup with one hand and grabbing the banister with the other. Once he’d made it to the first floor’s rear hallway, he had to lean against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut.
What the hell was going on? He’d just had one beer and started on his second, which Steve had tapped from the keg not ten minutes ago. Mark had promised Katie that he wouldn’t get wasted. He’d only half emptied the cup in his hand. He should barely be buzzed.
But something was wrong. He was practically drooling, and his head felt hazy. Numbness seeped through him so that he staggered when he walked. Bumping into a table, he set crystal to rattling. He fought to steady himself before he knocked anything over and broke it.
Be careful, Mark! Those are priceless antiques! He could hear his father ranting. They belong to Whitney, not to me!
Yeah, he thought, rubbing his eyes, just like everything else around here.
“You okay, man?” someone said. A hand gripped his shoulder.
“Yeah … no … I don’t know,” he mumbled, squinting as he focused hard on the familiar face with its crooked nose and worried frown. “Charlie.” He mouthed the name of his goalie and best friend.
Maybe having the guys over while his dad was out of town wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe he should tell everyone to clear out so he could go lie down. Was he getting the flu?
“Want me to tell Steve to take the girls home?” Charlie Frazer asked, as if reading his thoughts.
But Mark wasn’t listening.
I’m gonna puke, he realized as his stomach lurched, and he dropped his drink. The cup hit his shoe, splashing beer across the polished floor.
“Summers?” Charlie sounded worried.
He jerked away. “I need air,” he said, fighting the dizziness. He staggered down the hallway toward the back door. He had to get out of the house, had to stop the lights from swirling and his head from spinning, or he’d spew all over the expensive Persian rugs. But he didn’t make it outside.
Halfway there, he tripped and fell to his knees. For a moment, he stayed on all fours, his balance so off that he couldn’t get up on his own.
What was wrong with him?
“Are you okay?” a soft voice asked, and a hand reached down for his arm. “Here, hang on to me.” The girl grabbed his hand, helping him struggle to his feet.
He sucked in a whiff of her perfume, so sweet it made him gag.
“You should lie down for a sec.”
Mark squinted through his haze, trying hard to focus on her face: dark hair, dark eyes. He blinked. “Katie?” he said, slurring the two syllables.
“C’mon, you look like hell.” Her arm went around him.
Mark’s legs felt like jelly.
Moaning pathetically, he allowed himself to be led into the small room tucked behind the kitchen. He could hardly keep his eyes open, couldn’t form the words to speak. He needed to crash, couldn’t keep going.
“Relax,” the soft voice instructed.
She pushed him down, and Mark fell onto the bed.
A tiny bit of light glowed from the corner like the screen
on a cell phone. Was someone else there? He saw the crucifix hung on the wall. This was the maid’s room. But Annalisa was off. Why was he here?
He tried to lift his head but couldn’t. His muscles didn’t work. All he could do was lie back and breathe. The sticky-sweet perfume filled his nose again. It wasn’t Katie. She smelled nothing like Katie.
He moaned as the weight of her body settled on his legs, pressing him into the mattress. Hands slipped beneath his shirt, sliding up his chest and playing with the St. Sebastian medal that Katie had given him before the play-offs began. It was supposed to protect him. Cool air made goose bumps race across his skin as his shirt came off. But he was so out of it, he couldn’t lift a finger to stop her.
“Don’t fight it. We’ll be done before you know it,” she said, her lips touching his jaw and then his mouth.
Mark wanted to push her off. But he couldn’t. He was too far gone already.
Tessa frowned, gazing out the bus window at Katie and Mark Summers. If Katie didn’t hurry up and board, she was going to miss the delightful trip to the morgue with their AP Biology class. Then again, Katie probably wouldn’t care. All she thought about these days was Mark, Mark, Mark. It made Tessa want to gag.
Despite it being a gloomy Monday morning, Mark wore a baseball cap and shades. She bet he still had a monster hangover. He’d been too out of it to see Katie on Sunday, which had suited Tessa perfectly. Although it had Katie so anxious that she spent the entire day endlessly checking her phone.
Tessa squinted at Mark. “You’re not as special as you think,” she whispered.
Something was definitely up. Prince Charming wasn’t his clean-cut self today. The tail of his shirt hung out beneath his blazer, and his rumpled pants looked like he’d slept in them. But Katie hardly seemed repelled. As usual, she’d dumped Tessa the moment she’d seen Mark sitting on the steps of the administration building, waiting for her. Now she couldn’t stop touching him. Her fingers were on his face, on his arms, on the back of his neck.
Ugh.
“Aw, check out the lovebirds! They’re so into each other they wouldn’t notice if the bus blew up. Makes you want to hurl, doesn’t it?”
Tessa hadn’t realized that Steve Getty had slid in beside her until he’d opened his big, fat mouth. Even if she agreed with him, she wasn’t about to show it.
“That’s Katie’s spot.”
“Is it?”
She glared at him.
He shrugged and rubbed a hand over eyes bagged with shadows. He had tiny scratches on his chin and neck, like he’d shaved in the dark. “If she’s lucky, the bus will take off without her, and she’ll miss this lame trip entirely. You’re probably looking forward to it, huh? You’re paler than any corpse they could show us.” Steve squinted at her. “Can you talk to dead people?”
“Get out of Katie’s seat,” Tessa tried again, refusing to rise to the bait. She would not lose it in front of Steve Getty. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He seemed to think he could be as obnoxious as he wanted just because his dad was an ambassador from some tiny country whose claim to fame was gambling and offshore banks.
“Katie’s not here.” He leaned toward her, putting his arms around her to point out the window. “If you haven’t noticed, she’s busy sucking face with Summers. Though my boy’s not looking too good after the weekend, is he? I’ll bet he’s been popping aspirin like Tic Tacs.”
“Good.” Tessa pushed him off her. “Now go away.”
“What? Do I reek?” Steve sniffed the armpits of his burgundy blazer. “Or are you just not that into guys? I have heard rumors about you. Lots of rumors—”
“And I heard that Whitney’s the fifth boarding school your dad’s shipped you off to,” Tessa snapped. “Is it because you’re such an ass that no one can stand you for more than a semester?”
“You know, Lupinski,” he said, and she felt his hot breath on her cheek, “I’ll bet you’d be almost pretty if I was wasted and you loosened up. I’d even go so far as to say you’d be a ball of fire.” He put his hand on her thigh and squeezed.
“You’re such a douche!” Tessa tried to shove his hand away, but it wouldn’t budge. “Let go or I’ll scream.”
His chiseled features turned hard as he released her. “For someone who likes to play with fire, you’re totally frigid, you know?” He rubbed his arms and made a brrr noise. “Lucky for Summers your roommate’s not so uptight. He had one hell of a weekend.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tessa asked, tugging her skirt firmly over her knees.
Steve grinned, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess that’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“What are you, four?”
“Are we talking dog years?” he asked, unbuttoning his blazer as he stood. His broad shoulders blotted out any light down the aisle.
“I think you’ve had one too many pucks to the head,” Tessa muttered, relieved when he walked to the back of the bus to join his friends.
The bus vibrated as the driver cranked the engine, and Tessa looked out the window to see Mark walking away, hands in his pockets, head hanging. At least he wasn’t going on their field trip this morning, so Tessa wouldn’t have to tolerate him for Katie’s sake. Having one hockey thug like Steve Getty along was bad enough.
“Phew!” Katie said, scooting in beside her.
Two seconds later, the bus lurched away from the curb.
“That was close,” Tessa remarked, not wanting to sound pissed even if she was a little. “I was afraid you’d get left behind.”
“I wouldn’t bail on you,” Katie said, and slid her book bag under the seat.
“Not even for Romeo?”
“He’s got things to do.”
“Like explain to Daddy why the house smells like a brewery?” Tessa asked.
“He has to find something that’s missing,” Katie said, staring out the window.
Tessa changed the subject. “You okay? You’re not worried about seeing a dead guy, are you? Promise you won’t heave like you did when we had to dissect a baby pig.”
“I’m seriously praying I don’t lose it.” Katie reached for Tessa’s hand. “But I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you. Are you cool with going to the morgue? It’s right across from the cemetery. I know you try to hide it, but it has to eat at you, what with your whole family buried there and—”
“I’m fine.” Tessa didn’t let Katie finish. “I’m over it. That was a long time ago,” she added, tucking pale hair behind her ears. But Katie’s brown eyes got soft, and it was clear that her friend didn’t believe her. “I’m all right. Really,” Tessa insisted.
Still, Katie gave her hand a squeeze.
Tessa pulled her hand from Katie’s and gazed down at her lap. She’d lied when she’d said it didn’t bother her to see the cemetery. It bothered her a lot.
It had been ten years since the fire had reduced her family to tombstones in the Barnard Township Cemetery: one marker each for her parents and her older brother, Peter. Tessa did try really hard not to think about it. But no matter how often she told herself she couldn’t change what had happened that night, a part of her felt guilty and always would.
It didn’t help that everyone at Whitney knew about her past, or at least knew the gossip. Sometimes she wished she could tell them the whole truth instead of leaving it buried. But Tessa couldn’t set things straight. It was impossible. So she’d gotten used to the whispers. Those she could tolerate. But when someone made jokes about it, like Steve Getty’s “playing with fire” crack, that was harder to swallow.
He’ll get what’s coming, she told herself. Guys like him could weasel out of trouble only so many times.
Besides, people like Steve Getty didn’t matter. She didn’t need everyone to like her. Katie was the only friend she needed, the only one who’d never judged her. Katie didn’t listen to the rumors. And that was why Tessa would be there for Katie when she finally saw Mark Summers for who he r
eally was. When he broke her friend’s heart for good, Tessa would be the one who helped her pick up the pieces.
The body lay naked in the center of the room.
Beneath the harsh lights, the skin appeared yellow and waxen. The small group of AP Biology students stood in a loose circle around it. They all wore latex gloves and plastic aprons that crackled when they moved. A strained silence made every breath and anxious cough seem twice as loud.
“Ladies and gentleman, I’d like you to meet Mr. Thaddeus Ogden, who very kindly donated his body and his organs to Barnard Hospital’s cadaver lab so that young minds like yours might consider careers in the medical field,” Dr. Albert Arnold said, standing in front of the gurney. He gently patted Mr. Ogden’s lifeless shoulder. “The Whitney sisters’ foundation supports much of the research we do, and a good number of doctors and scientists, myself included, are Whitney alums. Most began their path to medicine right here where you are now, with the same hands-on experience.”
“He doesn’t look real, does he?” Tessa whispered in Katie’s ear. “The body, I mean, not Dr. Arnold.”
“Real enough,” Katie whispered back. As she’d predicted, she felt like throwing up.
She couldn’t stand the smell of formaldehyde. The stuff out-and-out reeked and, once it got into your nose, it was there to stay. You could pop a can of cheese Pringles and breathe it in after spending an hour poking open the insides of a pickled frog—or a mouse or a piglet—but the stink wouldn’t go away. And this time, they weren’t dissecting a pint-sized critter or even a medium-sized one, which was bad enough. This morning, their corpse du jour was big and entirely human.
“Blech.” The noise inadvertently escaped her.
Very Bad Things Page 2