Very Bad Things

by Susan McBride

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Mark asked, shaking off Steve’s arm. He dropped Katie’s book bag. “You can stir shit with me all you want, but leave Katie out of it.”

  “Mark?” Katie stepped between them. “Let’s go get lunch.”

  “Yeah, don’t mind me.” Steve threw his hands up, backing off. “Just thought I’d give you a heads-up about the picture going viral, that’s all.”

  “What picture?” Katie asked, and she glanced at Charlie, Mark’s best friend on the hockey squad. Though he sat at the table next to Steve, he didn’t even look up. “What’s going on?”

  “Getty must be bored with sending pics of his hairy ass to everyone.” Mark snatched up her book bag and grabbed her hand. “Sounds like he’s playing cut and paste with Photoshop.”

  “It’s your funeral!” Steve called after them.

  Katie glanced back over her shoulder to see Steve grinning—but there was something else in his face. Something raw and angry. “He’s not exactly your biggest fan, is he?”

  “The feeling’s mutual,” Mark said.

  Katie saw Charlie get up, like he wanted to come after Mark, but Steve clamped a hand on his shoulder and he settled back into his seat.

  “Aren’t you curious?” Katie asked as they got in line and Mark handed her a tray. “Don’t you want to see for yourself?”

  “Nah.” Mark shrugged. “Knowing Steve, he’s stuck my head on some porno dude’s body. I’d kind of like to eat my lunch, not lose it.”

  Katie couldn’t let it go. “What if it’s not that at all? What if he’s got a shot of you drinking? That could keep you from playing in the state championship, maybe even bar you from graduation, no matter who your dad is,” Katie said, her mind whirring. She wouldn’t put anything past Steve Getty. Ever since he’d shown up at Whitney in the middle of last semester, he’d needed to be the star. Except Mark had that covered.

  “Relax. I’m sure it’s nothing,” Mark insisted, sounding agitated. He slapped a plate of spaghetti on his tray, then headed to the nearest table, dropping their book bags on the floor.

  Maybe he didn’t notice people staring at them, but Katie did. And this time, she could tell that it wasn’t because Mark stood out in a crowd. Something was clearly up, and Steve Getty was behind it.

  “Why’s everyone acting weird?” Tessa asked as she joined them at the table. “Do I have toilet paper stuck to my shoes? Is my skirt tucked into my underwear?”

  “It’s not you,” Katie said.

  Tessa shrugged and started twirling spaghetti onto her fork.

  Katie watched Mark pick at his food, pushing it around with his fork. What wasn’t he telling her?

  She opened her mouth to ask again if there wasn’t something he was keeping from her. But Katie felt a presence behind her even before she heard someone clearing their throat.

  She turned to find Joelle Needham clutching an iPad to her oversized chest.

  Katie had to bite her tongue to keep from asking Joelle if she ordered her Whitney blazer too small on purpose.

  “Wow, don’t you look bummed,” Mark’s ex-girlfriend said, her glossy lips pouting. “But I guess I’d be, too, if I knew everyone was eyeballing a pic of me naked. Good thing the lighting sucks. That hides a lot of flaws.” Joelle smiled at Katie. “You should thank God for that, sweetie.”

  “Who’s naked?” Katie looked at Mark. “What’s she rambling about?”

  He shook his head. “What do you want, Jo?” he asked, dropping his fork to his plate with a clatter. “Get to the point. I’m not in the mood.”

  Joelle frowned. “Looks like you’ve been caught in the act, as if you didn’t know. But it’s obvious Katie’s still in the dark or she’d be hiding in her room at Amelia House, dying of embarrassment.” She set her tablet down in front of them. “Not your best angle either, babe,” she said lightly, and gave Mark’s shoulder a squeeze.

  Katie’s gaze dropped to the screen. “OMG,” she breathed. And for a second, it felt like her heart stopped.

  The image was fuzzy, the lighting as bad as Joelle had mentioned. But there was no question who it was: a bare-naked Mark, his eyes closed, lips parted, head back so that his neck arched, revealing the medallion caught in the hollow of his throat. As if the shadowed outlines of his features weren’t enough to identify him, there was also the soaring eagle tattoo on his right bicep. Katie would have recognized it anywhere.

  “Aw, don’t look so sad. Cellulite’s not the end of the world,” Joelle said, and gave Katie a nudge. “Besides, you’ve got all that dark hair hanging down. You can pretend it’s not you.”

  Katie blinked, because even she thought at first that it was her. She looked hard at the bare back and butt, the pale arms, and the brown hair falling like a thick curtain over the shoulders. The girl’s head was bent as she kissed Mark’s shoulder while her hand rested on his hip.

  “It’s not,” Katie said, a sharp pain stabbing her chest. “That’s not me.”

  Joelle put a finger to her chin. “Hmm, that was pretty good. I almost believed it. Practice saying it a few more times, and it might sound convincing.”

  “That’s not me,” Katie repeated, anger swelling inside her.

  Tessa leaned over from the other side of the table, looking at the photo upside down. “Can’t you see the tat on her hand?” she said. “Katie doesn’t have any ink.”

  It wasn’t easy to spot at first glance, but the girl in the photo had the tattoo of a red rose on her hand, its stem wrapping around her wrist.

  “Oh, snap,” Joelle said, squinting at her iPad and then at Katie, a tight smile playing at her lips. “You’re right. It isn’t you, is it?”

  Though Katie was sure that Joelle had realized the truth all along.

  “Well, I’ll bet you two have lots to talk about,” Joelle said, and reached between Katie and Mark to retrieve her tablet. “What with Mark here banging your slutty twin.”

  Katie stared at Mark, not even waiting for Joelle to leave before she asked, “Who is she?” Her voice shook, and she felt hot all over, like she had the worst fever ever.

  “I think it’s a girl from the party. Someone Steve brought. I barely noticed her.” Mark shook his head. His face looked pinched. “I wouldn’t cheat on you, Katie, I swear.”

  “Right, he swears,” Joelle said, and tucked her iPad against her chest. She stared at Mark with what looked like hurt in her eyes. “Guess everything isn’t always what it looks like, huh?”

  Mark snorted. “With you, it was exactly what it looked like.”

  “You just wanted any excuse to bail,” Joelle shot back. “You wouldn’t even hear me out—”

  “Let it go!” Mark stood so quickly that the bench jerked backward. “Move on, Jo, and stop with the bullshit. You know me, and this”—he poked a finger at her iPad—“isn’t who I am. Someone’s on a mission to make me look bad, and we both know who.” Mark turned to glare at Steve Getty. “The guy’s a total narcissist. It’s all about him.”

  Joelle briefly touched Katie’s shoulder. “I warned you, didn’t I?”

  “Mark, tell me the truth,” Katie said, standing up. She’d believed in him these past three months. Had he been with someone else?

  “Good luck with that,” Joelle said softly as she headed off.

  “I mean it, Mark.” Katie could hardly breathe. “Is it real or not?”

  He flinched. “It might be real, but it’s not the truth,” he told her. “Steve must’ve set me up. It’s the only thing that makes sense. He gave me a beer, the one I was drinking when I got sick and passed out—”

  “Wait! What?” Katie’s head spun. “You passed out?” He’d conveniently left that part out when she’d asked about the party before.

  “I’ve been trying to piece things together, but I don’t remember much before I woke up in the maid’s room.” There was desperation in his voice. He reached for her, clutching her fingers. “You just have to trust me.”

  “Trust you?
” Katie had trusted him blindly until a minute ago. Now it wasn’t that easy. Her hands felt like ice. She looked at Tessa, who stared back across the table, her cool blue eyes watching. “So this girl with the rose tattoo, nothing happened with her, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yeah, nothing happened. At least, I don’t think so.” Mark’s face turned red. “Like I said, I can’t remember—”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Katie hated the high pitch of her voice. “You can’t remember being in bed with a girl?”

  He winced. “What I know is that Steve handed me a beer that made me sick. The last thing that sticks with me is talking to Charlie, telling him I needed air. After that”—he shrugged—“nothing. Why would I make something like that up?”

  “No clue.” Katie wanted to believe him, she really did. “Is that all?” she asked, giving him one more chance.

  “Yeah.” The muscles in his jaw started to twitch. “That’s everything I know.”

  The room seemed to go freakishly quiet, or was that just her mind growing still while the rest of her world fell apart in a noisy whoosh?

  Please, she thought, please let this be a joke. Am I getting punked? She swallowed and looked around, only to see the curious stares and Steve Getty’s smug face, gloating like a highway billboard.

  “C’mon, Katie, you know I would never risk losing you. I would never do anything so stupid.” Mark held her arms so tightly it hurt. “It has to be Steve. There’s no other explanation. Who else would’ve taken that picture and made sure it was seen by everyone at Whitney?”

  That made sense. It did. If only Katie could get the image of her boyfriend and that tattooed girl out of her head.

  She stepped over the bench, snatching up her book bag from the floor. “I’ll see you later,” she said. Then she walked away, even as her legs shook beneath her.

  “Katie, wait—”

  But she didn’t turn around.

  Katie didn’t realize that she’d been holding her breath until she’d escaped the dining hall and rushed down the steps. The off-and-on drizzle had turned into a downpour. She clutched her book bag to her chest, sloshing through puddles, blinking as rain stuck her lashes together, obscuring her tears.

  Students huddled under colorful umbrellas hurried past, and Katie felt invisible against their vibrant reds and yellows. Her head down, wet hair plastered to her cheeks, she fought hard to keep from sobbing.

  It’ll be okay, she tried to console herself, despite the knot in the pit of her stomach. She had dealt with her father’s suicide without falling apart, hadn’t she? That kind of loss was the worst. Death was final. That photograph of Mark and the girl with the rose tattoo might not even be real. But as hard as she tried to convince herself that Steve had set Mark up, that the whole thing was bogus, her chest ached like she’d been slammed in the ribs with a two-by-four.

  Because if it was real, it meant that Mark had betrayed her. Lied to her. And, at the moment, she wasn’t sure which was worse.

  They could talk when the shock had worn off and she’d had the chance to calm down. At the moment, she was desperate to crawl into bed, bury her face in the pillow, and cry her eyes out.

  The yellow facade of Amelia House loomed ahead, a bright spot in the gloom. Katie ran up the steps and inside, shutting the door loudly behind her.

  The noise brought Estelle Gabbert flying out of her room. She pushed up the sleeves of her tailored shirt, penny loafers slapping the floor as she hurried into the foyer. “Please, don’t slam … Oh!” The housemother stopped dead in her tracks when she saw a rain-drenched Katie dripping onto the doormat.

  “Good heavens, Katie! You’re soaked to the skin! Stay right where you are, you poor thing,” she said, and disappeared into her room only to emerge seconds after with a fluffy pink towel.

  Before Katie could protest, the housemother descended on her, wiping the rain off her face and rubbing her hair with the towel before draping it over Katie’s shoulders.

  “Thanks,” Katie said, holding on to her book bag as she headed for the stairs. The last thing she wanted was to make small talk. All she wanted was to curl up and hide until she’d cried herself out.

  “Hold on a minute. Something came for you this morning. I apologize for the condition it’s in,” Mrs. Gabbert said, “but it’s about as wet as you are. It was left on the back stoop. I didn’t even know it was there till I took out the trash.”

  “I’ve got a package?” Katie grabbed the banister and turned around. She hardly ever got boxes, except on rare occasions when her mom mailed her chocolate chip cookies.

  “I think it was hand-delivered, though I’m not sure why it wasn’t brought to the front. I looked around but didn’t see anyone. Just the grounds crew across the way planting roses,” the housemother was saying, when the front door banged open and Tessa appeared, slamming it behind her.

  Mrs. Gabbert winced. “Can’t anyone ever do anything quietly?” she muttered.

  “Sorry,” Tessa said, stomping wet shoes on the mat. She looked even more like a drowned rat than Katie. She pushed away the pink towel Katie offered her. “Let’s go upstairs right now and talk about how you’re going to totally humiliate Mark Summers when you publicly dump his ass.”

  “No,” Katie told her, surprised how calm her voice sounded when her insides felt like Jell-O. “Mrs. G. has a package for me, and I’d like to see what it is.”

  “Yes, the package! I set it on the drainboard to dry.” The housemom headed for the kitchen. “I’ll go get it.”

  Katie sank down onto the bench beneath the stairwell, sliding her soggy book bag from her shoulder to the floor.

  Tessa squeezed the rain out of her hair. “You look like crap,” she said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you need to get over him fast.” Tessa snatched the pink towel from Katie to dry off her face. “Mark might have everyone around here convinced that he’s God, but he’s the opposite. He’s a dog, just like Steve Getty said.”

  “Way to kick me when I’m down,” Katie murmured.

  “Sometimes the truth hurts.”

  Katie glanced at her hands. After her dad died, she bit her nails down to the quick. When she’d gotten to Whitney, she started seeing the school shrink for weekly sessions. It had taken months of therapy and snapping rubber bands against her wrists before she’d kicked the habit. So much for that. She sighed and started gnawing on her thumbnail.

  “I have to give him credit for one thing, at least,” Tessa went on. “When you ran out, he went back to the hockey jocks’ table and slammed Getty in the face. I think he might have knocked out a few teeth.”

  “What?” Katie stared at Tessa. “Mark hit Steve?”

  “Yeah, and Steve was spitting blood. Hmm, I wonder if he had any teeth left to lose.”

  Katie wasn’t sorry that Mark had gone after Getty. Maybe the whole thing was Steve’s fault. Why else would Mark be convinced enough to beat him up in front of everyone in the dining hall?

  Mrs. Gabbert appeared. “Here you are, hon,” she chirped. “But be careful. The box is wet from the rain, and it’s got a strange smell to it, like perishables that have already perished.”

  Katie stood up and took the box. The cardboard had been soaked through so that a faded label marked TWO DOZEN BRILLO PADS could barely be read. It was held together by twine, not tape. Weird.

  “Mrs. G.’s right,” Tessa said, wrinkling her nose. “It smells like bologna gone bad. Who sent it?”

  “I don’t know.” The rain had smeared the ink, making a mess of Katie’s name. There was no address, not even her dorm name. There was nothing in the left-hand corner where the return address should have been, so she had no idea where it came from. “Do you think it’s from Mark?”

  “Would he give you rotten meat?” Tessa looked at her like she was crazy. “If he did, he’s really lost it.”

  Katie set the package on the floor and pried off the twine
. There was no note, just something rolled up in yellowed paper, something that smelled rank enough to make her hold her breath as she began to unwrap it. Toward the end, the paper unrolled all by itself and dumped the contents between her feet. Plop.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered when she saw what it was. The few bites of lunch she’d eaten backed up in her throat.

  It was a severed human hand, bone protruding from where the wrist used to be. The skin had turned a mottled shade of grayish purple, and the fingers curled like claws, with badly chipped nails once painted hot pink. On the back of the hand was a bloodred rose.

  “Lord have mercy!” Mrs. Gabbert gasped.

  “That can’t be real, can it?” Even tough-as-nails Tessa sounded freaked out. “It’s rubber, right?”

  But it didn’t look rubber to Katie. It didn’t smell like it either. She stared at the object unraveled from the stained paper, her stomach churning. She could hardly breathe.

  “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” she murmured over and over, turning away, unable to look a second longer.

  Had someone cut off the party girl’s rose-tattooed hand and delivered it to her?

  “I’m calling security!” Mrs. Gabbert said in a shaky voice as she backed out of the foyer.

  “I’m gonna be sick,” Katie murmured, wobbling as she took a few steps away from the box. As Tessa held her arm to steady her, Katie turned her head and puked all over Tessa’s shoes.

  Mark swiped at his bloody nose with the sleeve of his blazer as he walked down the marble-tiled hallway. Just outside the closed doors to his father’s office, he caught his reflection in a mirror and frowned. A purple bruise had begun forming along his jaw and drying blood clung to his nostrils. He let out a slow breath, telling himself that Steve had asked for it, that the beating was long overdue.

  If Whitney Prep’s head of security hadn’t shown up so fast, Mark would have killed the guy. But Wharton’s crew had quickly broken things up and disbanded the crowd that had gathered. One uniform had taken Getty to the school’s infirmary—with Steve giving Mark a hint of a bloody smile on his way out, like he’d won the fight, not lost it—while Wharton himself had dragged Mark to the administration building. “Your father wants to see you, and he’s not happy” was all he said.