Shuffle [YA Paranormal Romance]

by Avery Bell

  “Your new Homecoming Queen... er, rather, your second Homecoming King... is George Farmer!”

  At first, there was no reaction.

  “Um, I voted for Vi,” whispered Shelby. There were similar whispers going up all around us. I kept the camera focused on Amanda's face, which was slowly tightening up in horror. She was turning to her friends, asking “Is this real? Is this real?”

  Principal Davis started clapping, just like he had for Jim. “Mr. Farmer, come on up,” he said, warmly.

  The clapping spread. I stuffed the fingers of my free hand into my mouth and blasted a wolf whistle. Ellen, you massive genius! Soon there were cheers, and stomps of approval. Amanda's hopeful expression disintegrated into one of disgust as George left Arbor's side and made his way up to the stage.

  Then her face turned pink and she screeched, “This is ultra bullshit!” She stomped off to the bathroom, arms swinging. A woman intercepted her, the same one who'd chastised us earlier for not being “lady-like.” Of course that's her mother. So obvious.

  And I got it all on film.

  But I left the two of them and swung my phone back up to the stage to capture George's crowning and speech. A tiara was placed on his head. He rolled his eyes and took it off right away. Then he stepped up to the microphone.

  “I don't know how this happened,” he said. “Three days ago I thought I had nothing to look forward to but rude comments, probably some fists coming my way, and definitely a football season's worth of hard, cold benches. I'd like to thank my date, Arbor, for standing up for me when no one else would.”

  People clapped and Arbor took a little bow.

  George squinted and put his hand over his eyes, shading them from the bright lights trained on the stage. “I don't see him, but if you're out there, Mr. Pryce, thanks again for the help with our trick football counts. They really turned the game around yesterday.”

  I swung my head left and right, looking for Quentin, but it was impossible to find anybody in the darkened fieldhouse.

  “And thanks, Principal Davis, for not lying about what was written on the card. That would have been easy to do.”

  Principal Davis smiled and nodded. The next moment he was almost blindsided by Amanda's mother, who was back from the bathroom, clutching what looked like a bunch of mascara-stained toilet paper. She'd rushed up on stage and was now giving him an earful.

  George raised his eyebrows. “It's easy to lie about stuff,” he continued. Mrs. Petrov's chorus of nasty provided the backing vocals for the rest of his speech. “Like who you are. It's also easy to back down under pressure. I'm not good at much besides football. But lying and backing down are two things that my football coaches have always taught me never to do, and so I'm not going to apologize or go back into the closet. I wish other people would...” He trailed off and looked over at Jim, who was standing stiffly in the same spot, crown on his head, looking terrified.

  “I mean...”

  George didn't seem to know how to finish his thought.

  The crowd filled the silence with encouraging applause and cheers. I think the fact that George's win so clearly came at the expense of Amanda Petrov helped to solidify the majority of the student body behind him. There was noticeable dissent, of course. The most noticeable being Mrs. Petrov's. But there was a lot more support.

  I think Jim saw it too, because he walked up to the microphone and kissed George. Right in front of everyone.

  The fieldhouse erupted. Everybody loves a love story, right? Total romcom moment! At some point Ellen had ninjaed her way to my side; now she pointed up to Principal Davis, who was guiding Mrs. Petrov as well as he could out of the limelight, to the back of the stage. He seemed to be standing up to her. In fact, he cut a pretty heroic figure.

  “And I thought you were joking, Shelby,” I mused. “About the hotness.”

  “Ha. I never joke.”

  Principal Davis. Kinda awesome. Who knew?

  George and Jim gently broke their kiss, and walked down from the stage hand in hand. A pop ballad played over the speakers, and students moved out to make a circle. The two Homecoming Kings danced together, staring into each other's eyes like they'd never look away.

  “Good job, babe.” I put my arm around Ellen and squeezed. “I'm sorry he wasn't the one.”

  “Thanks.” She gave me a smile. “I'm really all right.”

  I believed her.

  “Someday I will force you to tell me how you got George's name in that envelope.”

  “You know,” she whispered slyly, “Jim's name wasn't supposed to be there either. It was Arbor who really won the vote.”

  Vi and Luke joined in the slow dance, along with the rest of the Homecoming court (minus one A. Petrov, still absent). Britta and Casey recreated the vacuum seal between their torsos. Ellen and Shelby danced together.

  I felt a warm hand on my waist.

  “Arbor,” I breathed.

  “Your observation is correct,” he replied.

  “Shut up,” I said, softly. He drew his hand up my back and the next thing I knew we were swaying gently in a world of violet light.

  “My date seems to have taken up with another man,” he said. “So, Evangeline, may I have this dance?”

  “I think you already have it,” I answered.

  He smiled then. That predator's smile. “You weren't supposed to come tonight.” The words seemed to escape his lips in a soft hiss.

  “And why is that?” I asked.

  “Because I said so.”

  I stiffened. His touch felt so good, but I couldn't take this kind of crap. Which is why the next words out of my mouth were, “I can't take this kind of crap. You don't get to tell me what to do.”

  He sighed, relaxing his hold on me. “I know,” he said. The mask dropped away. His voice was suddenly full of regret. Genuine regret.

  “I'm sorry, Evangeline. It's just that sometimes I feel responsible when...”

  At that moment, the song ended. The student body turned toward the stage, where Principal Davis was back on the mic, congratulating the Homecoming Kings and the football team. He said, “We have a little surprise for you, this year.” He swept his arm out in a grand motion. “The curtain, please.”

  The red curtain whooshed open on his command, and bright yellow stage lights winked on overhead.

  ...

  “Oh, Jesus, Jesus...”

  There were screams, and a stampede for the exit. Principal Davis's surprised words echoed in the microphone. Arbor drew his arms around me, turning my head to his chest, covering my eyes. But I'd already seen it.

  In front of a banner that said CONGRATULATIONS PHS FOOTBALL, in front of a table loaded with door prizes, Quentin Pryce was hanging by the neck. Dead.

  Chapter Twelve

  “And the last time you went backstage, it was to... ”

  “To get the tiara for the Homecoming Queen – King! I mean – anyway yes, that was the last time. It was all dark. I... I couldn't see anything. I didn't look up, even. But... I don't think that the body was, um... there... yet.”

  Callie pursed her lips as she questioned the admin, furiously jotting everything down on her notepad. Principal Davis was standing nearby, having a conversation with Lieutenant Collier. The fieldhouse was bright, with the overhead lights on, and empty of students. It was all EMTs and cops. The cutouts and crepe paper looked like cheap garbage. There were crumbs on the tables, and dirty napkins and pop tabs littered the floor. I had been instructed to wait for Callie by the doors and not interfere with the investigation. Arbor was waiting with me; he refused to go home.

  “And how much time went by between you getting the tiara and the curtain opening?” she asked. “Just your own estimate.”

  “Well, there was the speech and then the song afterward. At least five minutes. Maybe six or seven?”

  Callie nodded, face etched with serious, grim lines.

  Arbor was fidgeting beside me. Well, he wasn't fidgeting in the sense that he was movi
ng. In fact, he was standing extra still. But he was mentally fidgeting. At least, I thought he was.

  “What's wrong?” I asked. “Besides the obvious.”

  There was something bottled up inside him. He shook his head.

  “No, I can tell there's something. Otherwise why would you still be here?”

  “I just want to make sure you're safe.”

  I laughed. “What's the murderer going to do, come back and murder the one million cops that are here, right now, with guns, actively searching for evidence?”

  Arbor didn't answer.

  “Look, I know there's something... different... about you.”

  He snapped his head around and faced me, staring deep into my eyes. “Different. How?”

  “Anyone would notice who'd spent time with you,” I said. “The way you listened to me about my blackout in the park. Your weird eyes. I mean, the way your face and speech patterns sometimes change. Like you're trying on different personalities.”

  “I've spent time with a lot of people since I moved here,” said Arbor. “None of them noticed any of that.”

  “Maybe you feel safe around me,” I said. “Like you can let your guard down.”

  “You think I have a 'guard' I can let down,” he mused. “That's rich.” I think he almost smiled. A real one.

  I shrugged. My feet were aching after so many hours of high heels. I undid the straps and lazily kicked them off, watching them fall empty and formless onto the floor. Then I sank into a squat, sighing. “It's just so horrible.”

  Arbor slid down the wall and joined me. “I know.”

  Something clicked in my head. “You knew.”

  He went still again. What did he remind me of? The child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The rabbit that freezes before the fox.

  Like he was hunted. Like I was the one hunting him.

  “Arbor, you knew that somebody was going to die at this dance. How did you do that?”

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him, so that we were facing each other. I thought I saw a flash of red in his eyes. Just for a moment, and then gone like the last spark off an empty lighter.

  “Do you remember everything I said to you?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I – I think so...”

  “Everything I ever said. Do you have a good memory?”

  I shook my head. Shrugged. “Yeah... I mean, I have a great memory for words. Numbers, not so much, but...”

  “Evangeline, my lips are crushed under the weight of ages. I can say no more than I have said. You know I am a liar.”

  “Yes.”

  “You cannot trust me.”

  “I...” The truth was, that's exactly what I was beginning to do. And while he talked of the 'weight of ages,' I felt my own heart expand just enough to let him in.

  “So take my words, and heed none of them. You know who you should listen to?”

  I shook my head.

  He smiled again, a fake one this time. Broad and toothy. “All women should listen to their mothers. Mothers are full of wisdom. And they never lie without a good reason.”

  Then he winked. He closed one eye. Slowly, deliberately winked.

  He stood up and pushed open the heavy door. Before he slipped out, he threw me another unreadable look. The door closed. The bar clicked back up into place, and he was gone.

  Well, that was certainly the most interesting conversation we'd ever had. He didn't deny that he was harboring secrets. But what the heck did they have to do with my mom?

  Before I could muse about it any further, Callie snapped her notepad shut and pulled me over to where she and Toby were wrapping things up near the stage. Thank God the body was gone. I'd only seen it for the space of about two seconds, and even that was two too many. Poor Quentin. I wanted to remember him in the classroom, getting excited about obscure points of Latin grammar, eyes twinkling... not hanging limp and purple-faced from a noose.

  “Evi, it's definitely the same killer,” Callie whispered. She held out her hand. An evidence bag was crumpled in her palm. In it was a small blue key. Locker number 113.

  “The dastardly key-leaver strikes again,” said Toby. He frowned. “We'll have to think up a better nickname for him.”

  I suddenly heard Quentin's voice in my head. There's nothing more tedious than being named after an ordinal number. You always feel as though you're waiting in line for something.

  I'm sorry, Quentin. Maybe if I'd just thought a little harder, I'd have been able to figure this whole thing out by now...

  “And I think we have to accept the communication theory.” Callie flipped to a page in her notepad and held it up to me. “Look what was written along his thumb.”

  this living hand...

  “What?” I took the notepad and stared down at the phrase. “That doesn't make any sense. Well, the hand part, sure, but... living?”

  “I know. And it was written in red ink.”

  “Weird.”

  The three of us stood around for a few moments, silently contemplating the situation.

  “Well,” said Callie, finally. “There's only one thing to do.” She stuffed the evidence bag with the key into her breast pocket and simultaneously straightened the badge on her chest.

  “Go see what's in locker 113,” I said. “Off to the library!”

  “No,” said Toby. “Hold on.”

  “What?”

  “We should bring that classmate of yours down to the station, Evi. That Arbor kid. He must have been at the dance, right? Didn't somebody get his statement?”

  “He just left,” I said.

  “What? Callie, did you know he was here? Why didn't you question him?”

  “There were so many witnesses. Teachers, chaperones... We had to release all of the students. I couldn't detain them here, screwing up the scene for forensics. They'll all be questioned sooner or later, but this is a big school. There were probably three or four hundred people here tonight.”

  “I can't believe you didn't think to hold the one suspect we have on this case.”

  “It's my case, Toby. And I'm the one who destroyed evidence, remember? It would look odd to let the rest of the students go and keep just one. The brass would want to know what we have on him.”

  I cut in. “Look, you don't need to question Arbor. At least not right away; not tonight. I don't think he has anything to do with this. Really.”

  “That's quite a tune-change, Evi.” said Toby. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “Sure, but a lot's happened in the last few days. I was dancing with him during the song. The one after George's speech.”

  “Aha.”

  I rolled my eyes in frustration. Like, fine, I have a crush on him. But I also really don't think he's the killer anymore. And I came to that conclusion independently of my crush. Well, mostly.

  “And where was he, during George's speech?” asked Toby.

  “I'm not sure. In the crowd. But he wouldn't have had time...”

  There was an uncomfortable silence between us, filled with the sound of shoes squeaking on the basketball court, teachers and chaperones chatting as they waited to be questioned for a second or third time, and the activity of the forensics team up on the stage. Then Toby breathed in deeply, and his back slumped. He looked weary.

  “I'm sorry,” he said. “It's your investigation, Cal. I guess... I used to be the big cheese around here until not so long ago.”

  I noticed that he clutched his cane a little tighter as he said those words. Maybe in anger. It was understandable – when he'd been shot, his whole world had been pulled out from underneath him. He wasn't even supposed to be here, now. Should have been back at the station riding a desk, except that Callie had intervened on his behalf.

  “No, I'm sorry,” said Callie. “I should have been more sensitive to that.” She straightened her shoulders. “But I don't think I mishandled anything.”

  Toby nodded. “You're fine, kid.”

  “We're going to delegate wh
at's left here and head over to the library.”

  “Saddle up,” I said.

  Now it was Callie's turn to roll her eyes as she led the way to the parking lot.

  The night seemed wild as we drove, our lights flashing silently across the damp, empty streets. Apparently it had rained a little while we were inside. The air smelled like wet peat now, and the wind screamed off mountain peaks high above us. We parked in front of the library's grim facade and watched as the first fall leaves blew across its face. The lights were on. Callie had called ahead on the way, not expecting to get an answer. But Mrs. Beasley happened to be working late.

  She met us at the front door and let us in.

  “Hello Callie, Evi. Officer Collier.” They shook hands, and I could tell that they'd met before. In fact, there was something in her eyes as she looked at him... Something that I'd seen in Callie's eyes, too. Apparently my sister wasn't the only one who had a crush on Toby.

  “You won't find anything,” Mrs. Beasley assured us. “I'm the only one who's been in here since we closed at seven.”

  “What have you been doing?” asked Toby.

  “Cataloging, processing new books, and setting up for the special children's program we're putting on tomorrow. Read-aloud and a puppet show. You remember those, don't you, Evi?”

  She smiled sweetly at me as we made our way up the stairs toward the lockers. It's true. I used to be a read-aloud junkie when I was little. I'd come to the library every Sunday afternoon and sit on my mother's lap as a volunteer read picture books to a crowd of children. They were happy memories. The kind that recently I'd been trying to bury.

  “So you were mostly downstairs,” said Callie, “and in your office?”

  Mrs. Beasley shrugged. “Yes, I suppose. But as you saw, the doors were locked.”

  “If we don't find anything in the locker...” said Toby, slowly.

  “If we got here before the killer...” continued Callie.

  “Maybe we can catch him in the act of planting the evidence?” I suggested.

  Callie snapped her fingers. “Exactly right.”

  “What evidence?” asked Mrs. Beasley, voice soft and curious. Almost as if she felt guilty for prying into the affairs of the dead.