The Liar Society

by Lisa Roecker

  I examined Grace’s invitation closely, and as far as I could tell, the only difference was that instead of a drawing in the bottom right-hand corner, where mine had been, hers appeared in the bottom left. Clearly the drawings were a part of a bigger picture. Cameron’s careful block letters appeared on a sticky note taped to the back.

  Kate,

  You know Grace. She couldn’t keep a secret.

  And I’m sick of keeping mine. I don’t know why she was there that night. But I was supposed to be with her. She told me to wait for her in the chapel basement, but I saw her with some other guy and I didn’t bother to show. It’s my fault she died. I should have been down there to save her.

  You have the symbol I drew, and now you have this charm I found the day after she died. That’s as far as I could get. There’s more to this story, and if anyone can figure it out, it’s you. It’s over for me.

  Cameron

  I rubbed my eyes, trying to understand what all of this meant, and then I reread Cameron’s final words: “It’s over for me.”

  Oh, God.

  I fumbled in my purse for my phone and with shaky hands scrolled through my contacts until Cameron’s name was highlighted. After three rings, I figured the phone would go to voice mail, but a man’s hoarse voice filled my ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Is Cameron there?”

  “Who is this?” The voice on the other end of the phone was harsh, and for a split second I thought about hanging up.

  “My name is Kate. I’m…um…a friend from school.” I wondered if he’d remember me as the girl who always played with Grace.

  “This is Mr. Thompson, Kate, Cameron’s father.” His voice cracked on that last word. “Do you know where he is? We’ve been looking everywhere…he never came home last night.”

  “I…um, I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything. I was actually hoping to find him too.”

  “He left his cell phone here, but it’s completely empty. He deleted all the contacts, all the emails, all the texts. We know nothing.” Cameron’s father sounded desperate, pleading. “Please call us if you hear anything from him. We’ve just filed a missing person’s report, but the police think he ran away. There’s just not much we can do…” His voice cracked again, and I was almost positive he’d begun to cry.

  “I’ll let you know if I hear anything, okay?” My words barely came out a whisper.

  “You do that.”

  “I’m so sorry…” But I knew by the way my words echoed into dead air that he’d already hung up.

  I rolled Grace’s pearls between my fingers and wished that she was here to help me through this. Through all the years of our friendship, Grace had been the fearless one. She would have known what to do and would have given me the courage to do it. I squeezed my eyes shut. Maybe if I tried hard enough, I’d be able to feel her or she’d sense that I needed her and send me another email.

  But when I opened my eyes and checked my phone? Nothing.

  If I hadn’t broken into his locker, Cameron would probably be under the bleachers right now, geeked out of his mind. But I had found the sketch. I had accused him of killing Grace.

  Cameron was gone, and it was my all fault.

  Chapter 13

  Last Fall

  Bradley and I had finally reached the lake in the center of campus, and I wondered if he remembered me from the night of Nativitas. Maybe he’d spent the past few weeks at school searching for the girl in the pink polka-dot bikini and had only now recognized me.

  Navy blue bled into the orange of the horizon, and dim pinpricks of light dotted the sky as stars began to make an appearance. I looked up at Bradley through eyelashes layered in Maybelline mascara, admiring his profile and unable to believe that this was really happening to me, Kate Lowry.

  Bradley sat down on one of the benches surrounding the water, and I hesitated, not sure how close I should sit to him. Opting for the other side of the bench would be all kinds of awkward, but I wasn’t going to plop down into his lap either. I finally settled on taking a seat about a foot away from him. As soon as I sat down, he scooted toward me, close enough so our knees touched, and a surge of electricity shot up through my leg.

  My knee was touching Bradley Farrow’s knee. Holy crap. I adjusted my denim skirt so it covered more of my thighs and twisted the bracelet around my wrist.

  “So it’s a nice night, huh?” he asked, turning toward me.

  “Uh, yeah. Beautiful,” I managed to stammer in response, my mind spinning, my leg burning from his touch.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t have somewhere else to be,” he commented, with a slight smile.

  For a second I wondered if he knew about the invitation, but then he grabbed my hand and I couldn’t think about anything except the warmth of his fingers. A rush of courage coursed through me. I was here. Bradley liked me. I could do this.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Bradley cut off my words with a kiss. His lips were soft and warm on mine, their gentle touch a tease. I opened my mouth slightly, eager for more, relaxing into his chest. But just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Bradley jerked away.

  My face burned with humiliation. What the hell had I been thinking? He probably thought I was a huge slut or something. Or maybe my mouth still tasted like the pizza we had eaten at Grace’s house. I tried to analyze the expression on his face: boredom, confusion, revulsion? I couldn’t be sure.

  I felt his eyes searching the space behind me and noticed a subtle nod of his head. Was somebody there? I whipped my head around and watched a person run back toward the direction of the bonfire. God, I hoped they hadn’t seen Bradley push me away.

  Bradley’s hand felt limp in my own, and when I turned back to him, I struggled to read his face. He wasn’t half smiling like before, and his eyes darted around, looking everywhere except at me.

  He pulled his hand out of mine and ran it over his shaved head. “Hey, sorry…” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I didn’t realize the time. I’ve got to run, but I’ll see you around.” He gave me one last smile before jogging into the darkness and back toward the bonfire.

  I was speechless. The worst part was that I knew exactly when it had all gone wrong. I was a terrible kisser, and everyone at school would know all about it on Monday.

  I did my best to fight the tears, but I couldn’t hold them back. I felt so…rejected. But as I swiped at my cheeks and wallowed on the bench, I remembered. A wave of nervousness washed over me. The invitation. The chapel. The night sky was now close to black, well past dusk.

  I was late.

  I jumped up from the bench and ran toward an opening in the woods. The path was faster but scarier than sticking to the open, rolling lawn of campus. I took off toward the trees and figured being scared was my punishment for wasting all that time with Bradley. Or maybe my reward for being the worst, most disgusting kisser on the planet.

  Leaves crunched rhythmically under my feet, and the cool night air bit at my arms and legs while my imagination ran wild. I imagined someone chasing me and not being able to hear their footsteps. I imagined a dangerous animal attacking me from the shadowy depths of the woods. I even imagined getting lost Blair Witch style and never being able to find my way out. I tried to push the scary thoughts away as I ran, but that was impossible. They flooded back with each step.

  I heard the snap of a tree branch a few feet away and froze. I could just barely make out the pad of footsteps over the sound of my racing heart.

  I wasn’t alone.

  But it was only after I saw the flames that I began to scream.

  Chapter 14

  Present Day

  Number of times I’d refreshed my email since I’d sent my last message to Grace: 548.

  Status of my inbox as of 1:14 a.m.: empty.

  Number of times I’d stared at my phone praying for a text or some kind of communication from Cameron: 1,326.

  In five hours my alarm clock would scream in my ear and force me to ge
t my butt out of bed and to school. Needless to say, tomorrow wasn’t going to be a good day. Not only did I have to make it through nine interminable classes, but I also had a tennis match after school. And no doubt everyone would be buzzing about Cameron’s disappearance by then. Somehow, in light of recent events, studying for quizzes and hitting a little yellow ball over a net seemed really pointless.

  Just as I shut my laptop to attempt to sleep, my phone buzzed in my ear. I jumped up, shaking, thinking it might be a message from Cameron or maybe even Grace. I was wrong.

  It was a text from an unfamiliar number.

  Station 2. 2 a.m.

  It had to be from Cameron. I had to go to him. I had to try to fix this mess.

  I looked at the clock: 1:32 a.m. I didn’t live far from the school. It was only about a ten-minute bike ride. Of course, that would mean breaking my “no bike riding in public” rule, but considering it was pitch-black outside, I could probably bend on that a bit. After all, it’s only considered public if people can actually see you, right?

  Before I could change my mind, I threw on Grace’s pearls (they make pajamas more presentable) and crept out of the house and into the garage to unearth my bike from beneath the piles of junk.

  The wind tossed my hair around as I pedaled through the darkness. I had no idea why Cameron would want to meet at the clock tower in the middle of the night, and I was more than just a little terrified. But when I drew the predawn air deep into my lungs, I could feel the adrenaline race through my blood. Something about riding a bike just feels so free. Too bad it looks so dorky.

  I got to the clock tower just in time to see a white-cloaked figure ascend the first flight of stairs, candle in hand.

  There would be no Cameron, no answers, no fixing what I’d broken. It was Candela, another Sacramentum, a tradition that would do nothing but make me more exhausted than I already was.

  According to a Pemberly Brown legend, a second-year girl was attacked by a boy on campus in 1971. She went to the police, but they didn’t believe her. Once word spread that she had accused one of the most popular boys at school of rape, she was tormented by the other boys and supposedly hanged herself at the top of the clock tower.

  Every year, eleven second-year girls gather to ascend the stairs of the clock tower, eleven flights total. Each girl carries a single candle that she holds in the window on one of the levels of the tower until all are lit. The eleventh girl climbs to the very top and waits for the girl’s ghost to appear.

  I hung back, debating whether to go home or move in closer. The decision was made for me when I felt someone grab my hand and lead me forward.

  It was Naomi Farrow, Bradley’s gorgeous sister, not a hair out of place, dark eyes flashing. She didn’t say a word—silence was the unspoken rule—but handed me a white cloak exactly like the one she wore. She gestured that I should put it on, so I pulled it over my T-shirt and pajama pants.

  She smiled and gave me a white candle that she lit with the one she held in her hands. Her face flickered in the candlelight, and her eyes shone with secrets. Again she grabbed my hand, and I followed her to the clock tower.

  The girls were lined up at the plaque that marked Station 2, the clock tower. Tempus edax rerum. “Time is the devourer of all things.” The girls looked ghostly, the candlelight casting shadows where eyes and mouths should be. I couldn’t stop myself from looking for Grace’s face among the white phantoms. My eyes widened a bit when I saw Maddie but no Grace. Obviously.

  I stood behind Naomi and realized that I was the eleventh. I’d be climbing to the top, the last unlucky girl to wait for the ghost.

  One by one, the girls climbed the steps, and one by one the windows leading to the top of the clock tower were lit. If I weren’t so terrified of what I’d find at the top, the sight of them would have been oddly beautiful. But climbing the stairs to meet a ghost hit way too close to home.

  I watched Naomi walk slowly to the tower. Girl number ten. I saw her candle flicker past each window as she wound her way up to the tenth story. When she finally stopped in front of her window, it was my turn.

  I tried to hold my candle steady, but my hands were shaking so much that the hot wax dripped down and burned my skin. My legs were barely able to support my body as I climbed each flight.

  When I passed Maddie on the sixth floor, she turned to look at me. Her face was blank, but her eyes were wide and glossy and sad. God, I missed her. I lifted my fingers in a wave, but she shook her head quickly and turned away. As usual, there was an invisible wall between us that she never let me breach.

  I walked on without a word, a new purpose in my steps. I could do this. I had to do this. I was Kate Lowry, not some lame-ass prom queen who was afraid of her own shadow. If a ghost really was at the top of the tower, I was sure I’d be able to handle it. That is, if you define “handling it” as dropping my candle, booking it down the stairs, and sprinting back to the safety of my bedroom.

  I crept up the final flight of stairs, terrified that the tiniest noise would stir whatever might be waiting up there. The old gears of the clock churned and creaked, and every tick and tock made me jump and search for the girl with the noose looped around her neck.

  When I finally approached the window with my candle, I saw her. She stood in the middle of the courtyard, plaid skirt, inky hair spilling down her back. Her body was turned toward the dense woods that surrounded the campus. But before I could scream, deep voices rang within the tower, slicing through the silence.

  “BOO-AH-HAH-HAHH!”

  The voices came from each level of the tower and were followed by piercing, high-pitched screams, one of which was my own. When I swung around, heart pounding, to confront whatever or whoever was there, I came face-to-face with Alistair Reynolds and Bradley Farrow, both dressed head to toe in black.

  I shoved Bradley’s chest, pushing him backward. His large frame only moved an inch, and he held his hands up as if to surrender. But before I could lay into Alistair, I remembered who I’d seen out the window. I whipped my head back around and screamed through the opening.

  “Grace!”

  I scanned the dark ground below, looking for her. I locked in on her running into the woods, her hands pushing weeds and twigs to clear the way.

  I took off down the stairs, my candle long since extinguished in my rush to get out of the tower. On each level, girls in white stood with boys in black, all staring wide-eyed at the crazy girl running down the stairs. But by the time I made it out into the open, Grace was gone.

  Slowly the black and white figures trailed after me, offering concerned looks. Tears that I hadn’t realized were falling blurred my vision.

  I had lost her again.

  I leaned against the cool brick of the clock tower and slowly sank down into the grass, cradling my head in my hands and feeling even more lost. Alistair and Bradley reached up to pull off the black hoods covering their heads, revealing faces darkened with face paint.

  Bradley tried to reach down and touch my shoulder, but I jerked away, not wanting his hands anywhere near me. It was hard to believe that a year ago I would have given just about anything for this kind of attention. But as soon as I felt the pressure of Alistair’s fingertips on my other shoulder, the anger returned, and all at once I figured it out.

  “It was you. You sent her on purpose!” Tears gathered in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks and landing in the corners of my mouth. “You found someone who looked like her. Who looked like Grace…” My chin shook as the words spilled out. “You think this is funny? You think it’s funny to…to trick me!” I looked at the boys standing in front of me, accusing each of them.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alistair said. “We just wanted to scare you guys—that’s it.”

  Bradley bent down in front of me.

  “We didn’t send anyone who looked like Grace, Kate. We wouldn’t trick you.” His face looked soft and sincere, and all at once my anger was replaced with embarrassment. God,
I was just so freaking tired of all of this.

  “Just…just leave me alone.” A few more tears slipped out of the corners of my eyes. Alistair was the first to walk away, and slowly the rest of the group followed until they had all disappeared into the night.

  I sat for a while, hoping that if I closed my eyes and opened them again I would be at home in my bed, the entire night a bad dream. But when I opened my eyes, my back was still against the hard stone of the clock tower, my hands gripping the damp lawn.

  My left hand sank into the soft earth as I struggled to stand, but my right hand pressed into something hard and cold beneath the grass. A small rectangular stone was almost completely hidden by clover, but as soon as I ran my fingers over the carving I knew exactly what it was.

  The crest.

  Chapter 15

  I practically sleepwalked through the following day, nodding off in World History and sleeping so soundly in Latin that a pool of drool formed on my notebook.

  I woke up to Porter Reynolds elbowing me in the rib cage. Grace had thought Porter was the dreamiest boy in our grade, and he was actually kind of cute in that I’ve-never-worked-a-day-in-my-life-and-probably-never-will kind of way. But to me, his intentionally unwashed hair and cheesy smile screamed “douche bag.” Not exactly the person I wanted disturbing my beauty sleep.

  My thoughts were interrupted by my five-foot-nothing Latin teacher. “Ms. Lowry, evigila! Ne dormias inter disciplinam. Evigila!” Oh, so that’s why Porter was waking me up. Looks like I owed good old Porter a mental apology. Sorry, dude.

  “Mihi ignosce, magister,” I managed to mumble.

  “Poenam meris,” she said in her obnoxious, fake Latin accent. I mean, aren’t all Latin accents fake? Considering that Latin is a dead language, how does anyone even know what it’s supposed to sound like? It’s not like there’s an eight-track of Julius Caesar giving one of his famous speeches lying around somewhere.