Get Even

  “It wasn’t like that,” Kitty said. Her voice was flat. “I was failing algebra and my coach said if I didn’t go along with it, they’d kick me off the team. I had to do something.” She turned to Margot, then Bree. “I didn’t think they’d expel her.”

  “Did you know she was involved before you narced?” Margot asked.

  Kitty dropped her eyes to the floor. “Yeah. She was the one who told me about it.”

  “See?” Olivia cried. “At least I didn’t know what Amber was going to do with that photo.”

  “If you didn’t,” Margot said, “then you’re stupider than I thought.”

  Olivia twisted the faucet on, hanging her head so no one could see her face reflected in the mirror. “I can’t believe this is happening. My life is ruined.”

  “Yeah,” Margot said. “The same way you ruined mine.”

  “Look,” Bree said, stepping up behind Olivia. Time to put years of listening to Dr. Drew to good use. “Your life isn’t ruined. You and Donté broke up. He moved on. It’s not that big a deal.”

  In the mirror, Bree saw both Kitty and Margot wince.

  “Not that big a deal?” Olivia shook her head. “How would you feel if she’d been making out with your boyfriend?”

  Not again. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” This time, the words made her cringe.

  “It’s not always about you, Bree!” Olivia said.

  “Wait, I’m the drama queen here? Are you kidding me?”

  “Stop!” Kitty held up her hands. “We can’t turn on each other.”

  Bree couldn’t help herself. “Too late.”

  “Enough with the sarcasm, Bree,” Kitty said.

  Why were they trying to shift the blame to her? “I’m not the one getting the competition kicked out of school.”

  Kitty raised her chin, clearly irritated by Bree’s accusation. “I told you, I didn’t know she’d get . . .” Her voice trailed off, then Kitty caught her breath. “Hold up. Olivia, how did you find out about Barbara Ann?”

  Olivia squared her shoulders. “Anonymous tip.”

  “I’m serious,” Kitty said.

  “So was she,” Margot said. “Someone sent her a photo of you and Barbara Ann.”

  “A photo?” Kitty asked Olivia. “In a plain manila envelope?”

  “You got one too?” Olivia asked.

  Kitty nodded.

  “Try to keep up, Princess,” Bree said, exasperated at Olivia’s slowness. “We all got one.”

  Olivia looked utterly confused. “But the other day in the lighting booth you said you didn’t?”

  Bree shrugged. “I lied.”

  Silence fell in the bathroom as the girls looked at each other.

  “It could be any of us,” Margot said. As always, straight up and to the point. “Any of us sending the envelopes.”

  “But why?” Bree said. “Makes more sense that someone’s fucking with us.”

  “Who?” Kitty asked. “Who would know about our connection?”

  Bree tilted her head. “The same person who killed Ronny and planted our card on his body?”

  “Coach Creed,” Kitty said. “Or Rex, or Amber, or Theo, or John.”

  John? “Hold up.”

  Kitty ignored her. “Or Christopher Beeman, who literally could be anyone since we have no idea what he looks like.”

  “Or one of us,” Margot said quietly.

  Kitty nodded. “Or one of us.”

  Bree couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You were the one who said we had to stick together.”

  Kitty whirled on her, her face reddening by the second. “Then find us some proof, Bree, okay? Find proof that it’s someone else. You’re the one who went to school with Christopher. How convenient is it that you don’t remember what he looks like?”

  Bree set her jaw. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “She’s implying that you’re protecting someone,” Margot said.

  “It’s not John, okay?” She eyed Margot. “You want to know who’s the best candidate for Christopher Beeman? Try your new boyfriend on for size.”

  The color drained out of Margot’s carefully made-up face. “Logan?”

  Bree shrugged. “New kid in school, don’t know shit about him. Totally fits.”

  Kitty glanced at Margot, who’d begun to tremble. “Theo,” she said. “Christopher could also be Theo. He was new last spring.”

  The door handle turned as someone tried to get into the bathroom.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Olivia said, gathering her purse from the top of the paper towel dispenser.

  Bree rolled her eyes. “Shocking.”

  Olivia ignored her. “But I’m out of here.” The tears welled up again. “I don’t want to talk to you ever again. Any of you.”

  A knock on the door. “Hurry up in there!”

  “But—” Bree started, then stopped dead.

  A new song started. Grizzly’s lead guitar played a lonely strain of melody that was at once strange and familiar. The band joined in, and finally the vocals. But it wasn’t Shane’s voice this time.

  It was John. And he was singing “The Promise.”

  “But what?” Olivia’s hand was on the deadbolt.

  “John’s playing that for me.”

  Olivia sniffled. “Of course. He’s in love with you. Everyone has someone in love with them but me.” She threw open the door and dashed into the hallway.

  Bree should have gone after Olivia, but she couldn’t. Her feet had a mind of their own.

  She ran down the hall to the club, shouldering her way up to the railing in front of the bar. It was definitely John singing. He stood at the microphone in the blue glow of a spotlight. His eyes were half-closed, as if he didn’t want to look at anyone in the audience, his body tight and angular. But he sounded fabulous. It wasn’t intense like Shane’s vocals, or even ferocious like the way John played the bass. Instead, his voice was delicately plaintive over the revved-up punk version of the song.

  “And if I had to walk the world, I’d make you fall for me. I promise you, I promise you I will.”

  There was no way he could have seen her, the club was too dark and he would have been blinded by that spotlight, but Bree couldn’t help but feel like he was singing directly to her.

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  ..................................................................

  FORTY-NINE

  KITTY SHOULD HAVE FOLLOWED OLIVIA OUT THE BACK DOOR of the club, grabbed her by the shoulders, and talked some sense into her. She was the leader of DGM, and it was her job to remind Olivia that they all needed to stick together.

  The problem was, none of it was true. Kitty couldn’t trust them, not anymore. And they clearly didn’t trust her. The team was broken.

  “What do we do now?” Margot yelled over the music.

  Suddenly, Kitty didn’t care about the team, didn’t care about anyone but Donté. It was time for Kitty to put herself first for a change. “Go home,” she said.

  “What?”

  Kitty stepped into the hallway and shook her head. “It’s over.”

  “You okay?” Logan asked when Margot made it back to him.

  Margot nodded and forced a smile. Don’t Get Mad was no more, and she wasn’t sure how she felt. “Long line for the restroom.”

  She turned to the stage, where John Baggott was crooning away at the microphone. Logan slipped his arm around her waist and held her close.

  You want to know who’s the best candidate for Christopher Beeman? Try your new boyfriend on for size.

  First Ed the Head, now Bree, both echoing a possibility Margot had already acknowledged. Logan could be Christopher Beeman.

  Logically, she couldn’t dismiss the possibility. But even if he was Christopher, did it matter? Coach Creed had killed Ronny. All she needed to do now was prove it and then the entire nightmare would be over and it would be time to for
get Don’t Get Mad, forget the girls and the missions and the wounds that would never heal. She had Logan now, and things would be better. Life would be better.

  The song ended, and the crowd went wild. Shane leaned over to John and gave him a high five before he took his own microphone again. “How fucking awesome is this guy?” The audience cheered like maniacs. “And ladies,” Shane said coyly. “I hear he’s single so, you know, there’s a chance for you after the show.”

  The girls in the club screamed as if Channing Tatum had rushed the stage. One of them jumped up, threw her arms around John’s neck, and gave him a sloppy kiss.

  “Exactly,” Shane said, as the girl bounced back into the pit. “Okay, last song, you guys. Thank you so much for coming out and supporting Bangers and Mosh!”

  Just as they were about to start, the door of the club flew open, flooding the stuffy interior with a sharp blast of cold air, and Margot felt a chill race down her spine as the blare of dozens of sirens filled the air.

  What now?

  Olivia paused in the alley behind the Ledge. Her eyes stung from a mix of humiliation, shame, and smeared eye makeup, which only added to the deluge of tears. She leaned against the wall and, gritting her teeth, pressed the back of her head into the rough, jagged bricks. Olivia could have seen Amber going after Donté, or even Jezebel. But not Kitty. The only person less likely to try and date a friend’s ex was Margot.

  Margot. Olivia had worked so hard to put that night back in seventh grade out of her mind. She’d known, deep down, that Amber was leading her into something sketchy, but she hadn’t been strong enough to speak up. She wasn’t popular then, just a poor kid from a broken home, so when Amber started buddying up to her, Olivia was flattered. And too scared of having that kernel of friendship withdrawn to speak up when she realized what was happening.

  Then the day freshman year when by some bizarre twist of the universe, she and Margot had been assigned to the same project in religion class. She’d wanted to say something, to apologize. But how do you say you’re sorry you ruined someone’s life? They don’t exactly make a Hallmark card for that. When Kitty had approached them all about starting a secret revenge society, Olivia saw an opportunity. Maybe she couldn’t erase what she’d done, but she could at least try to make up for it.

  But that was over now. Done and finished. DGM was no more, and all Olivia wanted to do was get away from the Ledge, away from the rest of DGM, and away from the site of her total and utter humiliation.

  Slight problem. Peanut was her ride home, and Peanut was still inside the club. She had four dollars in her purse and her mom was passed out on the couch at home, which left only two options: walk or take the bus.

  Walking five miles home on a chilly fall night sounded so romantic, like Kate Winslet caught in the rain walking back from Willoughby’s. Maybe she’d catch pneumonia too, and practically die. That would show Donté how much she loved him, how much he’d hurt her. Then he’d be sorry.

  Olivia stared at her feet. The black lace peep toes were sexy as hell, exposing just a hint of her scarlet toenails. But the skin around those toenails was rapidly turning a matching shade of red, and the backs of both of her heels were raw from the friction of an unfamiliar pair of shoes. Blister city in the morning. Walking was out of the question.

  With a sigh, Olivia pushed herself off the wall and picked her way down the darkened alley, the shortest distance to the bus stop. It was creepily atmospheric, like something out of a movie set, and Olivia found herself tiptoeing past ominous Dumpster bins and piled-up garbage bags. She kept her eyes on the broken pavement, a necessity if she didn’t want to trip in an asphalt pot hole and break her ankle. The light from the waning moon illuminated the cracked surface, veined like the parched desert as she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other.

  Just a few more feet. But as she neared the end of the alley, something caught her eye. Not a garbage bag, or discarded furniture. It looked like a shoe, lying at a strange, unnatural angle. Like it was still attached to something.

  Like it was still attached to a leg.

  Olivia’s brain registered this fact too late. She stumbled around the corner of the building and stopped cold.

  Lying facedown in the alley was a body.

  Olivia had a split second to take in the camouflage pants, the bald head splattered with blood, before she started to scream.

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  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  FIFTY

  LOGAN SHIFTED HIS CAR INTO PARK AND KILLED THE ENGINE.“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

  “Yeah.” Margot stared out the passenger window at her mom’s silver Prius sitting alone in the abandoned Coffee Clash parking lot. It was well past midnight, more than two hours after her parents’ arbitrary curfew, and though she’d called to tell them about Coach Creed’s murder and how the police kept everyone in the club until they could secure the scene and ask questions, it hadn’t mattered. She wasn’t sure if they were more upset that she was out past ten o’clock or that she’d somehow gotten mixed up in a murder investigation the first time they’d allowed her to venture out alone. With any luck, she’d only be put on lockdown until she was eighteen.

  But the potential parental freak-out was nothing compared to Coach Creed’s death. A teacher—and another DGM victim—had been murdered, and since he’d been Margot’s prime suspect in Ronny’s death, all of her theories were officially blown out of the water. Logan laid his hand on top of hers. “I sure didn’t picture our first date ending like this.”

  “You mean you didn’t plan on a murder investigation?”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I planned that just for you. Guy’s got to impress a girl.” He leaned in closer. “I was hoping for something a little less police procedural, and a little more romantic.”

  Margot’s heart might technically have stopped beating momentarily as he tilted his head, easing his lips close to hers. He was going to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her. No one had ever wanted to kiss her in the history of boys kissing girls.

  Logan’s lips brushed against hers, and Margot’s mind fell instantly silent. All she could focus on was the tingling sensation. Logan paused, waiting for the green light. She smiled a fraction.

  That was all he needed.

  Logan kissed her, and her legs went limp. He nuzzled her upper and lower lips separately, then pulled back and cupped her face with his hand. She gazed into his eyes, desperate to feel his lips on hers again. Instead he kissed her eyelids, left then right, as if he was afraid she was going to break.

  He might be a killer.

  No. She’d read Christopher’s emails. She knew the sound of his voice, the way he talked, the way he acted, and it was nothing like Logan.

  Something stirred deep within her. She didn’t want soft and romantic, she wanted to feel every piece of him. She pushed herself up in the seat, hooking one leg underneath her, and launched herself into his arms.

  Logan easily met her ferocious kiss with one his own. Then his hands were in her hair, pulling the clip out so he could run his fingers through her long, tangled curls. Margot had no idea what she was doing with her hands: they seemed to have developed a mind of their own as they caressed Logan’s chest.

  Nothing mattered. Not Coach Creed or Ronny DeStefano or DGM. Certainly not her parents impatiently awaiting her at home. The whole world had disappeared, leaving just Margot and Logan and the interior of his SUV, the only sounds she could hear, blood rushing through her ears and the sharp pounding of her own heart.

  Without warning, Logan pulled away.

  “What’s wrong?” Margot panted.

  “Nothing,” Logan said, panting. “Just realized that your parents might ban me from ever seeing you again if you’re this late for curfew.”

  Margot rested her head on Logan’s shoulder. “They don’t know I’m out with you.”

  �
��They don’t?” Logan sounded hurt.

  Margot sighed. Normally she would have been terrified that she’d offended him, but for some reason, she was oddly calm.

  “Baby steps,” she said. “They’re not exactly lenient.”

  Logan brushed her cheek with his hand. “I don’t scare easily.”

  As he kissed her, Margot swore she’d never be scared again.

  Bree pulled her dad’s Lexus into the garage and sat in the driver’s seat until the door had fully closed behind her. She was exhausted, so tired the back sides of her eyeballs felt like they were made of lead and were threatening to drop out of her skull into her lower intestines if she didn’t get herself into a prone position as soon as possible.

  Yet as she sat there in the darkened garage, her hands shook uncontrollably. Coach Creed was dead. The killer was still on the loose. A serial killer, who apparently held all of DGM’s secrets in his hands. And the suspect list was a short one: Theo Baranski, Amber and Rex, Christopher Beeman, and John.

  John had decided to get a ride home with Shane, and Bree hadn’t fought him on it. Ever since the show ended, things had been super awkward between them. He’d avoided her, easy enough in the chaos that ensued once the police arrived. John had been the first person they’d questioned, since Coach Creed had showed up at the Ledge like Salome screaming for John’s head on a platter. They’d sat together in the dressing room, an uncomfortable and seemingly impenetrable silence between them. Shane and Grizzly talked a mile a minute about the show, what had worked well and what hadn’t, while Devil Dan nervously air drummed, so obsessively that after about an hour of nonstop movement she had wanted to rip the drumsticks from his hands and break them over her knee.

  John had spent the time doing anything to avoid looking at, talking to, or interacting with Bree in any way. Normally, she would have broken the tension with some well-timed Star Wars, but tonight she’d let it go. She wasn’t interested in having a conversation with him because, shit, what would she say?