“Vee, my past is . . . complicated. I’d rather not discuss these issues with your father, if it’s all the same to you.
“Look,” I say. “Either you tell my father, or I will.”
We are staring at each other when Mattie comes sailing into the room.
“Hey, we needed to leave like ten minutes ago. I’m supposed to retake a Spanish quiz this morning.”
Someone honks in the driveway. Rollins. Right on time.
“I’ve got to run. I’m sure Lydia won’t mind giving you a lift.”
I walk out of the room, leaving Mattie with her new best friend.
The hallway is filled with the rubbery squeaks from wet sneakers. Even though it’s a Friday, everyone seems muted, like they’re all actually asleep but just going through the motions. I’m standing with Rollins at his locker, flipping through his iPod while he locates his math book.
Anna appears from out of nowhere. “Hi, Vee.”
“Hi,” I say curtly.
Rollins straightens up. “Oh, hey, Anna. How’s it going?”
“Great. I’m soooo excited to see Scar IV tomorrow night.”
Rollins flicks his eyes toward me. “Shit. I forgot to tell you. Anna asked if I’d go to the movie with her. Since you were grounded, I said yes.”
I try to make my expression neutral, like it’s no big deal. They’re friends. That’s a thing that friends do together, right? They go to the movies. They hang out. There’s absolutely no reason for me to be angry.
“Oh, really? Well, actually, my dad ungrounded me. So I can go.” I fix my eyes on Anna to see if this news disappoints her. She doesn’t bat an eyelash.
“Great,” she says. “So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I guess so.”
“Well, then. Later.” She flips her hair and winks at Rollins before turning to leave. Really? Who winks at their friends?
I don’t have time to get bent out of shape about the wink, though, because Rollins enfolds me in his arms. He stuffs his hands into my back pockets and snuggles close for a kiss. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish Anna would turn around right now and see us.
“Mmmmm, I’m glad your dad ungrounded you,” he whispers in my ear.
“Me too.”
I’m enjoying the feeling of Rollins’s breath against my neck when I notice Regina farther down the hall, shoving her backpack into her locker. I break away from Rollins. “Hey, I’m going to be late. See you at lunch?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Regina looks up as I approach her. Am I imagining things, or does guilt flit across her face? She turns back to her locker, looking into the magnetic mirror stuck on the door, fluffing her hair. It’s fallen flat from the rain, and no amount of fluffing will save it.
“So I hear you went to visit Scotch yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah. I just wanted to see how he was doing.” She won’t look at me.
“And how is he?”
“Still unconscious. But I talked to him for a long time. And once, I swear, he squeezed my hand.”
“So did you meet his parents?”
She shakes her head quickly. “No, they’d gone home for a while. His mom was really tired. My mom was the same way when my brother died. It’s just exhausting, to maintain that level of worry for an extended period of time.”
“I’m surprised the nurses let you in to see him. Isn’t he in intensive care?”
“Well, I might have told them I was his little sister.”
“You know his parents will be looking for you now. Not only did a mysterious girl call to report Scotch’s whereabouts, but now the nurses will be able to describe what you look like to his mom and dad when they find out you were there. And they will find out.”
Regina freezes. Obviously, this hadn’t occurred to her.
“Be careful,” I say. “Samantha’s on the warpath. She’s pissed about you going to visit Scotch.”
Regina shrugs. “I’m tired of Samantha thinking she can rule the world.” With that, she slams her locker and walks away.
In English, Mrs. Winger asks us to get together with our partners to work on our essays. I take the desk next to Samantha’s. She’s dressed in an uncharacteristically muted fashion today, with a plain blue T-shirt, jeans, and no makeup. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and I can tell from the circles under her eyes that she didn’t sleep much last night. We have that in common.
“I just saw Regina in the hall,” I say when Mrs. Winger ducks out of the room to go make copies of a worksheet. “I told her she needs to be more careful.”
“Lot of good that does now,” Samantha says under her breath. “Did you see the cops in the cafeteria this morning? They’re still questioning people. It’s only a matter of time before they get to Regina. She’ll cave under the pressure.”
“I don’t think she’s going to say anything,” I say to appease Samantha, even though I’m not entirely sure about that.
Samantha closes her eyes. “Ugh, I just want to forget the whole thing ever happened. I want to think about normal things like which cheer we’re going to do at halftime or what’s going to happen next on The Vampire Diaries.”
“Same here,” I say. “You know, a bunch of us are going to the new Scar movie tomorrow night. Do you want to come?” Since Anna is coming, I figure it’s not really a double date anymore. Might as well invite one more person. The more, the merrier, and all. Besides, I think it’ll do Samantha some good.
“A bunch of us, meaning who?”
“Mattie, Russ White, Rollins. And this girl Rollins works with at the radio station, Anna.” I wrinkle my nose when I say Anna’s name.
“I take it we’re not a fan of Anna?”
I sigh. “It’s just . . . Rollins and I have kind of taken things to the next level. And Anna seems to keep getting in the way. They’re just friends, but . . . I wish she weren’t so pretty.”
“Say no more,” Samantha says. “You’ve come to the right person. I’m going to pick you up after cheerleading practice, and we’re going to the mall. Before the movie I’ll give you one of my famous makeovers, and when I’m through with you, Rollins won’t know what hit him.” I feel a bit ill, thinking about Samantha’s last “famous makeover,” but her cheeks have gotten a bit rosier in the last few minutes. If finding me some new lipstick will take her mind off everything that’s been happening, then why not?
“Ugh. Okay.”
She slaps me on the back.
“Get ready to meet your inner vixen.”
I’m waiting for Rollins by his locker after school when Mattie taps me on the shoulder. “Hey,” she says, readjusting the strap of the duffel bag in which she keeps all of her cheerleading stuff.
“Hey,” I say, picking some nonexistent fuzz off the sleeve of my hoodie.
“I hear Samantha is taking you to the mall after practice. You mind if I come with?”
I sigh. “Honestly, Mattie, I’m still kind of pissed that you and Lydia seem to be sharing everything with each other lately. Why would you keep that stuff about Lydia and Dad dating in high school a secret from me?”
Mattie touches my sleeve. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. But I knew you’d make a big thing out of it, and I . . . I just like having her around. Can’t you forgive me?”
I look into Mattie’s eyes. I’m tired of this tension between us.
“Okay.”
Mattie’s whole face lights up, and she draws me into a bear hug.
“I’ll see you after practice. We’ll find something really cute for you to wear.”
I groan. “I can’t wait.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The parking lot at the mall is crammed with cars. Samantha parks at the far end. I climb out of the car at the same time Mattie pops out of the back. I feel as though I’m doing a death march as I walk toward JCPenney.
I’d rather be doing anything else than letting Samantha dress me up as her own personal Barbie doll. Well, I suppose hangi
ng out at home with Lydia would be worse. So at least there’s that.
Samantha leads us to Forever 21 and makes a beeline for a display of baby tees. She selects a silver top, while Mattie fingers a purple one. They are talking, laughing. It’s good to see them carefree for a change.
“What do you think of this?” Mattie asks, holding up the shirt.
“I don’t think . . .”
The clothes in this store are most definitely not me. But Sam and Mattie don’t pay any attention. They prance around, picking out a pink tank top and a lacy white button-down to put over it with a very short jean skirt.
Mattie pushes me toward the dressing room.
“Seriously?” I ask.
Samantha gives me a stern look. “Trust me.”
I roll my eyes and carry the garments into the dressing room. Shimmying out of my torn jeans, I glance in the mirror. My legs appear to be thinner—they’re almost bony, with knobby knees poking out. When I pull off my T-shirt, I am struck by my lack of a chest.
An annoying thought buzzes around the back of my brain: You know who has a great body? ANNA. I tell my brain to shove it, but it does no good. A feeling of self-consciousness has settled over me as I think about going to the movie with Rollins and Anna tomorrow night. He only likes her as a friend, I remind myself, pulling on the skirt and top.
When I emerge, tugging at the uncomfortably snug clothing, Mattie claps her hands. “Yes,” she cries. “Just, yes. You have to get this.”
Samantha nods her approval. “My work here is done.”
I turn and study myself in the full-length mirror. The girl looking back at me seems familiar, like a girl I once knew but forgot long ago. Her long, blond hair falls around her face in wisps. Her cheeks are the same pink of the tank top. Her legs look kind of silly in a miniskirt and Converse shoes, but lovely just the same.
Mattie puts her hand on my shoulder. “It’s perfect.”
“You think so?”
Samantha opens her purse and whips out a credit card. “Vee, let me buy it for you.”
“Don’t you mean let your parents buy it?”
She shrugs. “I get a clothing allowance. This won’t even make a dent in it. Besides, I didn’t get you anything for your birthday this year.”
I don’t want to make waves.
“Whatever,” I say. “That’s fine. Let’s just get it and go.” Mattie and Samantha beam, irritating me. “I’ll go change.”
When I return, Samantha is at the register with Mattie and an armload of clothes she seems to have gathered in the thirty seconds I was in the dressing room.
“Could you add these things, too, please?” Samantha sweetly asks the clerk. She takes the clothes out of my hands and puts them on the counter.
The saleslady folds the outfit neatly, slips it into a plastic bag, and hands it over to Samantha, who in turn passes it to me. I hold it at arm’s length.
“Shouldn’t we be getting home soon? Dad will be wondering where we are,” I say. I can’t wait to get out of this place.
Mattie checks the time on her phone. “Oh, you’re right. Let’s go.”
As we pass by the food court, I get the strangest feeling that someone is watching us. My eyes pass over the line of teenagers at Cinnabon, the haggard mother dragging three children behind her, the man eating Chinese and reading a paperback novel, finally coming to rest on the fountain in the center of everything.
There’s someone on the other side of the fountain.
A woman with graying hair pulled into a bun.
She is now standing and grabbing her purse and ducking her head down, probably hoping that I don’t recognize her. But I do.
It’s Diane.
Again.
What is she doing here?
She turns away before I can call her name.
Sitting in the back of the car, I tune Mattie and Samantha out as they excitedly discuss tomorrow’s plans. The outfit that Samantha bought for me is draped over my lap. I dig my fingers into the plastic, trying to make sense out of what just happened.
Why would Diane be following me?
I must have a strained look on my face because my sister glances back at me and frowns. “What’s wrong?”
I try to smile. “Oh, nothing. I just realized I have a Psych test on Monday. Totally haven’t studied for it.”
Samantha looks at me in the rearview mirror but doesn’t say anything.
“Well,” Mattie says breezily, “you have all weekend. Don’t worry about it.”
“Yeah,” I say.
It was just a coincidence, I tell myself. Nothing more.
Deep down, though, I know I’ve seen Diane too many times in the past week for it to be a coincidence.
Saturday night. I stare with dismay into the full-length mirror on the back of my door. Against my better judgment, I let Samantha do my hair and makeup. She’s curled and teased my hair within an inch of its life. It literally does not move when I touch it. Eye shadow is layered from eyeball to eyebrow. She even pressed on fake eyelashes, which are itchy. Every time I fiddle with them, though, Samantha yells at me.
“What do you think?” Samantha asks, standing back to admire her work.
“It’s . . . great,” I say.
“You look gorgeous, Vee,” Mattie says. She’s wearing some skinny jeans and a low-cut tank top.
“I feel like a different person.”
And I’m not sure that’s a good thing.
The doorbell rings.
“That must be them,” Mattie says excitedly. She grabs her purse from the top of my desk and checks herself in the mirror one last time before opening the door. Samantha and I follow her downstairs, where my dad is standing with Russ and Rollins.
For a split second, I am nearly paralyzed with guilt. Here I am, about to go to a movie with my friends, while Scotch is lying unconscious in the hospital—because of me. I shake my head to make the thought go away. There’s nothing I can do for him now.
Not tonight.
Rollins’s eyes sweep over my body as I come down the stairs, then back up, resting on my face. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. His face is unreadable.
“Remember your curfew,” my father warns. “Midnight. Not one second later.”
Mattie gives my dad a kiss on the cheek, and we all head outside. Russ’s and Rollins’s vehicles are both in the driveway. Mattie opens the passenger door of Russ’s silver pickup. Samantha walks to her own car, which is parked in the street.
“We’ve got to pick up Anna on the way,” Rollins says. He climbs into his car and turns the key. I get in and pull the seat belt over my lap, trying not to notice the way my boobs are practically popping out of my shirt.
“You look different,” Rollins says.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I ask.
“I guess I mean . . . You look the same as everyone else. I can hardly recognize you under all that makeup.”
A bad thing, I think.
“Samantha gave me a makeover,” I say.
“Ah,” Rollins replies, looking over his shoulder as he pulls out of the driveway. He doesn’t say anything else on the way to Anna’s house.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The six of us stand in the lobby of the movie theater—Russ, Mattie, Rollins, Anna, Samantha, and me. It’s a strange grouping, and there are a few moments of awkward silence as we try to think of something to talk about. My mind keeps returning to Scotch, but I can’t bring him up in front of Russ and Anna.
“Well, shall we?” Russ asks Mattie finally, gesturing toward the ticket window. Russ digs out his wallet and retrieves a twenty-dollar bill.
The rest of us pay for our own tickets and head to the snack counter. Anna announces that she’ll buy the popcorn. Samantha gets some strawberry Twizzlers. I buy a small Mountain Dew, allowing myself a little caffeine to stay awake during the movie. We carry our loot into the theater.
Russ and Mattie take seats up front, where they can kick their legs u
p on the railing. They look like a real couple already, laughing and sharing popcorn. I feel a pang of jealousy when I have to follow Rollins and Anna to the back row, where Rollins and I usually sit so we can make fun of movies without people yelling at us. Samantha trails behind me.
Anna edges her way down the row first, and Rollins goes next. I take a seat on his other side and slouch down. My skirt rides up embarrassingly high, and I yank it so it covers my thighs. Samantha flops into the chair on my other side, already chewing on a Twizzler.
The lights dim, and the previews come up. Rollins has the popcorn in his lap, and I’m conscious of every time Anna reaches over to grab a handful. I watch out of the corner of my eye to make sure her hand doesn’t linger and brush against his. They both seem oblivious to my angst, though. Slowly, my attention moves away from Anna’s and Rollins’s hands dipping repeatedly into the popcorn.
Onscreen, a beautiful girl with dark brown hair is in the shower, lathering shampoo into her hair. Her eyes are closed, and she doesn’t see the shadow that moves across the bright orange shower curtain. She starts to sing a pop song, belting the lyrics over the sound of the cascading water.
Mattie, several rows ahead of me, hides her face against Russ’s shoulder. He raises his arm and wraps it around her.
After her shower, the girl in the movie throws open the curtain and steps into the bathroom. She reaches for a towel and wraps it around her. Through the steamy bathroom mirror, we see her take a step toward the closed door. She reaches out her hand, gets ready to open it.
Someone in the front shouts, “Don’t do it!”
But of course she does.
She opens the door, and there the killer is, wearing a clown mask.
The girl screams, takes a step backward, stumbles on the bath mat, and falls. We see the shiny steel raise into the air. And lower. Again and again.
Without thinking, I reach over and grab Rollins’s sleeve. My eyes are glued to the screen.
The last shot is of the knife, speckled with dots of red. Then the title sequence begins. My heart is thumping under my shirt, even though I’ve seen the previous Scar movies and anticipated what was going to happen. There’s something about seeing a movie in the theater, as opposed to my own living room. Makes it scarier. More delicious.
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