“I was holding a gun, Hartley!”
“And thanks to your handling of that gun, we lost him.” Hartley angrily swipes little bits of duckweed off her bra.
Farrah grits her teeth, then shoves the gun at Hartley’s chest and storms off toward the car.
“Where’s Lyla?” I ask.
Just as I say it, Lyla emerges from the trees. “Almost caught him, but he slipped away,” she pants. She swears under her breath, kicking a rock across the parking lot.
“Did you get a good look at him?” I ask.
Lyla shakes her head, wiping sweat from her brow. “Too dark. And he was wearing a ski mask.”
The Society was here. Watching us.
“What do we do now?” I ask.
Lyla looks out at the woods, then shakes her head and pushes past us toward the car. “Now we go home.”
It’s past three by the time Lyla rolls to a stop outside my apartment complex. Lucky for me the house is still dark, no telltale light shining through the cracked venetian blinds to signal that I’ve been caught.
It took some time, but my breathing leveled out on the interstate, once the swamp was well behind me. It still feels as if I can’t fill my lungs all the way, and I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to a treatment so badly, but I won’t need a breathing tube shoved down my throat, so it could be worse.
“Thanks for the ride,” I whisper as I climb out of the car. “And for, you know, saving me.”
“You’re welcome. And hey.” She grabs a receipt from the dash and writes something on it, then hands it to me. It’s a phone number. “Call if you want.” With that, she’s off.
I wait until her headlights disappear around the corner before I approach the apartment complex. But I’m not halfway across the road when a blast rockets me off my feet. I land hard on my ass, the wind knocked out of my chest. A car alarm goes off, and a crackling, sparking noise roars in my ears. Someone screams.
What the…
I push past the pain and roll over onto my side.
A fire engulfs one of the cars in the parking lot. Orange-yellow flames lick the roof and send huge curls of smoke into the sky. Heat from the flames reach for me all the way across the street.
The door of the apartment bursts open, and Jenny runs out onto the stairs. She spots me on the ground, and her shock turns to confusion.
“What are you doing out here?” she cries.
I get up quickly, uselessly brushing dirt from my pants.
“Why do you think?” I shoot back.
Her eyes widen, and she whispers, “The Society,” just as Mom bursts outside behind her.
She freezes when she sees me. “Hope?”
“Mom!” I jog over to her. “I heard the explosion and ran right out. What’s going on?”
The woman from apartment 6B runs up, gasping for breath. “Fill up buckets with water—pots, pans, whatever you can get your hands on. If this fire gets any bigger, it’ll take the house.”
That seems like a terrible idea, but already neighbors are emerging from their apartments with huge pails and pots, emptying buckets of water onto the blaze, then coughing and hacking as they stumble for more. A siren wails in the distance.
“The smoke—Hope, get inside.” Mom shoves me toward the door. “I’ll come for you if it gets worse.”
Relief floods my body. She bought it.
The second I get inside, I change out of my muddy PJs and shove them to the bottom of my laundry. I’ll rinse them later, before Mom takes our stuff to the Laundromat. Right now I have to make sure I don’t have duckweed in my hair or gator teeth between my toes.
I’m frantically washing the dirt from under my fingernails when I see a flashing light outside Jenny’s window. I cross to it just as a fire truck screeches into the parking lot. Firefighters spill out, and in moments they’re using giant hoses to spray high-pressured water at the blaze.
My breath stalls as the charred skeleton of the car comes into view. It’s almost unrecognizable from the damage, but I’d know that LIFE IS SHORT, TAKE IT EASY bumper sticker anywhere.
It was our car.
I blink at the blaze, mute with shock. And then I stumble into my room and frantically search for my phone. Even if things are weird with Ethan right now, I need to talk to him. But when I punch the home button, the screen flares to life, and there is a text from a number I don’t recognize. I swipe the text open and squint at the screen:
Cheaters always get caught.
An icy fist wraps around my throat. They don’t think I failed the dare—they think I cheated. Cheat in the game, and you will be punished.
The car was a punishment.
I knew they had leverage on the other girls. I knew the dares were dangerous, but I thought the penalty for quitting would be some form of blackmail-driven humiliation.
I realize now how utterly, devastatingly wrong I was.
The night vanished in the aftermath of the fire.
The investigators told Mom the explosion was due to faulty wiring and we should all count our blessings we weren’t in the car when it exploded. Mom said she’d consider it a blessing if another working vehicle presented itself. She fought tears all morning—and actually sobbed when she realized she’d have to spend the money she keeps earmarked for medical emergencies on insurance deductibles—but she’s past the emotional part now and is just angry.
Well, me too.
Other than Lyla’s, I don’t have the girls’ phone numbers. I spend the morning tracking Farrah, Nikki, and Hartley down through social media and give them each the same message:
Meet in the library 15 min before the end of lunch. VERY. IMPORTANT.
I don’t get to school until lunch is already under way. Without a car, I had to take a taxi to get here, but Mom insisted it was better that I be as far away from the residual smoke as possible, and I didn’t argue.
I was full of purpose all morning, but by the time I step into the school, the days of lost sleep catch up with me all at once. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this day. My hands are shaky, and I can’t fight a yawn as I enter the combo to open my locker.
But when I swing it open, I’m suddenly wide awake.
A creamy white envelope is taped inside, HOPE CALLAHAN written across the front in the same slanting, cursive script.
The Society was here.
I shoot a frantic glance over my shoulder to see if anyone is watching me. I don’t know why I bother. Whoever planned this game went to great lengths to make it happen and keep their identity concealed. They aren’t going to be stupid enough to stand around and watch while I open my locker.
The envelope stares at me. Another dare. I can’t handle anymore. Not so soon. But there’s going to be no avoiding it.
I rip the envelope open. My hands tremble as I slide my finger under the rose wax seal and pull out the thick cardstock.
We think you’ve learned your lesson…so congratulations! You have made it to the semifinal round of the game. Three girls and your own fear are the only things standing between you and $100,000. Meet again at 291 Schilling Road at midnight tonight. And come alone.
If you dare.
I think of the charred remains of the car towed away just hours before. How would the Society react if I didn’t show? How would I be punished then? My stomach goes watery at the thought.
The Society knew my locker combo, so either they stood close enough to see me enter it, which limits the pool of suspects to just close friends, or they have access to the school’s files, which opens the pool up to anyone inventive enough to get a minute alone in Mrs. Butter’s office.
“Hey, Hope!”
I snap back to reality as the school nurse approaches, her ponytail swishing from side to side. “You okay?”
I realize I’ve been staring at the invite for way too long to seem normal. I quickly shove it into my purse and force a smile.
“Hey, Mrs. Duncan. Yep, I’m great.” It’s hard to sound enthused w
ith this crushing dread on my shoulders, but she seems to buy my act.
“Great,” she says. “It’s so nice to see you back at school again.”
I nod absently, and she slips away.
I’m rooted to the spot, frozen. But I have to move. Have to do something.
My legs don’t feel quite up to the task of carrying my weight as I walk through the halls toward the caf. My neck is pinched with tension, and I’m plagued by the unmistakable feeling of being watched. But every time I spin around, no one is looking at me.
Ethan’s at our usual table with Jackie and Mike and a couple of guys from swim. I didn’t fully realize how much I’ve missed him until I see him telling a story in that animated way he does, all big eyes and flailing hands. He doesn’t talk to me like that anymore.
Just go over there, Callahan, I tell myself. Tell him about the car. “You’ll never believe what happened this morning—our car exploded!” After we’re past the initial awkward hump, it’ll be like it was before. He’ll know what to do about all this, and even if he doesn’t, it will feel good just to know he’s there.
I blow out a breath and start to cross to the table when I hear my name called. Tucker waves me over from his table by the back window. I hesitate, glancing at Ethan. He’s looking at me now. The laughter is gone from his face, replaced by narrowed eyes and a hard jaw. He’s angry. Angry enough to blow up a car?
Stop it.
It’s a stupid thought, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not going to sit with someone who can’t treat me with respect.
A low murmur spreads through the caf as I cross toward Tucker. I try to catch Farrah’s eye as I near, but she makes a concerted effort not to look at me.
When I reach the table, Tucker scooches over and pats the seat next to him. “Come sit with us.”
Sadie says, “What?” and someone else snorts.
“Ignore my idiot friends,” Tucker says. “They have no lives.”
I should say no—this has disaster written all over it—but Ethan’s gaze bores a hole into my back, and there’s no way I’m going to give him the satisfaction of schlepping back to him with my tail between my legs, like he was right.
I circle the table and drop my bag onto the floor as I wedge into the spot next to Tucker. Amber Reyes is on my other side. She gives me a friendly smile, carefully placing an orange slice into her mouth so as not to ruin her lipstick. Sadie may be the most popular girl in school, but Amber is the one pretty much every guy—and girl—at St. Beatrice drools over. And I don’t blame them. With her wild, sexy curls, honey-colored skin, and perfect curves, she could probably walk into the Sports Illustrated offices and land the cover of the swimsuit issue on the spot.
This is so weird.
It feels like hundreds of eyes are watching, and when I risk a glance out at the caf, I realize it’s because they are. Practically everyone is twisted around to watch the pale, skinny sick kid sit at the popular kids’ table. My stomach coils into a knot. I don’t know how I’m going to eat. Much less eat my strange diet of high-calorie meal-replacement bars and extra-salty crackers.
“So, Hope,” Sadie says.
Oh no. Here it goes.
I meet her eyes, trying to look confident even as a slow thud of a heartbeat starts in my chest.
“Was that your mommy with you the other day?”
“Sadie,” Tucker warns.
Everyone at the table turns to me, waiting for my answer. I don’t know whether she knows the truth and wants me to humiliate myself by making me say it out loud or she just wants to humiliate me in general. Probably both.
“It was,” I say.
Sadie makes a face like she just sucked on a package of Sour Patch Kids. Down the table someone makes a lame attempt to stifle a giggle.
“But, like, why?” she asks.
“Why do you box-dye your hair?” Farrah cuts in, sharp and smooth.
“Oh, snap!” Amber says as laughter ripples down the table. Two red spots bloom on Sadie’s cheeks.
I glance at Farrah. She meets my eyes momentarily before she flicks her braid behind her shoulder and stabs a fork into her salad.
“I do not,” Sadie mutters, splitting her glare between Farrah and me.
Sadie Fortier definitely has the kind of malice it would take to make four girls swim with the gators and to blow up a car all in the same night. And finding dirt on Farrah would be easier if you were in the same social circle. She has just as much access to money as Tucker does. She could easily be part of the Society.
“So are you guys coming to the Children’s thing?” Amber’s twisted around to look at me, and she’s either a very good actress or she’s legitimately interested in the answer.
I look at Tucker. I don’t know how to answer the question. We’ve barely talked since that day in his room, and in my mind he’s still 50 percent suspect, but to everyone else we’ve become something. Tucker’s throat bobs as he swallows his bite of sandwich. “We hadn’t talked about it. I don’t know if boring benefits are up Hope’s alley.”
“Talk about an understatement,” Sadie mutters.
A blush rises to my cheeks.
“It’s not nearly as boring as it sounds,” Amber says.
“What is it exactly?” I ask.
“A fund-raiser for the Children’s Hospital. Our parents are on the board, so we’re forced to go,” Tucker says.
“A bunch of us get together and have some drinks beforehand, then we pretty much dance all night,” Amber says. “It’s really fun.”
“Oh. Um, when is it?” I ask, even though I’m thinking, Dancing? Drinking? No way Mom will let me go.
“Tomorrow. So will you come?” Amber presses. “Since Tucker failed in his duties, I’m asking for him.”
Tomorrow. After another dare tonight. I have no idea if I’ll be standing by then, and if there’s yet another dare that same night, I’ll be screwed.
“I don’t really have anything to wear for something like that,” I say, then immediately regret it. I sound so pathetic. Sadie doesn’t even try to rein in her smile.
“You can borrow something of mine,” Farrah says. I look up sharply. She smiles past me at Sadie. “You can come to my house after school, and we’ll get ready together.”
“I thought we were getting ready together,” Sadie says.
“Thanks, Farrah,” I say, paving over Sadie’s jealousy. “That’s really nice of you to offer. But I can’t.”
“See, she doesn’t even want to go,” Sadie says.
“Sure she does,” Farrah answers, full of sudden determination.
I open my mouth to argue that I really can’t, especially not after what happened this morning, but Farrah holds a finger up. “Stop right there. I’m not taking no for an answer. Meet me at my car tomorrow after the last bell.” She pops up from the table suddenly, and I check the time: twenty minutes to the end of lunch.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I tell Tucker. I hurriedly climb off the bench seat and jog after Farrah, struggling to get on my backpack and not huff for breath in front of the entire student body.
“Thanks for saving me back there,” I say as I fall into step beside her.
“No problem. Sadie’s such a bitch.”
“It was worth it just to see the look on her face.” After a beat I add, “So will you get ready with her anyway?”
“What?” She turns to face me.
“Tomorrow night. For the event.”
“You’re coming over.” She says it like I’m slow on the uptake.
She actually wants me to go to her house. Get ready together.
“Oh,” I say simply. “So that wasn’t, like—”
“A pity invite? No. Well, I did hate the way Sadie was talking to you, but I think it’ll be fun to hang out.”
So I’m going to this event.
If Sadie is a part of the Society, this isn’t going to end well for me.
“So what’s this meeting about?” Farrah asks befo
re I can worry too much about it.
I look around to make sure no one is listening in. “My mom’s car exploded after the swamp last night. A total write-off.”
I see a flash of surprise in her eyes.
“And I got a text after that said cheaters always get caught. Farrah, they were talking about the dare—how I didn’t cross back on my own. This was a punishment.”
Saying the words out loud makes my insides feel not quite solid.
Farrah doesn’t answer, but I swear I see a shiver roll down her body.
We reach the library.
As far as I’m concerned, the school board should be grateful to Hartley for burning the old one down. The new library is a vast improvement over the orange shag carpet and cheap plywood bookcases of yore, a study in modern design filled with sharp angles and clean lines, high-tech computers, and row after row of sleek white bookshelves.
But even the new look doesn’t make the library a popular hangout. The place is deserted. Besides a boy bent over in the periodicals and two girls hunkered in a corner with giant headphones on, we’re the only students in sight. Which is perfect for our purposes.
We wind our way through the bookshelves to the back of the room, where desks are set up for students to study. They’re all empty, save for one. Lyla and Nikki sit around a table, while Hartley supervises with her arms crossed over her chest and her boot against the wall.
Nikki shoots up the moment she sees me. “I don’t even know why I’m here. I’m not part of this anymore, and I have things to do.”
“Sit down,” Hartley says, but her leg bobs as if she can’t wait to get out of here too.
“Thanks for coming,” I say. “I’ll be quick.”
“I have a biology exam in five minutes.” Nikki drops heavily into her seat, cradling her arm in her lap. Her cast is pristine, and I almost smile, imagining her telling people their signatures won’t match her outfit.
Farrah remains standing a little ways from the group and casts nervous glances back at the stacks.
I take a seat at the only empty spot at the table. “Okay. So last night after Lyla dropped me off at home, my mom’s car exploded.”
Dead Girls Society Page 13