The Bakersville Dozen

by Kristina McBride

  ALSO BY KRISTINA MCBRIDE

  The Tension of Opposites

  One Moment

  A Million Times Goodnight

  Text copyright © 2017 by Kristina McBride

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews and articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are from the author’s imagination, and used fictitiously.

  Sky Pony Press books may be purchased in bulk at special discounts for sales promotion, corporate gifts, fund-raising, or educational purposes. Special editions can also be created to specifications. For details, contact the Special Sales Department, Sky Pony Press, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018 or info@skyhorsepublishing.com.

  Sky Pony® is a registered trademark of Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.®, a Delaware corporation.

  Visit our website at www.skyponypress.com

  Books, authors, and more at www.skyponypressblog.com

  www.kristinamcbride.com

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available on file.

  Jacket photo by iStock

  Jacket design by Sammy Yuen

  Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-5107-0805-1

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-5107-0806-8

  Printed in the United States of America

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  THURSDAY

  THE AMERICAN NEWS-REGISTER

  FRIDAY

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  SATURDAY

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  SUNDAY

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  MONDAY

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  SATURDAY

  CHAPTER 36

  THE AMERICAN NEWS-REGISTER

  A TIME TO REMEMBER

  If you haven’t yet viewed The Bakersville Dozen, you’ve at least heard of it. With over two million hits, the video-gone-viral features a compilation of thirteen girls–all members of the senior class of Bakersville High School in Bakersville, Ohio–showcased in a variety of situations, while provocative titles highlighting each girl’s alleged sexual prowess play across the screen.

  The video has garnered national attention as a result of the disappearances that have followed. Five girls featured in the video have gone missing in as many months.

  Police are asking the public to report any information related to these disappearances.

  After its release, the three-minute montage sparked outrage across the country, igniting a fevered dialogue in the national news and daytime talk shows circuit, alike. Last fall, just after hitting several hundred thousand hits, a spoof was featured on Saturday Night Live. The president’s wife also weighed in, calling the video “a horrific example of the objectification of women in America.”

  REPORTED MISSING

  EMILY SIMMS JANUARY 2

  LEENA GRABMAN FEBRUARY 1

  BECCA HILLYER MARCH 5

  JJ HAMILTON APRIL 4

  SUZE MMOORE MAY 6

  Nobody knows who is behind the video, which hit the internet via an encrypted server late September last year. The local police and FBI have worked together to take the video down, but their efforts seem fruitless. As soon as the video is removed from one host site, it appears on several others.

  A spokesman for Adele has stated that the Grammy winning artist is seeking damages for the unlawful use of her hit song, “Rumor Has It,” as the tune is featured throughout the video and is quoted in the opening segment, which claims:

  “Some girls put out. Others don’t. One thing you can always count on? Guys talk. Here’s the score at Bakersville High–a guide to the most sexed-up and sexed-down girls of the senior class–as ‘Rumor Has It.’”

  The disappearances remain as much of a mystery as the video’s creator. In a recent press conference, Kegan Gray–lead detective on the case–stated, “We are considering all possibilities and following up on all leads. Our main concern is to find these girls while keeping the people of Bakersville safe. We ask that you remain vigilant and report anything suspicious to the local police.”

  With graduation season upon us, this is a monumental time for high school seniors across America. But the graduating class of Bakersville High will be celebrating amid the tragic absence of five of its classmates.

  Authorities are requesting that anyone with information relating to either the video or the missing girls call 1-800-BAKER13.

  THE BAKERSVILE DOZEN:

  LEENA GRABMAN – I LIKE IT HARD

  JJ HAMILTON – JUICY FRUIT

  KELSEY HATHAWAY – SHAVED,’NUFF SAID

  BECCA HILLYER – HOT FOR TEACHER

  CARRIE HIXON – PANTS ON FIRE

  BAILEY HOLZMAN – LIKE A VIRGIN

  SUMMER JAMISON – SPICY

  BETH KLEIN – SQUEAKS, SQUEALS, SHRIEKS

  AMY LINTA – ANYTHING GOES

  SUZE MOORE – I’M SEXY AND I KNOW IT

  BRITTANY SANFORD – LIKES TO BLOW

  EMILY SIMMS – TEASER NOT A PLEASER

  SYLVIE WARNER – EASY

  CHAPTER 1

  2:13 PM

  “So have you decided what you’re doing about the party tomorrow night?” My best friend, Hannah, looped her arm through mine and gave a little squeeze as we made our way down a crowded hallway leading to the front entrance of Bakersville High School.

  “Nothing to decide.” I shrugged, guiding her around a throng of cheerleaders, all in various stages of primp-mode, and past a batch of techies, who were leaning against their lockers like it was just any other day. “There’s no way I can go. My parents would kill me if they found out. I think they’re afraid someone might deflower the only virgin in the Bakersville Dozen.”

  “We both know it’s a little more than that,” Hannah said.

  “Obviously.” I elbowed my friend. “It was a joke, Han.”

  “There’s not much to laugh about when it comes to that video, Bailey,” Hannah said. “Or anything that’s happened since it went live. I can skip Jonesy’s to hang out at your house. We can watch movies in our PJs and eat ice cream out of the carton. Totally therapeutic.”

  “Really? You’d do that?”

  “Um. Yeah. That’s what best friends are for, right?”

  I sighed, catching a flash of white-blonde curlicues up ahead, which meant Sylvie Warner was stalking the entrance to the atrium. She was the last person I wanted to deal with. I tugged Hannah to the side, sliding behind a pair of unnaturally tall basketball players.

  “That sounds perfect,” I said. “My only other option was getting together with the girls, which is just depressing. Reminds me of who’s missing and makes me worry about who could be next.”

>   “There’s not more to it?” Hannah asked, eyebrows raised. “Like avoiding Sylvie Warner?”

  I groaned. “Am I that easy to read?”

  “It’s more that you’re human, and there’s only so much a person can take. I wondered when you’d snap. I expected it to happen a long time ago.” Hannah offered a sad smile. “It might make me awful, but I’ve been waiting. I miss you. Since everything started, you’ve been spending more time with them than me.”

  “Aww, Han. It’s just the circumstances.” I tossed my hair out of my eyes. “I love the girls, okay? All of them. We’re in this together—that stupid video and all the unknowns? No one else can really understand how it feels, and that kinda makes them like family.”

  “Even Sylvie?” Hanna snorted.

  I laughed, the sound so free and natural, it startled me. “That girl has made herself the center of everything. She’s controlling, obsessive, and—”

  “Freakishly annoying?”

  “Exactly! But we both know Sylvie’s not the only issue. The whole thing pisses me off. I should be celebrating, not hiding.”

  “You don’t have to convince me.”

  “Since January, I can’t even leave the house without my parents flipping out. They’re even debating whether they’ll let me leave for college in the fall.”

  “No way. And you didn’t tell me?”

  “Telling you makes it real. I don’t want any of this to be real. Except for Jude, my entire senior year has been a bust.”

  Hannah gave me an irritated look.

  “I shouldn’t have to mention you, Han.” I rolled my eyes. “Nothing compares to you.”

  “I should hope so.”

  I grabbed Hannah’s hand as we were swept into the crowd. No longer shielded by the tallest guys in our class, Sylvie had a clear view of me as I rounded the corner. The bodies around me spilled into the atrium—a two-story, octagonal space, fed by four main hallways that resembled spokes on a bicycle wheel. The bodies stalled out a few rows in front of Sylvie. She raised her eyebrows, her lips moving, as she waved me toward her. I put my hand to my ear to let her know I hadn’t heard a thing she’d said, and twirled, riding a well-timed surge of classmates away from her.

  “Sylvie’s in full-blown tracking mode.” Hannah had to shout to be heard over the chatter.

  “I know,” I shouted back. Ignoring Sylvie was mean, but I didn’t care. I needed some space from her and from everything she represented.

  “She looks like she’s about to explode,” Hannah said. “All that Type-A energy can be combustible, you know?”

  “She wants us to stand together for the ceremony—a united front—which is nice, but I just can’t.” I left out the obvious fact that being part of the notorious Bakersville Dozen had ruined my life.

  Hannah said something else, but her words were lost in the roar of the crowd. I pulled her along, past the main office, noting the two police officers standing in the doorway. Their presence only made me walk faster. I’d talked to the police too many times in the last few months, answering enough questions to last me the rest of my life. There was no way I would let them steal my Last Day Ceremony.

  Elbows and shoulders jabbed us as we made our way toward the center of the atrium. All I wanted was a few minutes of normalcy. A few seconds where the weight of the missing girls wasn’t pressing me into the ground.

  And then, just like that, my wish was granted. I heard him before I could see him—the chanting of his words twining through the current of bodies—the perfect distraction.

  “We made it, freaks, geeks, and Barbie dolls!” His voice pinged off the angled brick walls. “It’s the last, the final, the closing day for seeeeen-yours!”

  He stepped up on a platform that had been planted in the center of the atrium, and I could finally see him—gorgeous him—a ripple of silky brown hair falling across his left eye as he turned in a circle, one hand pumping the air, the other holding a microphone up to a pair of lips that I knew, firsthand, often tasted like spearmint.

  “Juuuuude,” someone called, voice deep and drawn out. Others joined in. From his spot on the stage, Jude smiled. To most of the crowd he was leader of the spirit committee, honorary host of the Last Day Ceremony, or maybe party boy with a wicked sense of humor that could liven up any situation. To me, he was so much more—kind and patient and supportive—he represented everything right in my world.

  “Are. You. Read-yyyyy?” His voice was deep and gravelly. He thrust one fist into the air, his tanned arm tight, showing each muscled line.

  The seniors shouted, pressing together, their arms raised and waving, like strands of wild grass thrashing in a salty, mid-summer storm. Above, more people leaned over the glass railing that ran along the atrium’s second-floor balcony, cheering down at the rest of us.

  “Jude is insane!” Hannah shouted into my ear.

  I smiled, tugging her farther toward the center. Looking around, I took in the faces of people I’d known all my life. People I would never again see on a daily basis. It felt sad, but not all the way. Real sadness was reserved for thoughts that could shatter. Like learning that one of my friends had disappeared. Then another. And knowing that I might be next.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push it all away, not for a week or even a day, just long enough to enjoy the last few minutes of high school.

  My eyes fluttered open when the music began, a mash-up of songs compiled years ago and passed down from one graduating class to the next for the Last Day Ceremony—“School’s Out” by Alice Cooper, “Fight for Your Right” by the Beastie Boys, “We’re Not Gonna Take It” by Twisted Sister.

  The deep tone of multiple drums echoed through the space, a steady beat that pulsed through my entire body. Slowly, the crowd parted, allowing the BHS drumline to march in, twelve guys, all funk-dancing, their instruments harnessed to their chests. The cheerleaders came next, pompoms whipping wildly as they leapt into the air.

  “I can’t believe it’s finally our turn!” Hannah shouted, her eyes glowing as she twisted her mass of long brown hair into one thick strand and threw it over her shoulder. “Last Day Ceremony rocks!”

  Jude found me in the crowd and our eyes locked. He winked. I scrunched my nose up and blew him a kiss, feeling lucky to have him to keep me grounded, to remind me that everything in my life wasn’t a crazy mess.

  Jude began to clap to the beat of the drums. Of course, everyone followed along. It was like that for Jude. Always had been.

  But that made me think of Leena “I Like it Hard” Grabman, cheer queen who’d reigned as captain of the varsity squad, a legend for radiating that same kind of magnetism. JJ “Juicy Fruit” Hamilton, too, with her vocal and guitar skills; she’d led her band from a high school talent show win straight to a recording deal in Cincinnati. And Suze “I’m Sexy and I Know It” Moore, who exuded effortlessness, the kind of girl who had always been totally sure of herself, sure enough to risk everything to follow her dream of becoming a fashion designer.

  As the lyrics pulsated from the speakers overhead, washing over us as we spent our last moments together as a class, I tried to push thoughts of the girls away—the five who had gone missing and the others from the video. As my classmates danced, I tried to forget everything that had happened over the past nine months. But it didn’t work.

  Hannah bumped into me and I lost my balance, falling into the guy who had sat behind me in pre-calc last year and, from what I could tell, was always wearing a hoodie. Hoodie Guy pumped his hand in the air, shouting another drawn out, “Juuuuude.” Something felt off, almost like he was mocking the entire scene, but he was lost in the shuffle of the crowd before I could figure out why.

  It was like the music and the energy were enough to sweep away everyone else’s troubles. I stood in the middle of the joyful chaos, but the whole thing felt forced, strangely surreal.

  The ceremony seemed to last forever, but somehow it also passed in the blink of an eye. I felt defeated as the final son
g faded, like I’d lost my last chance. As the drumline hit their finale, Jude caught my attention, mouthing a quick, You okay? I smiled and nodded, but that did nothing to erase the concern in his eyes.

  Jude drew the mic to his lips and gave a discreet reminder about continuing the celebration. Everyone cheered. News had traveled far and wide about the party at Jonesy’s farm the next night. Jonesy’s two older brothers had spent years in college mastering the art of partying, and their farm was infamous for killer events. The ten-acre property featured a fire pit, a pole barn, fully stocked bar, and shooting range. The guest list would include people from the current graduating class and those from the last four years—friends of Jonesy’s brothers home from college.

  I stood there in the middle of my classmates, resentment washing through my entire body. Life was going on all around me. But it was a life I couldn’t live.

  I expected Jude to close the ceremony by wishing us all good luck, or maybe with a joke about how Kyle Jenkins (dork of the century) had free reign to leave his job at The Flying Pizza and put us all to shame by making millions with the latest high-tech invention. Instead, Jude sighed, his eyes meeting mine for a beat as he surveyed the crowd.

  “Before we leave, I think it’s only fitting to offer a moment of silence in honor of those classmates who cannot be with us today.”

  The entire crowd got quiet. No one moved. The joyful energy of the celebration evaporated. I looked around, my eyes locking on the two officers. One was checking his phone. The other gazed out over the crowd, a smirk playing on his lips. His name was Tiny Simmons—a Bakersville graduate who had not so long ago celebrated his own Last Day Ceremony. I wondered if he was reliving some moments from his glory days.

  “Emily Simms, Leena Grabman, JJ Hamilton, Becca Hillyer, and Suze Moore should be with us today, tomorrow, and this summer as we celebrate graduation. But they are not.” Jude turned, facing a display case recessed into the wall at the back of the atrium. The entire crowd turned, too.

  Together, we stared at the memorial—the collection of items meant to represent each girl: Emily’s team jersey, a volley ball, a stack of yearbooks, and an assortment of pictures she’d taken; Leena’s red-and-black pompoms propped in front of the trophy the varsity cheerleaders had won at Nationals, and the sparkling tiara representing her reign as BHS prom queen; one of JJ’s acoustic guitars, a microphone, and a CD from her band’s first studio session; a spread of playbills featuring Becca as the lead, fanned out across her favorite Juilliard hoodie; a jacket, off-the-shoulder T-shirt, flared skirt, clutch, and jewelry, all created by Suze, who had been thrilled when she announced she’d been accepted into Parson’s School for Design in New York City.