My hands flew to my eyebrows. Or, more accurately, the bald skin where they used to be.
Noooooooooo!
“They’ll grow back,” Raley assured me. “And in the meantime, I think you’re perfectly safe to return home. We have the situation under control. I’ll let you know as soon as we have Caitlyn in custody.”
Mom was still not totally convinced, but when I begged her to go home and whip me up a plate of soy cheesecake with gluten-free walnut crust, she relented, piling me into the minivan.
It was nearing dawn by the time we arrived. I was beyond exhausted. But, instead of collapsing onto my bed, I followed Mom to the kitchen.
“So,” she asked tentatively as she grabbed a mixing bowl from the top shelf, “you feel like talking, hon? I mean, if you don’t, that’s fine. I understand.”
But honestly? I did.
So, I did.
As Mom mixed tofu, fructose, and soy milk, I told her everything that had happened in the past week, ever since I stumbled upon Courtney in Josh’s closet. I hesitated a few times, waiting for the SMother to pounce, but, amazingly, she didn’t. At least, not until I hit the end.
When she rounded the kitchen counter and gave me another five-minute hug.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she mumbled into my hair.
Don’t worry. I had no intention of ever getting involved with something like this again.
Detective Raley caught up with Caitlyn the next morning. She had stayed on the run all night, but skipping school was too much for a good Color Guard girl to do, even a killer. She was arrested the second she tried to enter school grounds and was heard yelling about her trig homework as she was dragged away in handcuffs. The KTVU news reported that she was looking at an insanity plea—saying that the pressure of high school perfection made her do it. Creative, I’d give her that. Rumor had it she was being held in a psychiatric facility, where she was busy converting the mentally unstable into born-again virgins.
With Caitlyn in custody, Josh was released and all charges were dropped. He returned to school the following Monday, and, for the first time in two weeks, all eyes were on him, the whispers and stares directed at someone else for a change. Part of me felt kinda sorry for him. I mean, he had been framed, arrested, and locked up in jail—not something I’d wish on anyone.
But as much as he’d been my first love, he’d also been the first guy to ever cheat on me. And if I’d learned anything from my near-barbecuing experience, it was that life was way too short to spend with someone who didn’t respect me. I had run a murder investigation. I had figured out the killer even when the police couldn’t. I had survived being attacked and brought a murderer to justice. I was awesome, and I deserved so much better.
So I let Josh suffer the stares and whispers on his own.
Kaylee’s funeral was that Wednesday, but I didn’t attend. Her parents specified family and close friends only, and I didn’t think I qualified as either. Even though I knew she had played a role in Courtney’s death, I still kinda felt sorry for Kaylee. It was clear she hadn’t realized what Caitlyn was doing until it was too late. And, in the end, she had tried to do the right thing. So I wore a black armband shot through with purple sparkly threads in her honor that day.
Courtney’s funeral, on the other hand, was so well attended they ended up using the football stadium to hold everyone and had to set up three extra banks of Porta Potties in the parking lot. Guys from all the area high schools showed up and even some college guys from San José State. Apparently the chastity queen really had gotten around.
And that fact was exploited to the fullest on Shiloh’s blog. She got so many hits to The Mainstream Sucks after the fire and Caitlyn’s arrest that she started charging for sidebar advertising space. A chance several businesses jumped at. Instead of her brother’s old ten-speed, Shiloh was soon seen driving a brand-new convertible BMW to school. (Yeah, I was seriously thinking of taking up blogging now.)
The local news station ran an entire series of stories on the HHH Killer. After Andi Brackenridge’s blackmail attempt came out in the news, Mary May fired her for unladylike conduct. Andi then hired a kick-butt civil attorney, who sued for unlawful termination. Rumor had it, Andi was looking at a settlement that would cover the cost of raising her little pink bundle. Several times over.
Of course, while the local news stations grabbed the story with gusto, the Herbert Hoover High Homepage had been the first news outlet to publish the entire string of events, Chase getting his promised exclusive. In fact, his article was actually reprinted in both the Weekly Times and the San José Mercury News with his byline, giving him just the kind of clipping that would get him into the journalism school of his choice next year.
Not that I had firsthand knowledge of his choice. In fact, ever since The Kiss, we hadn’t spoken. Which I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised about. I mean, now that the whole case was over, and he had his story, we really didn’t have any reason to hang out together. We lived in different worlds. Ran in different circles. Our tentative partnership was over.
Which was fine. I was so over men in general, and the ones at our school specifically. Josh, Chase, and the whole childish bunch of them could go take a flying leap for all I cared. Which is exactly what I told Sam that afternoon over meat(ish) loaf in the cafeteria.
“I honestly don’t even care that he hasn’t spoken to me since we came back to school,” I told her.
“Who, Josh?”
“Chase.”
She raised an eyebrow, then sipped from her juice box.
“What? What’s with the eyebrow?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t nothing me, Samantha Kramer. What?”
“It’s just . . .”
“What?”
She grinned. “You’ve said his name six times.”
I paused. “No. I don’t think so.”
She nodded, her bangs bobbing against her forehead. “Yup. I counted. While telling me how much you don’t care about men, you’ve said the name ‘Chase’ six times.”
I bit my lip. “So?”
She shrugged. Then sipped her juice box again. “That’s a lot of times, that’s all.”
“So what. So I said his name six times. I say lots of things lots of times.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Besides, weren’t you listening? I am over guys. Guys suck. They bring nothing but trouble. This whole thing started because of a suckish guy. God, if I could just go back in time and not date Josh, I’d still have eyebrows.”
“They’ll grow back.”
“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” I mumbled, self-consciously fingering the still-bald patch above my right eye where I’d tried to draw an eyebrow with an eyeliner pencil. Which, by the way blended perfectly with the bright red burn on my face that made me look like I’d fallen asleep on a tanning bed. And the purple bruise around my neck that was just now starting to fade. And the lump at my temple where Caitlyn had hit me was a lovely shade of baby poop brown now. Yep, I was a regular prize.
“Well, don’t look now,” Sam said, glancing over my shoulder, “but here he comes.”
“Josh?” I asked, ducking and grabbing my tray, ready to make a hasty exit.
She shook her head. “No, Chase.”
I bit my lip.
“Oh.”
I did an eeny, meeny, miny, moe whether or not I had time to bolt for an exit before he saw me. Not that I had any reason to bolt. I had done nothing wrong. So we’d kissed. So what? Big deal. People kissed all the time. It didn’t mean anything. It had happened in the heat of the moment. (Ugh. There went a pun again.) I was emotional, hallucinating. He’d just rescued me from a burning building. Anything that happened afterward didn’t count. Everyone knew that.
Apparently I took so long convincing myself I didn’t need to flee that Chase’s tray plopped down on the Formica table beside
me before I had a chance to not act on the instinct.
“Hey,” he said, straddling the bench next to me.
Close next to me.
My cheeks instantly heated, awkward butterflies floating around in my stomach.
“Hey,” I managed, covering my blush with my hair.
“Hey, Sam.”
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I repeated.
“You already said that,” he pointed out.
“Oh.”
Sam looked from Chase to me. Then back at Chase.
“Okay, well, I’ve got to go . . . you know, so, I’ll catch you later, yeah?” she said, gathering her juice box and paper bag.
I opened my mouth to beg her to stay, but she was already skittering away, backpack on one shoulder. She did a “call me” sign over her shoulder.
Great. Alone with Bad Boy.
“So . . .” he said, ripping open his ranch dipping sauce.
“So.”
“Your eyebrows look good,” he said, gesturing to my eyeliner job.
I ducked my face back down behind my hair again. “Thanks. They should grow back soon.”
He nodded. “Cool. Look, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about, Hartley.”
“It didn’t mean anything,” I blurted out. Then immediately wished I was one of those girls who knew how to keep her mouth shut in an awkward situation.
The thing was, I was totally afraid to hear what Chase had to say. As much as I was secure in my newfound awesomeness, the whole Josh thing was still raw. At least for now. Maybe in a few days, weeks, months, when my eyebrows grew back and my pride had a chance to grow back along with them, I’d be a little less chicken around the opposite sex. But for now? Bawk, bawk, ba-gawk!
“Didn’t mean anything?” Chase asked, cocking his head.
I licked my lips. “Yeah. I mean, I was vulnerable, you know? I was out of it. From the smoke. And the fire. And the pom-pom fumes. I thought maybe I was hallucinating you at first. And you rescued me, so I was all like ‘my hero’ and stuff and it was just the hea—” I stopped myself just in time from punning this up. “It was the moment, ya know? So, I totally know that it doesn’t mean anything. I’m totally not reading anything into it that isn’t really there. I know that Shiloh is your type, like the dark and weird and dangerous girls, and I’m like vanilla with tofu, so I know it was a mistake and just a fluke and that it totally didn’t mean anything, so you don’t have to ‘talk,’” I said doing Raley-style air quotes, “to me about it, because we’re cool, okay?”
I paused for a breath.
And looked up to find Chase doing a lopsided smile at me.
“What on earth are you talking about?” he said.
I bit my lip. “The Kiss?”
Something momentarily flickered behind his eyes, but just as quickly it disappeared. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Mental face palm.
“Oh. Right. Well, okay, then.”
He grinned even bigger, showing off a row of teeth. “You’re blushing.”
“It’s the fire burn.”
“It’s cute.”
“Did you want something?” I asked, blushing so hard I feared my cheeks would turn purple.
“Yes, I did,” he said, popping a pizza stick in his mouth as if nothing in the world could ever make him feel embarrassed or awkward—especially not a kiss that meant so little he didn’t even know what I was talking about. “I thought we worked well together on the story.”
I raised an eyebrow (or a place where an eyebrow would be) his way. “You did?”
“You know, when you weren’t accusing me of being a killer.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
He waved it off. “Anyway, I wanted to know if you wanted a spot on the paper. The Homepage could use a reporter like you.”
“Like me?”
“Smart, tenacious, resourceful.” He paused, then grinned at me again. “Willing to sacrifice her eyebrows for the truth.”
“They’re growing back,” I repeated.
“So, what do you say? Wanna come work for me?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. Honestly, I’d never had any journalistic aspirations. Writing an essay for English was about as much typing as I wanted to do. On the other hand . . . I had to admit there was a certain satisfaction in digging Caitlyn out of hiding. Sort of like doing a puzzle where the pieces were all in 3-D. And human.
Besides, after all the ditching I’d done lately, I could see my grades slipping. If I wanted to get into a good college, I was going to need some serious extracurricular stuff to pad my applications.
“Okay,” I finally said. “I’ll do it.”
“Cool.” He popped another pizza stick in. “Room thirty-five. After school. I’ll give you your first assignment today.”
“I’ll be there.”
He downed his last pizza stick and grabbed his tray, unfolding himself from the bench and moving to stand up.
“Oh, and . . . by the way?”
“Yeah?” I asked, looking up at him.
“Shiloh is not my type.”
“Oh?” I asked, my voice going an octave higher than play-it-cool-girl would have liked.
He shook his head. “Actually, I’ve got a thing for blondes.”
I gulped down a shiver.
He grinned.
“See ya later, partner,” he said, then walked away.
I watched his tall, broad-shouldered form strut through the cafeteria, tossing his tray in the bus line, before exiting the room.
Oh boy.
This was going to be a very interesting year.
EXCERPT FROM SOCIAL SUICIDE
THE BODY COUNT IS RISING IN
TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEEK!
ONE
YOU HAD TO BE INCREDIBLY STUPID TO GET CAUGHT CHEATING in Mr. Tipkins’s class, but then again, Sydney Sanders was known for being blonder than Paris Hilton.
HOMECOMING QUEEN HOPEFUL SUSPENDED FOR CHEATING ON TEST
I looked down at my headline for the Herbert Hoover High Homepage, our school’s online newspaper. Usually our news ran the exciting gambit from the janitor retiring to a hair being found in the Tuesday Tacos in the cafeteria. So a cheating story was way huge. And I’d been surprised when our paper’s editor, Chase Erikson, had assigned me the biggest story since the principal’s car was tagged in the back parking lot. After all, I’d only been working on the Homepage for a short time, making me the resident newbie.
I had a bad feeling that this story was some sort of a test. Do well and I’d earn the respect of my fellow reporters as well as a certain editor with whom I had a complicated personal history. Fail and it was the cafeteria beat for me.
Clearly I was shooting for outcome number one.
I turned up the volume on my iPod in an effort to drown out the noise of the school paper’s tiny workroom and put my fingers to the keyboard.
Herbert Hoover High Homecoming Queen nominee Sydney Sanders was discovered cheating on Tuesday’s midterm in her precalculus class. Mr. Tipkins caught Sydney red-handed when he noticed the answers to the test painted on her fingernails. Apparently Sydney had incorporated the letters A, B, C, or D into the design painted on her fake nails in the exact order that the answers appeared on Tuesday’s test. After Sydney was caught, it quickly came to light that her best friend, Quinn Leslie, had cheated on her test as well. Both girls are suspended from HHH while administrators investigate how the answers to the midterm got out. Sydney, previously considered a front-runner in the upcoming elections, will no longer be eligible to be Herbert Hoover High’s Homecoming Queen at next Saturday’s dance.
“That the cheating story?” Chase asked, suddenly behind me.
Very close behind me.
I cleared my throat as the scent of fresh soap and fabric softener filled my personal space. I pulled out one earbud and answered, “Yeah. It is.”
He was quiet for a moment reading my laptop screen o
ver my shoulder. I felt nerves gathering in my belly as I waited for his reaction.
Chase Erikson was the reason I’d joined the school paper in the first place. He and I had both been investigating a murder at our school, each for different reasons. Chase because he was all about a hot story. And me because the murdered girl had been the president of the Chastity Club and had just happened to be sleeping with my boyfriend. Needless to say, he was now totally an ex-boyfriend. Anyway, Chase and I had sort of teamed up to find the Chastity Club killer, and once we did, Chase told me that I showed promising investigative skills and offered me a position on staff. Considering my college résumé was in need of some padding, I agreed.
So far working on the paper was a lot more fun than I had anticipated. When I’d first heard the term school paper I’d envisioned a bunch of extra-credit-hungry geeks with newsprint-stained fingers. But in reality, the entire paper operated online—no newsprint—and several students I knew contributed—none of them geeks. Ashley Stannic did a gossip column once a week that was total LOLs, even if only half the rumors she printed were true. Chris Fret contributed sports commentary and kept a running poll on this semester’s favorite player. In fact, the only thing that hadn’t been all smiley faces about working at the paper so far was Chase himself.
Chase was tall, broad-shouldered, and built like an athlete. His hair was black, short, and spiky on top, gelled into the perfect tousled style. His eyes were dark and usually twinkling with a look that said he knew a really good secret no one else was in on. He almost always wore black, menacing boots and lots of leather.
One time Mom picked me up from the paper for a dentist appointment and, when she met Chase, described him as “a little rough around the edges.” When Ashley Stannic played truth or dare at Jessica Hanson’s sweet sixteen and had been pressed to tell the truth, she’d described Chase as “sex in a pair of jeans.” Me? I wasn’t quite sure what I thought of Chase. All I knew was that things had been uncomfortable and a little awkward between us since The Kiss.
Yes. I, Hartley Grace Featherstone, had swapped spit with HHH’s resident Bad Boy.
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