Social Suicide

by Gemma Halliday

  “Then where was Drea at three thirty?” I asked, turning on the cheerleader.

  “Me?” she squeaked out. “Why would I want to hurt Sydney?”

  “Why did you pick up the cash for Nicky today?” I countered. “Maybe he told you to do another little favor for him and silence Sydney.”

  Drea paled beneath her layers of makeup. “Nicky would never ask me to do that. He’s a sweetheart.”

  “A sweetheart who sells illegal cheats.”

  “But he doesn’t hurt anyone!” Drea protested.

  “Ha!” Sam countered. “You think messing with a grading curve is a victimless crime? I’m pulling an A-minus average this semester. A-minus!”

  “Dude,” Nicky said, putting his hands out in front of him again. “Enough. I didn’t kill Sydney and neither did Drea, okay? Period. End of story.”

  Only it did not feel like end of story to me. “Look, you can either tell us where you were,” I warned, “or we can turn you in to the police and you can talk to them.”

  Nicky put his hands palms up. “Turn me in for what? I haven’t done anything.”

  “Seriously?” Sam asked, putting her hands on her hips.

  Nicky grinned. “Well, anything that you can prove. I’ll deny everything I just told you.”

  “What about the cash?” I asked.

  “Drea found it. Plain and simple.”

  “Quite a coincidence.”

  “What were you doing buying cheats anyway?” Nicky said, giving Sam a pointed look.

  “It was for a story!”

  “Says you.”

  “Wait—what do you mean ‘says you’?” Sam asked nervously.

  “Anything you say is your word against mine. You turn me in, I turn Sam in to the vice principal for trying to cheat. Dig?”

  Sam narrowed her eyes at Nicky, thinking all sorts of dirty words if I could read them correctly. “You fluff-eating son of a monkey with a rash up his—”

  “Fine,” I said, breaking in before Sam could get any more creative. “I guess we’ll just have to find your ‘source’ another way.”

  Nicky shrugged, then leaned back in his seat and dropped a chow mien noodle into his smug mouth. “Good luck with that, girls.”

  I hated to admit that he was right. We were in serious need of some luck.

  Chapter Ten

  “I GUESS NICKY’S A DEAD END,” SAM OBSERVED AS WE walked back through the mall.

  “Agreed.” Unfortunately. “But maybe we need to look at this a different way.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, what if Nicky’s right and Sydney didn’t know who was giving Nicky the test answers?”

  She frowned. “Okay. But then who killed her?”

  “Sydney being caught cheating affected other people. What if her murder—”

  “Twittercide,” Sam supplied.

  “Right. What if her Twittercide wasn’t because of the cheating itself but fallout from getting caught?”

  “Like a pissed-off former BFF?,” Sam asked.

  I nodded. “Quinn had good reason to be mad at Sydney, true, but she also had a pretty good alibi. On the other hand, I can think of at least one other person who might not have been happy about Sydney being kicked off the homecoming court. Her boyfriend.”

  Sam’s eyes lit up. “Totally! Connor and Sydney were shoo-ins for king and queen.”

  “But with Sydney out of the running, Connor was pretty much out of it, too,” I said. “Which he might not have been too happy about.”

  “Unhappy enough to kill?” Sam asked.

  I nodded. “Let’s go find out.”

  Connor Crane was captain of the soccer team and starting quarterback for the football team. Luckily he was also on the water polo team with Kyle, who texted Connor’s number to Sam, who then texted Connor, who said he was at work but would meet us at Nickel City in two hours.

  Which was just enough time for Sam to get to her tutoring appointment. Sam and I coughed the Green Machine up to Do the Math! Tutoring only forty minutes behind schedule. Sam rushed in to conquer calculus while I waited in the car. I wished I’d taken the time to grab something to eat at the food court before we left, as the scent of fried smoke was making me hungry. Instead, I pulled out my phone and texted Chase, updating him on our interview with Nicky.

  where did he get the cheats? he asked once I’d finished.

  he wont say.

  guesses?

  I leaned back in the vinyl seat, feeling my forehead crease in thought as I looked out the window and watched a squirrel scuttle across the tutor’s parking lot.

  he had drea pick up cash 4 him. mayB he had someone else stealing the cheats 4 him.

  There was a pause, then Chase texted back.

  doesn’t like 2 do dirty work himself?

  doesn’t like 2 get caught. he’s crooked but smart.

  next step? Chase asked.

  going 2 see BF connor @ Nckle CiT. mayB syd’s death unrel8d to cheats.

  I could feel Chase contemplating this angle in the silence on the other end. Finally he sent back, i’ll meet u there. time?

  I texted back and agreed to meet up in an hour. I could only hope that Connor was a little more forthcoming than Nicky had been.

  Nickel City was an arcade where for five cents you could play any video game in the place. The catch? They were all vintage oldies. As was the building. The floors were slightly sticky from countless spilled sodas, the walls smelled like stale pizza, and the arcade consoles themselves were chipped, faded, and slick where sweaty palms had clutched joysticks in hundreds of death grips.

  As soon as we walked in the door, I spied Chase waiting for us next to an ancient Ms. Pac-Man machine.

  “Hey,” he said. “Connor’s over there playing Gran Turismo.” He gestured to a machine along the back wall.

  “You talk to him yet?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Waiting for you two.”

  “Let’s do it,” Sam said, striding toward him. Chase and I followed a step behind.

  “Hey,” he said, leaning in. “No jasmine today, huh?”

  I ducked my head as I walked. “I told you it was the bushes.”

  “Bummer. They were nice-smelling bushes.”

  I ignored the comment (and the blush it created in my cheeks), instead focusing on Connor.

  With blond hair, blue eyes, and zero acne, Connor Crane was currently the secret crush of half the female HHH population. And a couple of the males, too.

  Personally, I’d always thought there was something just a little too perfect about him. His look was as carefully planned as the dressed mannequins in the Abercrombie windows—each hair of his casual messy-do gelled into place with precision to look carelessly cool, his outfits meticulously chosen to look like he’d just pulled something random from his closet. It was the kind of effortless look that everyone knew required a lot of effort.

  “Connor,” I called as we approached his game console.

  “Hey,” he replied, though he didn’t look up from his screen, furiously pressing buttons and twisting the plastic steering wheel.

  “Can we talk to you for a sec?”

  “Sure.” But he still didn’t look up.

  “Uh . . . maybe face to face?”

  “Hang on a sec,” he said, punctuating his words with a slam to the B button. I watched as his car careened over an oil slick on the road, skidding sideways, then slamming into an invisible wall. Finally his vehicle raced over the finish line and the words Game Over appeared.

  Connor scowled at the screen.

  “Um, got a minute now?” I asked.

  Connor looked up for the first time, seeming a little surprised to find us there.

  “Oh. Right. Sure.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the arcade game. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “Sydney.”

  A frown creased between his brows. “What about her?”

  “You two were going out, right?” Sam aske
d.

  He looked down at his feet and nodded, kicking at the sticky carpet with one toe. “Were. Past tense. We broke up.”

  “When?” I asked.

  He shrugged again. “Right before she died.”

  “You mean right after she got caught cheating?” Sam jumped in.

  Connor shrugged. “Yeah. So?”

  “Why?”

  Connor bit his lip and did some more carpet kicking. “You know. Stuff.”

  Bull-fluff. You didn’t break up with a girlfriend of a whole year because of “stuff.”

  “Did she dump you?” Sam asked, the queen of blunt.

  Connor’s head snapped up. “No! Dude, girls do not dump me.”

  I did a mental eye roll but stopped myself just short of actually snorting out loud. Apparently, in addition to being the number one secret crush at our school, Connor knew he was the number one secret crush at our school.

  “So, you dumped Sydney?” Chase prompted.

  Connor looked from Chase to me, then nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

  “Did it have anything to do with her getting caught cheating?” I asked.

  “Kinda,” he hedged.

  “Or,” Sam added, “did it have more to do with her being kicked off the homecoming nomination list, taking you with her?”

  The frown between his eyebrows deepened. I’d never noticed until now how thick those eyebrows were. The only not so perfect thing about him.

  Well, that and the fact that he may have killed his girlfriend.

  “Fine. I dumped her because she got us kicked off. So what?”

  “So you must have been pretty pissed off at Sydney about losing homecoming king.”

  “I wasn’t happy about it.”

  “Unhappy enough to do something about it?” I asked.

  Connor narrowed his eyes. “What exactly are you getting at?”

  “We don’t think Sydney killed herself,” Sam said. “We think someone Twittercided her.”

  Connor cocked his head.

  “Killed her,” I supplied.

  “And you think it was me?” Connor’s voice went up an octave.

  Sam and I both gave him hard stares.

  “Dude!” Connor took another step back. “No way. I did not hurt Sydney. You guys have got this all wrong,” he said, turning to Chase.

  “So straighten us out,” he challenged.

  “Look, yes, I was upset at first. Homecoming is a big deal, you know? But just because she was out of the running didn’t mean I was.”

  “People vote on couples,” I reminded him.

  He grinned. “I am in a couple. I got another girl already.”

  “That was fast,” Sam observed.

  “Hey, voting ends Thursday. I didn’t have any time to waste. Look, Sydney knew how important homecoming was. So she was cool with me breaking up with her just for the voting and coronation. I promised her that I’d take her back after I was crowned king.”

  “Wait—so the new girlfriend is just for show?” Sam asked.

  Connor nodded. “Right.”

  “Gee, who’s the lucky lady?” I asked, though I was pretty sure my sarcasm was lost on him from the way he puffed his chest out with pride as he answered.

  “Jenni Pritchard.”

  I felt my face do an involuntary scrunch.

  Jenni Pritchard was our school’s answer to Snooki. Big hair, big boobs, big mouth. She was pulling a solid D average this semester and had failed our last lit assignment when she’d included a description of Keira Knightley’s dress in her Pride and Prejudice oral book report. The only reason she was even in the running for homecoming queen was that by virtue of her big mouth (and big boobs) everyone in the school knew who Jenni was.

  “Wait a minute,” Chase said. “Isn’t Jenni dating Ben Fisher? I thought I saw their names on the ballot together.”

  “Was dating Ben Fisher. She broke up with that guy when I asked her out.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” I said, holding up a hand. “You dumped Sydney to steal Jenni away from Ben to win homecoming. Then you were gonna dump Jenni and get back together with Sydney?” I said.

  He grinned. “Totally clever, right?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  But the gesture was lost on Connor, who continued to outline his plan. “No one ever uses the write in option to vote, so when Sydney got kicked off the court, I knew my chances of still winning were better if I was dating someone already on the ballot.”

  “So, you were planning on getting back together with Sydney, but now that she’s dead . . .” Sam trailed off.

  Connor shrugged. “I guess I’ll stay with Jenni. I mean, at least until winter formal. We have a good chance of king and queen there, too, with Sydney gone.”

  He was a true romantic.

  “Did Jenni know you were planning to dump her for Sydney again after homecoming?”

  “No way!” Connor shook his head. “She totally wouldn’t have gone for it if she did.” He paused. “Wait—you guys aren’t, like, friends with her, are you?”

  I shook my head and could see him sag with relief.

  “Anyway, as you can see, I had no reason to want Sydney dead. I mean, she actually did me a favor by getting kicked off the ballot. My chances of winning are way better with Jenni anyway.”

  His compassion for the dead girl was overwhelming.

  “So, just for the record . . . where were you the afternoon that she died?” Chase asked.

  “School,” he said. “Then football practice. I didn’t even hear she was dead until that night.”

  I nodded. Dozens of people must have seen him at practice. Still, it would have been pretty easy to show up, be seen, then slip away for a few minutes, off Sydney, and slip back before anyone noticed he was gone.

  Though as we left Nickel City, I had to admit he didn’t seem like he had much of a motive, either. Which I voiced to Sam and Chase in the parking lot.

  “True,” Sam agreed. “But if he’s telling the truth, it opens up motive for someone else.”

  Chase raised a questioning eyebrow at her. “Jenni?”

  She nodded. “Connor says Jenni didn’t know about his plan to get back together with Sydney, but what if she found out—”

  “And decided to take Sydney out of the picture?” I finished for her. It was certainly a possibility.

  One I fully intended to explore when I saw Jenni at school tomorrow.

  When I got home, Mom was, predictably, sitting in front of the computer. Only this time she wasn’t wearing the intent frown of someone trying to figure out a dating site. She was smiling. And giggling. And blushing.

  I was scared.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said tentatively.

  Mom’s head whipped up and instant guilt spread across her cheeks in a bright pink stain.

  Uh-oh.

  “Hartley. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Whatcha doin’?” I asked, coming around the kitchen table to see her screen.

  But before I could catch a glimpse of anything, she quickly closed the laptop.

  “Nothing.”

  “It looked like you were doing something.”

  “Just typing.”

  “Typing what?”

  “You’re a nosy little one today, aren’t you?”

  I put my hands on my hips, doing the best imitation I could of her stern face, the one she always pulled out when it was time to clean my room. “Mom . . .”

  She grinned and threw her hands up in a mock surrender gesture. “Okay, fine. If you must know, Miss Nosy, I was IM’ing with someone.”

  I scrunched up my nose. “Since when do you know how to IM?” I asked.

  “Ha-ha. Very funny, Hart.”

  “Okay, maybe a better question is who were you IM’ing with?” I asked.

  “Not that it’s any of your business,” she answered, “but a man.”

  I knew I was going to regret this but . . .

  “A man from Match dot com?”

&n
bsp; She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Oh God, please tell me it’s not Mr. Candlelit Dinners.”

  “Hartley!” she said, swatting me. “There’s nothing wrong with a man being a romantic.”

  “Right,” I said. “Long walks on the beach are totally cool. If your name is Fabio.”

  Mom swatted me again. “It’s not him, okay? It’s . . . someone else.”

  “Someone else, who? Can I see his profile?” I asked, reaching for her laptop lid.

  But Mom quickly put her hand on top of it. “No.”

  I raised an eyebrow her way.

  “I mean . . . it’s private. This is a private conversation.”

  “Ew. You’re not, like, sending dirty messages or anything, are you?”

  Mom rolled her eyes at me. “We’re having a perfectly normal adult conversation.”

  “‘Adult’ as in ‘R-rated’?”

  “Hartley . . .” Mom warned.

  My turn to put my hands up. “Okay, okay. I’m just trying to look out for you, you know. There are a lot of perverts online.”

  She shot me a look. “He’s not a pervert. And besides, we’re just talking.”

  “That’s how it starts. . . .”

  “Hartley!”

  “I’m just saying, that’s all!”

  “Look, don’t you have some homework to do?” Mom said, making a shooing motion with her hands.

  “It’s Sunday.”

  “Then don’t you have some friends to Facebook with?”

  “I’m not sure ‘Facebook’ is a verb.”

  “Hart . . .” That warning tone crept into her voice again.

  I nodded. “Okay. Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when Mr. CyberLove starts sexting you!”

  “Hartley!”

  “I’m going,” I said, backing out of the kitchen. As I hit the stairs, I heard the distinct sound of the laptop opening and fingers clicking on the keyboard again.

  Yep. I was definitely scared.

  Chapter Eleven

  I SPENT THE REST OF THE DAY DOING MORE STUDYING FOR our upcoming AG midterm, more theorizing that went nowhere, and typing up my story for Monday’s edition of the Homepage, as scant as it was. I pursed my lips, reading back through the copy. There was nothing here that was new: mostly just a vague recapping of Sydney’s death, along with Mr. Tipkins’s remarks from our interview on the cheating scandal. I had to turn in something to fill space in this week’s edition, but it was fluff and I knew it.