Social Suicide

by Gemma Halliday

  “Now, close your eyes,” she told me, reaching into the ginormous duffel bag she’d brought over with her to dress at my house.

  “Do I have to?” I protested. “I don’t really like wardrobe surprises.”

  She put a hand on her hip. “Play along, okay? Just shut ’em.”

  “Fine.” I felt Sam putting something on my head with little plastic teeth that dug into my scalp.

  “Ow!”

  “Oh, don’t be such a baby,” she said, arranging my hair loosely around my shoulders. “Okay, now . . . open!”

  I did. And blinked at my reflection. Or, more accurately, the reflection of the mass of sparkles on my head.

  “Is that a tiara?”

  Sam nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “It’s kinda . . . sparkly, don’t you think?”

  She beamed, a grin taking up her whole face. “I know, right?”

  “I didn’t mean that in a good way.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “Sam, I’m not sure I need a tiara—”

  But I didn’t get to finish as Mom called up from the bottom of the stairs, “Hartley? Your date’s here!”

  I cringed at the term, quickly shouting back, “He’s just a friend!”

  Mom had done a squeal frighteningly like Sam’s when I’d told her that I had changed my mind and decided to go to the homecoming dance after all. In high school, Mom had been the social butterfly, involved in everything under the sun, or so she told it, including being crowned princess of the winter ball one year. Secretly, I had a feeling she was a little disappointed that I hadn’t followed in her footsteps, though she never said so. But when I had told her I was going to homecoming, her face had lit up, her voice had gone high and giggly, and she’d even lifted the lockdown despite my nearly becoming roadkill last night. Never mind that I had spent the next twenty minutes trying to tell her that, no, I did not need her to run to the florist for an emergency boutonniere (which she ignored and did anyway); no, we did not need to go get nails done and eyebrows waxed (ouch!); and no, we did not need a limo to pick us up (though this last one was tempting).

  But the thing I had tried to make the most clear was that, no, Chase was not my date, just a friend who happened to be going, too. With me. At the same time. Totally different than going together.

  “Hurry up, Hart. You don’t want to keep your date waiting!”

  “Friend!” I yelled, again.

  But I was pretty sure she didn’t hear me.

  Sam and I grabbed our purses—hers a rhinestone-studded clutch and mine a silver, satin one—and slowly (so we didn’t trip in our ridonkulously high heels) made our way down the stairs.

  The first thing I saw when I rounded the corner was Chase.

  And then I almost did trip.

  I wasn’t sure what I had expected from him for homecoming, but I’d guessed his outfit would probably involve leather, denim, or black. I was right on only one count: the black. Amazingly, Chase was dressed in a traditional tux, black on white, with a simple black tie. The effect was . . . nice. Surprising. But nice. Bordering on a hot sort of nice, even. Huh. What do you know? He cleaned up pretty good.

  “Dude,” Kyle said, getting an eyeful of Sam. “You look hot!”

  She did a little twirl for him. “Thanks. So do you.”

  Sam had, as I might have guessed, coordinated matching homecoming outfits for both her and Kyle. Kyle’s shirt was the exact shade of purple as Sam’s dress.

  “Hey,” Chase said when he saw me. “You look . . . nice,” he said, echoing my thoughts.

  I cleared my throat, a compliment coming from Chase that was not laced in sarcasm throwing me. “Thanks.” I paused. “You, too.”

  He gave me a slow up and down, landing on the mass of sparkles on my head. He grinned.

  “One crack about the tiara and you’re a dead man,” I warned him.

  He put up his hands in a surrender motion. “I wouldn’t dream of it, princess.”

  I shot him a death look, but before I could spit out a scathing reply, Mom shouted, “Boutonnieres!” and emerged from the kitchen with two little plastic boxes.

  I took the non-purple one and leaned in to grab Chase’s lapel.

  Honestly—I’d never done this before and the huge pin that came with the flower was kinda intimidating. I had a horrible vision of stabbing Chase and getting blood all over the first white shirt I’d ever seen him wear.

  My hands shook a little as I slowly stabbed the front of his tux, navigating around the thick rose stem.

  “Easy, Featherstone,” I heard Chase whisper.

  I looked up. He was grinning at me. He thought this was funny?

  “Ouch!”

  “Oops. My finger slipped.”

  He shot me a look. “I’ll bet.”

  “Pictures!” Mom said, appearing beside me with a camera.

  “Oh, Mom, we don’t really need pictures,” I pleaded.

  “Okay, line up,” she said, totally ignoring me. “Hart, move closer to Chase.”

  “Mom, please. I told you I don’t need—”

  “Chase, put your arm around your date’s shoulders.”

  I rolled my eyes. And Mom accused me of tuning her out.

  “That’s it. Move in just a little closer so I can get you all in frame.”

  Chase pulled me tight against him, completely invading my personal space. His arm around my shoulders was warm, and I felt myself start to sweat in places that would stain my satin dress.

  “Mom—” I pleaded again.

  “Smile, Hart,” Chase whispered in my ear, hamming it up as Mom popped off shots.

  If I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn he was enjoying this.

  After Mom had taken at least a dozen pix of us in every position possible, we all escaped out the front door . . . where Chase’s Camaro sat at the curb.

  “Oh, no fluffin’ way.” I shook my head as Sam and Kyle climbed into the tiny backseat. “You guys are kidding me, right?”

  Chase looked from me to the car. “What?”

  “We’re going in that?” Why had I not taken Mom up on that limo thing?

  “Yep.” Chase beamed.

  “No way.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’d like to arrive at homecoming in one piece.”

  Chase rolled his eyes. “You have two choices here, Hart—my car or walking.”

  I bit my lip, tasting lipstick. I looked down at my heels. Up at his car. Back at the heels.

  “Well?”

  “I’m thinking!”

  Chase rolled his eyes again, then walked around to the driver’s side.

  Without much choice, I hopped in.

  On the upside, if I died on the way, at least I’d make a sparkly corpse.

  The HHH cafeteria was totally transformed. Gone were the rows of Formica-topped tables, and in their place was a dance floor complete with a shimmering disco ball.

  The dance’s theme was Tropical Oasis, meaning potted palms were stuck in every corner, paper fish adorned the walls, and the tables lining the sides of the room were piled high with fruit and nuts, with one serving as a bar, where Pineapple Pleasure and Mango Madness were being served in small glasses complete with little umbrellas.

  Several teachers were in attendance as chaperones, as well as some parents. I spotted both Sam’s mom and dad taking spots near the dance floor, keeping a keen eye on Kyle. Luckily, I’d been able to “lose” the email calling for parent volunteers before my mom had read it.

  The DJ fired up a Pink song, and we all jumped onto the dance floor. (Kyle made sure he kept at least an arm’s length away from Sam.) I had to admit, it was kinda fun. Okay, a lot of fun. The energy was high, the music was loud, and laughter echoed off the beige walls as we all made fun of one another’s dance moves.

  Five songs into it, I could feel my mascara starting to sweat away, and I needed a breather.

  “I’m gonna grab a drink,” I said.

  “What?” Ch
ase yelled.

  “I’m gonna go get a drink!”

  “Huh?”

  “DRINK!”

  Chase nodded. “Right. Cool.”

  I threaded my way through the crowd, Chase a step behind me, taking his role as bodyguard seriously as we pushed through the people to the Mango Madness station. I downed my cup in almost a single gulp before getting back in line for seconds.

  “Chase?”

  I turned to see Chris Fret and the new guy, Michael, hailing him from across the room. “Come check this out.”

  Chase shook his head. “Gotta stay with my date.”

  “Go. I’m fine,” I said, shooing him.

  “No way. I’m sticking to you like glue tonight. That was the deal.”

  “Look around, Chase. We’re surrounded by teachers. Nothing’s going to happen to me at the Mango Madness table. I’ll stay right here. I’m fine. Go.”

  Chase paused, letting the logic of that sink in. He glanced to our right. Mr. Tipkins was chatting with Ashley Stannic under a plastic palm. To our left, the Kramers were still eyeing the dance floor. Behind us, three more parents mingled with the vice principal. If the killer was going to strike, this was so the wrong moment.

  “Okay,” Chase finally said. “But stay here. I’ll be right back. Five minutes.”

  I nodded. “Scout’s honor.”

  I watched Chase jog toward Chris and Michael, then do some sort of complicated handshake thing, all three of them making fun of one another’s tuxes.

  I grabbed another drink, then sat in one of the chairs along the wall. I slipped a heel off, my foot immediately sighing in relief. They were hot shoes, but they were not made for dancing. Or walking. Or standing. Or anything that required my feet to be smashed into them.

  I took a moment to look around as I rubbed the bottom of my foot. If I had had to guess, I’d have said at least 70 percent of the school was in attendance. I spotted Connor hanging out under a school of paper fish near the stage. Val Michaels was at his side, though I noticed his eyes were on Jenni, who was dancing with one of the football players. Apparently she’d made good on her promise to ditch Connor and had moved on already.

  Just to my right were Drea and her cheerleader friends. They had a Flip cam and were shooting a video of the dance floor. I could hear her narrating the vids for Nicky.

  Surprisingly, even Quinn was there, seemingly having gotten a reprieve from her grounding. She was with some guy from the water polo team, dancing near Sam and Kyle.

  All our suspects were in one place. Sydney’s killer had to be in this room. The thought gave me chills despite the heat still coursing through me from the aerobic dance workout.

  “Hartley,” Mr. Tipkins said, coming up beside me. He’d thrown a sports jacket over his usual dumpy uniform, the elbows accented with plaid patches.

  I cleared my throat. “Hi.”

  “How is your story coming along for the paper?”

  I nodded. “Fine. Good.”

  “Ashley tells me she got a text saying that you know who killed Sydney.”

  “We’re getting very close,” I hedged. Which, if tonight was successful, was the truth.

  He frowned. “So does that mean you also know how my test answers got out?”

  I bit my lip. “Not yet, but we’re almost there.” Another stretch, but if the two went hand in hand like we thought they did, it was possible I might have an answer by the end of the night.

  “I have a bad feeling someone may have tried to get to my tests a couple nights ago,” he said.

  I froze. “Uh, you do?” I asked, my voice going an octave higher than usual.

  He nodded, a grave look on his face. “The door to my classroom was unlocked. As was my file cabinet.”

  “Really?” Minnie Mouse squeaked out.

  “Really. You don’t happen to have an idea who might have done that, do you?”

  “Me?”

  “Your voice okay?”

  I cleared my throat.

  “I mean, why do you think I might?” I asked, feeling a guilty blush creep up my neck.

  He shrugged. “You’re investigating the whole thing. I thought you might have turned up some information.”

  I shook my head so hard I felt my tiara go crooked. “Nope. Not me. Sorry. No idea about how that might have happened. A couple nights ago, you say? I was home. Yep, at home. Nope. Sorry.”

  He gave me a funny look, but nodded again. “Okay. Well, please let me know as soon as you learn anything new.”

  I nodded, feeling that tiara slip again.

  “Yep. I totally will,” I promised.

  Which was almost true. If tonight went well, I’d be letting everyone know who Sydney’s killer was.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THE REST OF THE EVENING MOVED BY IN FAST-FORWARD. WE danced some more, ate some more, then danced again, all the while keeping our eyes peeled for anyone with murderous intentions. (At one point Kyle swore Sam’s dad was going to kill him for kissing her on the cheek, but that didn’t really count.) Halfway through the night, the music finally stopped and Mrs. Bailey’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to announce this year’s Herbert Hoover High homecoming court!”

  A roar went up from the crowd, everyone immediately pushing toward the front of the room.

  “Before we begin,” Mrs. Bailey said, hovering near a microphone center stage, “I want to take a moment to remember a former Herbert Hoover High student, Sydney Sanders.”

  A hush went over the crowd, instantly dropping the party level in the room about fifty notches.

  “Sydney may not always have been a model student,” Mrs. Bailey went on, alluding to her cheating, “but she was an enthusiastic participant in so many after-school activities, and never lacked in school spirit. So I’d like us all to take a brief moment of silence for Sydney.”

  She bowed her head and the audience did the same, the only sound in the echoing cafeteria the rustle of taffeta. In the silence I could almost feel the weight of finding Sydney’s killer pressing down on me. He, or she, was somewhere in this room. I was sure of it.

  “And now,” Mrs. Bailey said moments later, breaking the silence, “on to the homecoming nominees!”

  A roar of excitement went up again, almost louder than the first time, as if people needed to ramp the energy up that much higher to chase the sadness from the room.

  “First we’ll start with our princesses and princes,” Mrs. Bailey said, reading off a piece of paper as she leaned down into the microphone. “Our first royal couple is . . . David Hech and Cori Cooper!”

  I watched the soccer player–Color Guard girl combo do some fist pumping and knuckle bumping with their friends as they jogged up the steps to the stage where last year’s royal court was waiting with crowns and sashes.

  “Next we have . . . Jenni Pritchard and Connor Crane! Come on up, kids!”

  I scanned the room for the now non-couple. Jenni gave her date a kiss on the cheek before eagerly bounding to the stage. Connor, on the other hand, looked like he’d just been punched. All his scheming to win king and here he was a lowly prince. I would have felt sorry for him, but I knew at the end of the night he’d be going home with his one true love anyway: himself.

  “And last but not least, I’d like to introduce to you our Herbert Hoover High School homecoming king and queen . . .” She paused, pulling her glasses up to read the names.

  The entire school leaned forward as one, waiting to hear the announcement.

  “Well, look at that. It’s a write-in couple. Samantha Kramer and Kyle Lowe!”

  “Ohmigod!” Sam jumped up next to me, grabbing my arm in a vice grip. “Ohmigod. Ohmigod . . . Did you hear that? I think she called my name. Ohmigod!” She squealed so loud I thought I might bust an eardrum as she danced from foot to foot and grabbed onto Kyle’s lapels.

  “Dude, we are, like, the hottest couple in school!” Kyle said.

  “Ohmigod! Ohmig
od!”

  I couldn’t help smiling as I watched Sam and Kyle run up the stairs to the stage amid a roar of applause from the crowd to receive their crowns. Kyle’s was a short, sparkling thing that looked like it belonged in a kid’s dress-up box, and Sam’s rivaled anything I’d ever seen on Toddlers & Tiaras, standing a good two feet above her natural hair.

  Last year’s queen put a sash over Sam’s head, and Kyle and Sam held hands, grinning from ear to ear as the crowd cheered.

  “Congratulations, Samantha and Kyle,” Mrs. Bailey said into the microphone again. Though above the roar of the crowd still clapping, it was almost a lost cause. “Now we’d love to have all the couples on the dance floor join our king and queen in their first royal dance.”

  Slow music erupted from the speakers, a soft Jason Mraz song. The crowd settled down, dispersing, as people paired into twos, standing close to each other and swaying back and forth. Sam and Kyle descended the stage stairs and took up a spot in the center of the dance floor, one hand on each other, the other on their massive crowns to keep them from falling off.

  I turned to go find another glass of Mango Madness when I felt Chase’s hand on my arm.

  “Hey. Where are you going?”

  I glanced at the dance floor. “Well, it’s only for couples.”

  Chase raised an eyebrow at me. “You are my date.”

  I blinked at him, trying to figure out if he was joking.

  He grinned, a lopsided thing that showed off a dimple in his left cheek. “Come on. Dance with me, Featherstone.”

  I pursed my lips together, tasting lipstick. “Okay. I guess.”

  Chase took my hand in his, and I instantly felt goose bumps break out, shivering down my bare arms. Must have been a sudden gust of wind. Certainly couldn’t have anything to do with how warm his hands felt. How strong. How intimate.