Social Suicide
Page 17
Yep. Just the wind.
I gulped down a wave of apprehension as Chase moved in close, putting both hands at my waist. His palms were so hot, I was sure they were making smoldering handprints there. I ignored the sensation, focusing on moving my feet a few inches at a time to the left, letting Chase lead me in slow circles as we swayed with the rest of the couples.
“I like the dress,” Chase said, his voice low. “Red’s a good color on you.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but only a strangled sort of squeak came out. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Uh, thanks. You . . . you look nice, too.”
He grinned, that dimple making an appearance again. “Thanks. I feel kinda ridiculous in this, to be honest.”
I shook my head. “No, you look good. It looks good on you. I mean, it’s all good.”
His smile widened. “Good.”
And then he moved in closer, getting rid of any space that might have existed between us, his arms going around my middle, his cheek close to mine, his breath heavy on my hair.
My entire body was suddenly filled with awkward energy. Was I stepping on his feet? Was my deodorant holding up okay? Where was I supposed to put my hands? I suddenly had to concentrate on the simplest of tasks. Like breathing. I inhaled the spicy scent of what was definitely cologne this time.
“Relax,” Chase whispered in my ear as if he could read my racing mind. “I don’t bite.” He paused. “Unless you want me to.”
Oh boy.
I stumbled, tripping over his foot, and twisting my ankle beneath my too-high heels.
Chase caught me. “Dude, I was kidding,” he said, teeth showing as he grinned at me.
I nodded. “Right. Yeah. I know.”
“You okay?”
“Great. Fine. Dandy. Just . . . it’s a little warm. I’m gonna go hit the bathroom.”
“Okay, I’ll come with you,” he said, grabbing my hand again.
I quickly pulled it back. “I think I can manage by myself.”
“I’ll walk you there.”
“I’m fine. Geez! I’m just going to pee, okay?”
He paused. But instead of looking hurt, he just grinned again. “Okay. Go ‘pee.’ I’ll wait here.”
“Thank you.”
I quickly scuttled from the dance floor, ducking my head so that my red cheeks didn’t telegraph the mix of sensations rolling around in my belly right now. God, what was wrong with me? Clearly the tiara was cutting off circulation to my brain.
At the back of the cafeteria was a short hallway that ended in both the girls’ and boys’ bathrooms. At the moment it was nearly empty, since most of the school was out on the floor slow dancing.
While I needed a few minutes to get away from the heat, the truth was I did have to pee. Being nervous did that to me. And dancing with Chase had made me way nervous.
I turned down the corridor and made a beeline toward the bathroom.
But I never made it to that blue cutout of a girl figure on the door.
Instead, I felt something come at me from behind, a blinding pain erupting behind my right ear as bright spots danced in front of my face. The ground rushed up to meet me, my heels buckling under my feet, as the world went black.
Chapter Twenty-Two
THE FIRST THING I NOTICED WHEN I WOKE UP WAS THE HIPPO squatting on my head. Or at least that’s what I assumed was happening based on the pressure building to a blinding pain between my ears. I took several beats, slowly breathing in and out, willing the hippo to go away before venturing to open my eyes. I slowly blinked one, then the other open, cringing through the pain.
It was dark. A faint glow from somewhere just outside my field of vision was the only light illuminating the area. I realized I was outside, a cool breeze whipping over my bare arms and making me shiver. It smelled faintly of chlorine, making me think I was near a swimming pool. I could hear faint sounds in the distance—crickets, music, the rumble of the freeway.
I blinked a few more times, slowly letting my senses come alive again, and realized I did not, in fact, have a large water mammal on my head, just a really bad headache. I guess being brained from behind will do that to you.
I wriggled my hands and fingers as I tried to get my bearings, and quickly realized I didn’t have much wiggle room at all. My hands were tied together behind my back. Ditto my feet. Whoever had hit me over the head had done a bang-up job of making sure I couldn’t respond in kind.
As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see a metal utility shed in front of me, and the outline of the top of the math building. I was at the school. If I had to guess, near the swim team’s pool.
And the faint glow of light I’d seen was coming from underneath the door of the utility shed. Someone was inside.
I moved left, then right, then realized not only were my hands and feet tied up, but I was tied to something. I craned my head around in the dark, coming up against a starting block. I wriggled back and forth. The bonds at my wrists were some sort of rope, strong and tightly knotted. No way was I going to break them before whoever was in the shed came back. I kicked my legs, twisting, but it was no use. I was stuck there.
And even worse?
The door to the utility shed was slowly opening.
I held my breath, watching as a shadowy figure backlit by the shed emerged. I blinked against the onslaught of light, trying to make out features. But it wasn’t until he shut the door again that I was able to see his face clearly.
I let out a sigh of relief so loud, I swear they heard me all the way in the cafeteria over the blare of the DJ.
“Mr. Tipkins!” I breathed. “Oh, thank God. You’ve got to help me. Someone hit me on the head and dragged me out here and tied me up, and I think they might have killed Sydney, though I’m not sure, but it’s highly possible because I said I was gonna blow the whistle, but I’m not really, ’cause I don’t know who they are, but if you untie me, we can find them, and we will know!”
I paused for breath, taking in a big gulp of chlorine-tinted air, ignoring the pain at the sound of my own voice echoing through my throbbing head.
Mr. Tipkins took a step toward me.
I wriggled, showing him my bound wrists. “Can you see the knots?” I asked.
He nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Can you get them undone? Do they look too tight?”
“They look very tight,” he responded, his voice flat.
“Well, there must be something in the utility shed sharp enough to cut these. A knife or scissors or something? I’m sure if you just go look . . .”
But I trailed off as I looked up at his face. It was calm and impassive, definitely not the reaction you’d expect from someone finding a student tied up to a starting block in her homecoming dress.
Realization must have been plain in my eyes as my throbbing brain struggled to put the pieces together, because the corners of his mouth slowly turned upward, curving into a big wicked smile that showed off the coffee stains on his incisors in all their glory.
“You aren’t going to untie me, are you?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly back and forth.
“Because you’re the one who tied me up.”
The grin grew wider as he nodded. “That’s the first smart thing you’ve said, Miss Featherstone.”
Dread hit my stomach in one swift punch. “You hit me over the head.”
He crouched low, coming to eye level. “I did,” he admitted.
“Just like you hit Nicky?”
He shrugged, palms upward.
“And you killed Sydney?”
“Sydney killed herself,” he shot back, anger suddenly flashing through his eyes. “She was stupid and self-absorbed. That’s what led to her downfall.”
“But you’re the one who committed Twittercide.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Death by Twitter?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just pushed her into a pool.”
I looked past Mr. Tipkins to the school buildings beyond. I could hear the faint sounds of dance music coming from the cafeteria. It was so close, but a million miles away for all the good it did me. There was no way anyone could hear me scream from here. My calls for help would be swallowed up long before they could reach the partygoers, even if they didn’t have top blast music drowning me out.
I was on my own.
With a murderer.
“Why did you kill her?” I asked. Not that finding out was my top priority at the moment. But the more time I could buy, the better chance someone might wander this way. Surely there was some couple at the dance who would go looking for a private corner to make out in, right? Possibly near the pool?
“Why?” Tipkins snorted. “That should be as obvious as any three noncollinear points on a two-dimensional flat surface.”
I blinked at him. “Huh?”
Tipkins scowled. “A plane! God, don’t you kids ever pay attention in class?”
I figured that question was rhetorical at this point.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll spell it out for you. I had to shut Sydney up before she could tell everyone what was going on.”
“And what was going on?” I asked, wriggling against my bonds. There was no way the rope was going to give out, but if I could possibly slip my hand through the loop . . .
“I should think that would be obvious. I was selling test answers.”
“You!” I shook my head. “But why?” Honestly, I was genuinely curious. It seemed like the last thing a teacher would want.
“Why?” Tipkins repeated, his voice rising. “Why! Do you know how much I make babysitting ignorant brats like you?”
I bit my lip. There was no right answer to this question, was there?
Luckily, I didn’t have to say anything as he continued his rant. “Hardly enough to survive on, that’s how much. I have a PhD. I graduated at the top of my class from Cornell. I’m a damned math genius! And now I spend the majority of my life trying to figure out how to keep texting idiots from stealing test answers.”
“So you decided to give the idiots the answers instead.”
“Sell,” he corrected me. “I’m finally getting what I’m worth. You idiot brats want to go to college? You go through me.”
“So you sold the answers to your own tests?”
Tipkins nodded. “Mine and everyone else’s. It was easy. I had access to anything I wanted in the teachers’ lounge.”
Mental face palm. All our breaking and entering had been for nothing. No wonder the thief hadn’t worried about locks—he had a key all along!
“But why involve Nicky?” I asked, feeling my hand slip a scant quarter inch lower in the bonds. If I could work up enough sweat on my wrists, I might have a chance of slipping free.
“I couldn’t very well risk the exposure of selling them myself, now, could I?” Tipkins answered. “I caught Nicky last year trying to cheat on one of my tests. It was one of the more sophisticated attempts I’d ever seen, I’ll give him that. He had hacked into my email account and found a copy of the test answers that I’d sent to the administration for compliance with state standards. He’d memorized the answers completely, so there was no proof of anything in the classroom at all.”
I wrinkled my forehead. “So how did you catch him?”
Tipkins grinned, satisfaction at outsmarting a teen clear on his face. “I gave a different test that day. At the last minute, the vice principal had told me they hadn’t gotten the go-ahead from the state on the standards yet, and I ended up giving the old test. Nicky got every single question wrong, but I quickly realized why.”
“And you recruited him to work for you?”
Tipkins shrugged. “I simply told him he could either make a small percentage working for me or I would tell the vice principal I’d caught him cheating.”
“So you blackmailed him?”
Tipkins frowned, his eyes going dark again. “Don’t make it sound like he was innocent here. He was a cheater!”
“Just like Sydney?” I asked. My right wrist had gone as far as I could slip it, so I started wriggling my left as Tipkins nodded in agreement.
“Yes. That’s right. Only Nicky was smart. Sydney was a moron. It was like she wanted to get caught. Answers on her fingernails?” he asked, waving his own grubby set in my face. “How obvious can you get? Every student within a three-desk radius saw what she was doing. I had to bust her. How could I not? I had no choice.”
“But weren’t you worried she was going to blow the whistle on you?”
“What whistle? She had no idea who I was.” He paused. “Until you started asking questions.”
I gulped. “Me?” I squeaked out.
He nodded. “As soon as you started nosing around, Sydney did, too. She knew the school board was investigating and realized how badly everyone wanted to know how the answers had gotten out. She bribed Nicky to tell her who was giving him the cheats, then she called me and said that if I didn’t get her reinstated on the homecoming court she was going to tell the administration all about it.”
I nodded. The blackmailer becomes the blackmailee. Nice move. I had to say, it didn’t sound like Sydney was as dumb as Mr. Tipkins had thought after all.
“That’s why she agreed to meet with me?”
Tipkins nodded. “She said if I didn’t get her back on the court, she was going to tell you everything and it would be all over the paper.”
“But you couldn’t let that happen.”
He shook his head slowly back and forth. “No. I had too much of a good thing going. I was finally making good money. I wasn’t going to let some no-brained bimbo take that away from me.”
“So you went to her house?”
He nodded. “After you came to interview me, I realized I couldn’t let her talk to you. So I went to her house. She was in the backyard, tanning of all things! Made suspension look more like a vacation than a punishment to me.”
“And she had her laptop with her?”
He nodded. “Plugged into an outlet. She was on the damned Titter on her laptop.”
“Twitter,” I corrected automatically.
“Whatever. She was too busy on that thing to even listen to me. I tried to tell her I didn’t have the authority to get her back on the homecoming court. I told her I’d pay her off, make it worth her while to keep her mouth shut.”
“But she didn’t go for it?”
“She said all she cared about was being homecoming queen.”
“So you killed her?”
He nodded, an eerie light in his eyes. “It was easy. All I had to do was give her a little shove, and into the pool she went.”
“With her laptop,” I pointed out.
He grinned, showing off those grotesquely stained teeth again.
I shivered, imagining how her last moments must have been. Had she felt the electric shock? Felt the water flowing into her paralyzed lungs? Or had she died instantly, one minute here and the next just . . . not?
“And now . . . ,” Mr. Tipkins said, taking a step toward me, “it’s time to tie up the last little loose end.”
Oh, fantastic amounts of fluffin’ fudge.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I WATCHED IN HORROR AS MR. TIPKINS’S EYES CHANGED. Gone was the angry flash when he’d talked about how he was an underpaid, underappreciated teacher, the confusion of trying to figure out Titter versus Twitter, and the disdain when he’d spoken about the ignorance of his current students. This was something different. Something dead, flat, and calm, and more eerily menacing than anything I’d ever seen.
Anxiety balled into pure panic in my stomach, making my body move and squirm all on its own.
“Um, you know what? I’m no loose end. I’m h
ardly an end at all. You see, I’m not into being homecoming queen, or getting cash, or anything like that. I’m totally just into being quiet. Not talking. Not telling anyone about anything. I can be totally quiet, see?” I shut my mouth illustrating my point.
Tipkins shook his head. He was so not buying this.
And I was so out of time.
I wriggled my wrists as he rounded the starting block, coming up behind me. The left one slipped a little. I’d worked out some slack in the rope. But it still held tight.
“You won’t get away with this,” I said, changing tactics. “Someone will notice I’m gone. They’ll come looking for me.”
Speaking of which—where the heck was Chase? How long would he wait before realizing I wasn’t just in the bathroom? How long had I been out? How long would it take him to figure out I was here, on campus still, by the pool with a Twittercidal maniac?
Though, I realized as Mr. Tipkins began to separate my bound wrists from the board, it didn’t matter. I was out of time altogether.
“What are you going to do?” I asked, my voice shaking.
He didn’t answer, instead pulling me up off the ground by my still-bound-together hands. I tried to struggle out of his grasp, but for someone who spent the majority of his life sitting behind a desk, he was surprisingly strong. And, as he steered me toward the edge of the pool, a horrific realization dawned on me.
He was going to throw me in.
“Wait, you can’t do this,” I said, doing my best to dig my heels into the cement. “Please, I swear I won’t tell anyone what you’ve been up to.”
“Too late,” Tipkins said, his hands gripping both my arms as he pushed me forward.
I did the only thing I could think of. I went limp, playing noncompliant toddler and sagging to the ground at the side of the pool.
“Help!” I yelled, being dead weight to the best of my abilities. “Help! Someone help me!”
“No one can hear you,” Tipkins said, towering over me, hands on his ample hips. “They’re all enjoying their stupid dance.”