It was perfect timing.
The knob turned without warning, and someone pushed open the door, stopped short by the back of the chair jammed beneath the knob, the rollers caught on the filing cabinet.
A woman’s voice called out from the hallway, “Gregory? Are you there?” and Tree felt her heart leap to her throat as the rest of her leaped into action.
Perhaps it was what her mother had called “a woman’s intuition,” but Tree knew in an instant it was Gregory’s wife. The speed with which he zipped his fly, smoothed his hair, and made it to the chair lodged against the door was truly impressive.
In a flash, Tree maneuvered into the chair behind the desk. She grabbed a pen and a legal pad, flipped to a blank page, and set the frame back up. A split second later, the woman from the picture walked through the door. Stephanie was still pretty, but plainer now, and fragile somehow.
Gregory kissed her lightly on the lips. “Hey, sweetie.”
“What’s with the door?” she asked, looking at Tree, then back to Gregory again.
Gregory shook his head and laughed. “Stupid chair got stuck. Just wrapping up here.”
Tree flipped the top pages back over the legal pad and smiled, returning it to the desk as she grabbed her bag. She squeezed past Stephanie and forced a smile—one that was not returned.
“Thanks for your help, Dr. Butler,” Tree said. “I think I get it now.”
“Glad to hear it.” Gregory was all business. “See you next week in class.”
She hurried away down the hall. When the elevator doors finally slid closed behind her, Tree mouthed a silent curse. Shit.
All the way to the Kappa house, she couldn’t stop wondering whether Stephanie suspected anything—and also how she possibly couldn’t.
5
Later that evening, Tree sat on her bed painting her toenails and watching a Teen Mom marathon for the umpteenth time. Something about this show made her feel marginally better about herself. Whatever her hang-ups were, Tree had made it to college without an unplanned pregnancy, and on days like today, these were the tiny victories to which she clung.
There was a light knock on the door, and Tree called out, “Enter.”
Danielle appeared, makeup perfect, hair in giant juice-can curlers, already dressed for tonight’s party. Tree glanced up at her and frowned.
“Is that my top?”
Danielle struck a pose. “How cute is it on me?”
“Whatever. Just don’t get anything on it, please.”
“You mean like Nick’s nutter butter?”
Tree laughed. “Wow. Classy, Danielle.”
“What time are you going to the party tonight?”
“I don’t know. Later.”
The truth was that Tree was hoping to ghost on this mixer altogether. She hated her birthday as a general rule, and this one already had been exceptionally trying. Her hangover had finally begun to fade, and it seemed unwise to pour more booze on top of that. Of course, the thought of being sober at a Bayfield Greek social of any kind made her want to run screaming into the night. Even at its most scintillating, the conversation at these events left a great deal to be desired, and once the campus gossip of the past twelve hours had been thoroughly examined and exhausted, there would only be dancing, beer pong, and endless photo-booth selfies left as entertainment.
Inevitably, the evening would quickly dissolve into a race to see which new pledge brother would puke first and which new pledge sister would drink enough to insist on going home with him anyway. Two weeks ago, a couple of frat boys had been discovered by their girlfriends making out with each other in an upstairs utility closet at the Sig Ep house, but even the novelty of that moment had barely energized the party. Tree just wanted this day to end, and it seemed to her that the shortest distance between now and waking up tomorrow was certainly not a kegger at Chi Sigma Epsilon.
Danielle would definitely demand a better explanation than “I don’t feel like it,” and just as she was working out what that might be in her head, the power flickered and the room was plunged into blackness. Tree groaned.
“Our tuition dollars at work.” Danielle huffed in the darkness.
“It’s like nine thirty,” Tree agreed. “The timing seems more and more random.”
The rolling blackouts had started a few days after they’d arrived on campus. It had been unseasonably warm so far this semester, and the administration had chalked up the outages to the enormous strain of hundreds of window-unit air conditioners on the campus’s aging electrical grid. But now the blackouts had begun happening during off-peak hours like this—sometimes accompanied by power surges that would shatter lightbulbs and send sparks showering from utility poles and streetlamps.
As they waited in the darkness for a few moments, Tree held her nail polish brush in midair, trying not to get lacquer on her toes or comforter. Finally, the lights flickered back on, and Danielle instantly turned to check her makeup in Tree’s mirror, as if the darkness itself might’ve sullied her appearance. Satisfied with what she saw, she turned to go.
“Anyhoo, don’t be too late, or all the cute Sigma boys will be taken.” Danielle winked at her and headed out the door, reaching up to start pulling curlers out of her hair.
“Okay, byeeeeee,” Tree said.
“Byeeeeee!”
“Crazy bitch,” Tree whispered to herself with a smile. She loved Danielle, but that girl was a lot.
She went back to examining her pedicure, relieved. Maybe she’d be able to bail on this party without too much fuss. One of her toes, on the other hand, was a disaster, hemorrhaging with red gloss. Tree growled, reaching over to grab the nail polish remover off her nightstand, promptly spilling the open bottle on her bedspread.
“Damn it!”
She jumped up to grab a towel hanging on the back of the chair at her desk. Before she could turn back to the mess at hand, something caught her eye, peeking out beneath the stack of her unopened mail.
Tree knew what it was. She also knew better than to pick it up—especially today of all days. There was no sense in putting herself through it. Don’t do it, she commanded, but her body seemed to be on autopilot. What was it about not being able to stay away from things that were bad for her? It was like that time she bit her cheek at junior prom in high school. For a week, she couldn’t keep her tongue off the little sore bump in the side of her cheek. Before she could stop her own hand, she reached down, pushed away the envelope on the top of the stack, and pulled the dog-eared picture out of the pile.
The photo cut straight to her heart. The pang in her chest was almost instant. There she was the morning of high school graduation, beaming at the camera in her cap and gown. Her father smiled so proudly it appeared his buttons might literally pop off his shirt. Her mother’s smile was identical to the one she’d given Tree by genetics—delicate lips upturned in delight, eyes dancing with a quiet excitement. It had been so long since Tree had seen herself make that face in the mirror that for a moment she doubted if that was actually her in the picture.
Did that really happen? Was I ever truly that happy?
Carefully, she brushed her finger over the image, absently wishing that by touching the faces of this happy family just so, she could return to who she had been in that moment. But the joy captured in the photo was no match, it seemed, for the weight in her chest, and the image went blurry as her eyes filled with tears. Before a single one could fall onto the picture, she marshaled control of her emotions once more. She yanked open the top drawer of her dresser and buried the photo under a pile of clothing.
Wiping at her eyes, she grabbed the towel and the bottle of remover and attacked the puddle of polish. By the time everything was scrubbed and rinsed, Tree had recalled how good it felt to take action. Maybe the Chi Sig house wasn’t her dream destination, but anything was better than sitting here
crying over pictures from high school.
A balmy puff of air from the open window carried a whisper of jasmine into her room. Tree rummaged around in her closet, pulling out a flirty white dress with spaghetti straps covered in tiny black polka dots.
Today would get better, she decided. She couldn’t go back and get a do-over, but she could start fresh from this moment, right now. There were still a few hours before midnight, and she was going to turn things around.
Who knew what the evening might hold?
With any luck, it might turn out to be her first happy birthday in a long while.
6
The night was warm and lovely.
As Tree walked to the party along the ambling, well-kept sidewalks of Bayfield University, she felt better than she had all day. A light breeze rustled the leaves in the canopy of old trees over her head, dappling the way ahead with moonlight. The campus was mainly quiet now, with just a few students here and there, hurrying to meet friends.
Tree’s high heels made a pleasing click on the pavement, and even the Bayfield Babies banners hanging from each of the old-fashioned streetlamps somehow didn’t seem so menacing. The mascot was ridiculous.
The Bayfield Babies? For a college? That was the best they could do? Talk about a serious lack of imagination.
She quickened her pace toward the little footbridge ahead where several paths intersected and looped over and under one another. Each one headed off on a different level toward a different location. Her phone buzzed, and a new voice mail flashed onto the screen from Gregory. She hit Play and listened as she walked. His voice was so sexy it made her blush.
Hey, it’s me. I’ll text you later about meeting tonight. Not sure if I can get away, but I’ll do my best. By the way, that was close this afternoon. Too close, actually. But…also kinda hot.
Tree laughed and tapped the screen to play the next voice mail. This one was from her dad, and she knew he’d be pissed even before she heard his voice. She wasn’t wrong.
Teresa, it’s your dad. I sat in that restaurant waiting for you for over an hour. I can’t believe you would do this to me—today of all days!
Tree sighed and hit Delete, but somehow even her annoyance with her father had softened. He didn’t get it. How could he? He was just doing things the only way he knew how. She glanced down at the gold bracelet on her wrist and made up her mind to call him back tomorrow. He might not ever understand, but that was the point of being a family, wasn’t it? You didn’t have to “get” each other to love each other. They’d figure it out and find their way through it. They always did.
She walked over the bridge and down a short incline toward the sprawling center park in the middle of campus. A rowdy group of students headed her way, going to a party or a game in the opposite direction. They were buzzed and amped up—girls laughing too loudly, a couple of guys with foam fingers that read #1, shouting school chants—each of them dressed in Bayfield crimson and with Bs on their sweaters and wearing or carrying their Babies masks. Tree laughed at their over-the-top school spirit and shook her head as she passed through the middle of the bunch.
A curved staircase took her from the upper level of the path down to a loop that crossed under the bridge through a short tunnel. Tree stopped as she reached the bottom of the stairs and found the pathway under construction. It was being upgraded and had been cordoned off. Orange-striped sawhorses with yellow flashing lights and diamond-shaped Caution signs blinked out a warning about the torn-up path. She looked back up the stairs, but this was the quickest way to cross the quad, and she wanted to get there already.
She stepped in between the two sawhorses and noticed something ahead sitting on the ground in the dead center of the tunnel. It had been placed directly in a pool of light that came from one of the eerie LED lights that had been hung on the bottom of the bridge. As she stepped toward it, she heard a soft tune begin to play.
It was a music box.
And it was playing “Happy Birthday.”
Tree stopped again and rolled her eyes. Oh my god. This was too much, but bravo on Danielle and the gang for trying. She turned to look back to see if she’d missed where they were hiding. Undoubtedly, they were going to try to jump out and scare the living shit out of her.
“Hey!” she called out up the stairs behind her. “You guys are hilarious. You can come out now.”
Nothing made a sound except the music box.
Losers. She walked directly into the center of the tunnel, bending down to get a closer look at the music box. Three ceramic children at a birthday party leaned in to blow out the candles on a cake. Anchored to a carved wooden base, they were doomed to spin forever to “Happy Birthday.”
If that isn’t my worst nightmare…
Something clicked behind Tree. Startled, she spun around, expecting to catch her friends mid-scare. But it wasn’t Danielle. Someone was standing just outside the mouth of the tunnel wearing a Bayfield Baby mask. Tree made a mental note, correcting her earlier thought: the mascot was not at all harmless and amusing.
Whoever it was wasn’t moving and just stared at her through the eyeholes in the plastic. It must’ve been one of those morons she’d passed upstairs a minute ago.
“Yo,” she called out. “I think your friends went the other way.”
There was no response. The person just stood there, stock-still.
“Can I help you?” Tree asked.
Nothing. Just the yellow caution lights blinking off and on, illuminating the wide-eyed baby face of the mask with its single white tooth.
“Look, weirdo, I’m not scared.” Tree was losing patience. “Why don’t you go try this with one of the heifers at Delta Gamma? They’re into cosplay.”
Another long pause with no movement or sound from the creep in the mask. Tree decided it was time for a new tactic.
“Okay!” she said, turning up the volume. “I’m calling the cops.”
That seemed to do the trick. After a split second, the Bayfield Baby turned and ran—though not back up the stairs as Tree had expected. Instead, she watched him lumber up the embankment leading to the upper level of the bridge that formed the tunnel. She could hear loose dirt underfoot and the sound of plants being trampled.
After a moment, everything was quiet. Slowly, she started walking toward the Chi Sig house again, looking behind her several times to see if the masked creep was back. A few seconds later, as she stepped out the other end of the tunnel, she checked once more to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Satisfied that her threat to call the police had scared off the prankster for good, she turned at last in the direction of the party.
Behind her, the music box sprang back to life, close and awful like something sharp on the back of her neck.
She wheeled around, heart racing. She could hear her own breathing, and now she was pissed that she’d gotten afraid. She was about to run back into the tunnel and kick the damn music box against the wall when she felt a shadow fall over her.
As she looked up, the masked Bayfield Baby came crashing down from the top of the bridge, almost crushing her. At the last possible moment, she stepped to the side and pushed, knocking her attacker off balance. The glint of a long silver knife flashed in her eye, and she screamed as she scrambled away.
Tree had never run so far or so fast in heels, but she sure as hell was not going to look back. The path on this side of the tunnel was even more torn up, with double the barrels and cones blocking the way, and lights flashing caution in every direction.
Just when she could see the grass up ahead, the toe of her shoe caught on the edge of a wooden frame prepped for the crew to pour concrete tomorrow. Tree tumbled onto the bed of gravel, jagged rocks cutting into her palms and knees as a gash grew across her toe. The terror numbed her pain, and she rolled over, sitting straight up and frantically searching for any sign of the psycho with the knife.<
br />
A hand grabbed a fistful of her hair from behind, pulling it hard, yanking her eyes up. There above her was the Bayfield Baby’s unwavering smile. She screamed as the knife was raised, up, up, up over her exposed neck and bare clavicle. With a flash, it entered her, and Tree felt the searing pain of the cold steel severing bone from tendons and muscle, slicing ribs away from her sternum, puncturing her lung, cutting into her heart.
She couldn’t see anymore. The darkness came so suddenly that she felt a spasm of panic shoot through her. It was her last surge of strength. Flailing in the inky night, she pushed her attacker up and away—one final, desperate attempt at escape.
To her amazement, the weight holding her down disappeared. Tree shrieked at the icy fire of pain that engulfed her as the knife sliced back out of her chest the same way it had entered.
Choking and crying, she bolted upright, clutching the wound that ran nearly all the way through her body. With a gasp that felt like her lungs were filling with lava, she dared to open her eyes, terrified the masked lunatic was standing over her, toying with her, waiting to plunge the knife in once more and finish the job.
But she didn’t see anyone with a knife.
Just a guy digging around under a desk in his dorm room. He turned around when he heard her sit up, gasping and wheezing.
“Oh, hey. You’re up!” he said with a smile. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to sleep in or not.”
7
Tree stared at the guy from a bed in a dorm room, still clutching the front of her shirt. Just moments ago, a knife had been lodged in her chest, but somehow she wasn’t in pain now. Or in her own clothes. This wasn’t her shirt.
What the hell?
She heard the bell tolling out the hour across campus, and out in the hall, a voice yelled, “Fuck off!” and somebody stopped practicing the trombone.
Her heart was still beating like she’d just sprinted across a parking lot to the sale rack at the back of Barneys. She took a deep breath and let the relief that she wasn’t being murdered settle over her. Jesus, she thought. What a fucking nightmare.
Happy Death Day & Happy Death Day 2U Page 3