She shrugged. “It was actually pretty laid-back at first,” she reported honestly. “We went to his uncle’s place.”
A few looks of surprise took her off guard. They paused mid-motion and this time it was Sarah who spoke up first. “He took you to his family place?”
“Yeah.” She blinked dumbly. “Is that special?”
“Well, sort of.” Mazy furrowed her brow for possibly the first time since Maggie had met her. “Mark is usually a simple guy. Parties. Movies. Games. Those sort of safe dates. Nothing sentimental.” She shrugged. “Guess he likes you.”
“Liked,” she corrected. “Trust me, I blew it.”
Unless she was very much mistaken, Sarah’s sudden curiosity followed by an intense interest in the tabletop meant she might be jealous. She had corrected Mazy and Becca before that Mark had not dated everyone, as in apparently not her. Since the casual date at Jake’s seemed to be a big deal, she was worried following it up with make-out spot might not go over well.
“How?” Mazy asked. Maggie needed time to come up with a lie. But she didn’t have time. Mazy was curious.
“Well, I think it ended with him basically saying it was a disaster. It was totally embarrassing and I’d rather not talk about it.” She shook her head, letting the blush creep in. Mazy seemed satisfied, maybe even a tad sympathetic.
“I sort of got carsick,” she added.
Gasps all around. “Not his car!” Mazy exclaimed.
“No, but it was a close call.”
“Well, he’s been weird and moody since Amanda died,” Mazy offered, to Maggie’s continued surprise. “I wouldn’t take it personally.”
“Since she was killed,” Becca corrected. It made the moment even more awkward. “Speaking of, you’re still helping after school, right?” she asked Mags.
“Yeah.” Maggie took a swig of milk.
“Good. We’ll all be together.”
Becca beamed. Talk changed to Homecoming—the game, the dance, the queen. Maggie had never really paid much attention to the pinnacle event of school spirit, except for when her friend Greg had planned a huge prank that involved boxer shorts. It had never meant much to her, but now she saw how much work went into it, how much excitement, how many hopes. She was participating. It was different. It wasn’t just an excuse to wear tacky clothes, pull down streamers, and get out early for pep rallies.
Sarah, cheerleading captain and head of so many committees, was on the Homecoming Court and so was Becca, one of the prettiest girls in any high school, Maggie would guess. Mazy had made it too, apparently, and she was trying to conceal how much her heart was set on winning. She wasn’t doing a very good job.
“It would be nice to win, is all I’m saying, but what chance do I have, really?”
Crazy Ashley had her nomination revoked for fighting. There was another girl Maggie didn’t know, and an honorary nomination of Amanda.
Amanda. She recalled her dream. Usually she didn’t remember anything she dreamed, but it was like her mind kept trying to tell her something.
Note. Report. Road out of town. No information. Mark’s mood swing. Being left on the side of the road.
And then it hit her, the reason Becca was befuddled that no one was pushing Amanda’s death investigation. What was she doing out there? How did she get there?
The cops were probably working that angle at the moment, looking for who Amanda might have been with, but Maggie knew: M.
She was tempted to get back to the library to do more research, but she couldn’t skip history again. Besides, thinking of the list of suspects made her remember the lost note. She felt like an idiot.
She had hoped to get back out there and look for it, but she had to stay after school and help. If Mark had picked it up, she would probably be able to tell by looking at him. But so far, she had not dared.
There was, she realized while doing scales in chorus, a tiny possibility that the note had actually fallen out in Mark’s lowrider. Which meant there was a possibility it was still there. There was little to no possibility, however, of her subtly getting into Mark’s car and scrounging around. Tommy was nice to offer to take her back to look for the note, but she doubted he’d be open to breaking into his friend’s car for a girl he’d known less than a week.
Once class was over, her ideas were done for the day, it seemed. She went to her locker to stow her stuff, feeling eyes upon her. She turned, but she wished she hadn’t.
Mark.
He had stopped what he was doing and was staring at her from his locker. His look was impossible to read; his face even seemed unsure about it.
There was anger, cold, palpable anger.But there was also something that looked like guilt. Gut-wrenching guilt, the kind that makes you grimace when you look back at what you’ve done. His face was torn between rigid anger, contorting guilt, and wonky confusion. She looked away.
It was Mark. It had to be.
But it wasn’t a leer. It wasn’t a threat. Maybe he hadn’t found the note.
But, when he had finally returned to the car, trekking down after she had stumbled along the path, he had changed. She had told him she would say nothing if he wouldn’t; to her surprise, he’d accepted that.
She shut her locker in frustration, letting out a little growl.
Becca appeared in front of her, eyebrow raised. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just a little frustrated with classes. Ready to get my homecoming on.” She was surprised to find that it wasn’t actually a lie, at least not as much of a lie as she expected it to be.
“Great. Follow me. I’ve got a really special project and I could use your skills.”
“My skills?”
“You’ll see.” She winked.
Maggie did not realize she was looking for Tommy until she felt disappointment. She hadn’t seen his slight, curling smile since morning.
Maggie followed Becca to a locked, the yearbook room apparently with loads of file cabinets and photos. “Shush.” She pressed a tan finger to her lips as she let them into what appeared to be a yearbook room, with paper and craft utensils, a scanner/copier, and more supplies filling it almost completely.
The rest of the school filed by outside the room. Their shadows, voices, and footsteps passed feet away without knowing anyone was inside. The school was emptying, but Maggie and Becca remained, not sneaking, not in detention. Not these kids. These kids belonged. They were entrusted. The school belonged to them, not vice versa. Maggie had spent more time in Wilbur Mason High than she had in her new home. She was one of them. This “second home” bull wasn’t just the stuff principals said for PR at assemblies. For some, it was true. For her, it was.
Approaching a round table where Becca put down her stuff, Maggie began to see hundreds of photos, news clippings, and other things laid out over an extra large poster board.
“When I saw your collage in your room,” Becca explained excitedly, tugging off her sweater. “I knew I had to ask for your help. I’m really not good at this sort of thing, and I wouldn’t really trust any of the artsy kids with this. Too personal.”
And that’s when she saw it. Amanda. That shiny hair glistening in the sunlight, surrounded by water and friends. Thin. The widest smile Maggie had ever seen, almost too big for her face.
Amanda, younger, with a clarinet, arms latched with Becca, grinning broadly.
Amanda, interviewed by the local paper for going to a state science fair. Amanda, being inducted into honors clubs. Pep rallies. Championships. Riding horses. Baby pictures.
Amanda smiled up at her. A hundred Amandas were littering the entire table. It was overwhelming, the dead girl staring at her, but she managed to mutter, “A memorial.”
“Yeah, there’s a video online, but I wanted something solid, physical” Becca said with a shrug, her voice serious, her face honest. “So she can be with us at the pep rally.”
“You’re a really good friend, Becca.”
“So are you if you can help me with this.
”
“I’d be honored…but I don’t really know which to choose, how to organize this. I didn’t know her.”
“But I did, and everything is here. Just do what strikes you. I’ve got to go do a quick practice before Sarah strangles me; dance decorations go up afterwards.” She bounced on her feet.
Left alone with Amanda, Maggie wondered for a moment how it would look if someone were to burst in and find her pouring over an impressive stalker folder of a girl she never knew.
She soon forgot that. Diving into all this material, the girl’s whole life, it seemed, was like getting to know her. There were photos of her with Mark, Mazy, Tyler—everyone. So many smiles. So many teeth. She had not abandoned her band friends after middle school as Becca had, it seemed, so Maggie included that photo with some musical notes and a bass clef in one corner. She really was a Nice Kid, it seemed.
She put Amanda’s charity work: picking up trash, pictures at church, petting shelter puppies, reading to a “little sister,” and a huge stack of collected books with a newspaper clipping on her fundraising efforts for the food bank in the center of the poster board, where it belonged.
At the top went family, all three cats and a parakeet included—parents, extended, home, holidays, hugs.
Since music had a corner, it was only appropriate for cheer go in the opposite one. Finalist newspaper clipping, a funny picture of all the girls on a bus going somewhere, Amanda cheering, her smile bright, standing next to Sarah and Becca on the field, Friday night lights pouring down on them. A cheerleading sticker, some glitter, and school color ribbons completed that. That corner had spirit.
Then there was her special friendship with Becca. It needed a corner too, especially since Becca had been the one to come up with the idea. There was an entire album from which to choose. So many memories from so many years. Maggie had never had a friend so long, except maybe her mom. Maggie chose a mix from candid shots from over the years and the events that looked most important—two little girls egg dying, tiny cheer outfits, a middle school sleepover, a trip to Mexico in bikinis, her sweet sixteen party, Amanda and Becca in prom dresses.
“Best Friends Forever” was spelled out wavily in what looked like beads, strung together with actual string like a friendship bracelet.
Now what? She sighed, looking at the mountains of faces staring up at her. She supposed it was time for the inevitable. Where was Tommy?
She rifled through some papers and located an envelope. She felt ashamed that her stomach plummeted. Tommy and Amanda in formalwear. Tommy and Amanda on the lake. Tommy holding Amanda around the waist, lifting her off the ground, and kissing his cheerleader girlfriend on the field as everyone celebrated in the background.
It was hard seeing him with another girl. She might be gone, but if she wasn’t, Tommy would be with her, not picking up Maggie from bad dates and saving her from tornadoes. Tommy was Amanda’s.
Becca was Amanda’s.
The locker was Amanda’s.
There was a knock at the door that made her jump. She flipped the poster over and opened the door to find Mazy and Sarah. “Hey, we came to get you for decorating! Things are nuts,” Mazy explained, poking her head around the door. “What are you doing in here?”
“Nothing,” she said too quickly. Even Sarah’s smooth forehead creased. “Well, it’s the favor Becca wanted help with, but it’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“Jesus!” Mazy exclaimed, spying the piles of Amanda.
“It’s for a collage,” she blurted in her own defense, immediately kicking herself for spoiling the surprise. “But don’t tell anyone. Becca said it was a secret for now.”
Sarah looked over everything with a concerned expression, then finally spoke. “She made you go through all this?” she asked, Tommy’s envelope specifically held between two long fingers.
Maggie gulped, trying to seem unbothered. “Yeah.”
“How’s it coming?” Mazy asked conversationally. “If you’re too busy…”
“No, it’ll be done soon.”
“Well, we need you. I had you first,” Sarah announced, and even though it may have simply been a power struggle between her and Becca, Maggie was relieved.
“I remember this.” Mazy flipped over a picture from ballet that Maggie hadn’t included yet. “If you use this, please cut me out. I really should sue that woman who did my hair. Ugh.”
Fair point. Maggie had not even recognized Mazy in the shot. “That green was her favorite color though. If that helps.”
Was it possible that Mazy could have killed her and then spoken so nonchalantly about the personal details of her life? She had baited crazy Ashley. Then again, maybe crazy Ashley wasn’t that crazy. Ashley had known Mazy a lot longer than Maggie had, and she had dated Mark.
Maggie Brennan realized she needed to talk to Ashley.
“Let’s go.”
“I’ll meet you in the gym in ten minutes. Going to clean up.”
“Okay,” Sarah nodded.
Maggie sighed, giving Tommy a small corner with some hearts, then filling in the spaces with random friends and facts, adding her favorite color in thin paper squares to look like stained glass. It was rushed, but from a distance, it looked really good.
It wasn’t much when you really looked at it. Sixteen years, sprawled over a poster board like that. Sure, it was fun, lively, full. But there it stopped. No graduation. No wedding. No first job or car or trip abroad. No children. No place of her own. That was it. That was all she got. Everything on that poster board.
“Sorry,” she said to no one in particular, and she hurried out of the room.
It was as busy and bustling as an airport in the gym. The pep rally tomorrow would take place out in the stands. The gym would already be prepared for the dance so everyone could go home and get ready. Sarah had it planned perfectly.
The paper mache of the slaughtered opposition’s mascot, the bull, served as a centerpiece. Banners went first, then streamers, then balloons in school colors. It looked like they were raining down. Icicle lights were hidden behind gossamer on some garden lattices that in the dark looked sparkly, like fairy lights. Maggie helped with the tables, placing them according to the chart, covering them with table cloths, then adding green and white confetti and candles. She insisted they go one step at a time rather than one table at a time.
“Why?” Mazy all but snapped.
“Trust me,” was all she had time to say. Mazy couldn’t contain her jealous stare when that idea sped everything up to Sarah’s enthusiasm.
Sarah put her hand on the white tablecloth, inspecting the work. “Perfect.” She gave a tight but flawless smile. Maggie ventured to guess that was not a common praise from the well-meaning perfectionist. Mazy certainly did not seem to think so.
Decorating took so much longer than anticipated that her mom was actually able to pick her up. “You know we have a house, right?” Cassidy Brennan joked to her daughter.
“Yeah, well, I got these things called friends.” And a killer I’m on to, she almost said. Almost. She should have. Her mom would have known what to do, which was probably to leave it alone entirely.
Chapter Eight
Homecoming
“Ms. Brennan, a word,” Mr. Garrett indicated. He licked his lips, then his fingertips as he flipped through a stack of papers.
Maggie was in no hurry to meet Penderghast after receiving a detention the previous day, so she did not hesitate to hang behind with her favorite teacher. It was the least she could do since she didn’t have her homework. He only collected it on random days and she’d spent the night before catching up with her mom, going out for pizza and being saved by the Master Outfit Planner on what to wear to Homecoming, since she was the only one of her friends not in a cheer uniform.
“Sorry about my homework, Mr. Garrett. It’s been a long week.”
He held up one large hand. “It happens.” He surprised her by saying, “I don’t believe in giving passes, but if you turn
in the rest, it won’t hurt your average in the end since I collect a couple times per week. I wanted to talk to you about the other day.”
“Oh, we don’t have to talk about that, Mr. Garrett,” she hurried, blushing.
He frowned as if trying very hard to find the right words. Not unkindly, he put it: “I wanted to make sure that your…knowledge of me doesn’t lead you to believe you don’t have any homework, if you catch my meaning.”
“You mean,” she shook her head in disbelief, “like blackmailing you?”
“Well now, you don’t seem the type—”
She cut him off. “I’m not. I’m not the type. What I saw was your business, Mr. Garrett. Yours and, well, his. It’s not mine. It’s not anyone else’s. And that’s not going to change because I have a bad week and forget my homework.”
He smiled sadly, holding his elbows over his sweater-clad stomach again. He nodded a thank you as someone else entered, presumably to ask him a question during his planning period.
“Sorry about the homework. Won’t happen again. Can I have a hall pass? Pendrago—Penderghast hates me.” She couldn’t believe she almost called her Pendragon in front of Mr. Garrett.
Though he clearly despised writing them, he scrawled a hall pass for her. It was only fair. “Although,” he said as seriously as he said everything else, “maybe you’d have more luck with a spear?”
Maggie chuckled at the devious twinkle in his eyes as she took the pass. Yes. Definitely her favorite teacher.
She walked as slow as humanly possible to chemistry, stopping for water and everything. She survived what was left of the period. Penderghast appeared to not be speaking to Maggie, which worked out perfectly fine for her.
At lunch, Maggie was quiet, deep in her own thoughts of Amanda, when she could look for M’s note, and how she could talk to crazy Ashley, but Becca had a question for her. “Why were you late? What did Mr. Garrett want?”
“He, um, asked me if I was going to tell anyone something I accidentally found out.” The moment it was out, she regretted it. She wanted her new friends to know she could be trusted, but they would also expect her to spill.
Keep Your Friends Close Page 10