They pulled up a nice drive with oak trees. Acorns fell on the roof of the now silent car, making a loud pop, pop. Mazy stumbled out of the backseat. “Party’s here!” she announced, running up to the kicker Maggie recognized in the light from the massive porch.
There were the colored lights of glow sticks fluttering out there in the dark, the scent of beer already spilled on the ground, shouts and squeals coming from people she couldn’t see. Red cups here and there. Puffs of fog from breath. Music, bass thumping, filled the clearing where Mark’s large house stood. A pretty, traditional farmhouse with a large wrap-around porch.
“Want to go in and see the place, say hi?” Becca asked.
“I can wait if you want to,” Maggie said, trying to be nice.
“Uh, forget it,” she huffed, turning the key in the ignition once more.
“I really can get another ride,” she floundered as the car started back down the driveway.
“No really, it’s fine.” She shook her head. “What are friends for?” she smiled.
Finally the two were alone. “You know, I wanted to talk to you earlier.”
“What about?”
“Well,” she struggled with where to begin, how much to tell. “I was thinking the other day about what happened...to Amanda.”
”You were?” She seemed surprised.
“Yeah, and I totally understand you wanting answers. Somebody has to know something. How did she get out there anyway?”
“Yeah,” Becca said quietly, thoughtfully.
“Well, I thought maybe if I listened around, being sort of invisible, I might hear something.”
“Did you?”
“No,” she scoffed. “I didn’t even catch who tore the poster.”
“Well, it was nice of you to try. Maggie, we’re friends now, right?”
“Yeah,” she answered, trying not to sound tentative. That was usually followed by a request from someone who wanted you to prove it, in her experience.
“Well, you were right the other day about everyone having a secret, something they aren’t proud of.” She took a deep breath. “When…it happened, I wasn’t there. We had rescheduled. I didn’t know where she was. I didn’t even find out until noon because I was busy. And it wasn’t even important. It doesn’t matter how many times they say it wasn’t my fault, I feel like it is. Maybe if we find the person who did it,” she sniffled, “I can blame them instead.”
Maggie had no clue how to respond to that. She could feel the tear in her own chest of shame and guilt for Becca. “I’m so sorry,” she offered. She hoped it sounded sincere.
“What about you?” Becca prompted. “Can you tell me a secret?”
She knew it was time. “I think I may know why Amanda was out there.” Becca’s head snapped toward her, eyes leaving the road a second. She looked again.
“How?”
“I found a note in my locker, her locker, from someone named M for them to meet that night. It doesn’t say the date, but if it was still in there, it must have been from right before…”
“Who is M?”
“I was hoping you would know.” Her shoulders fell in disappointment.
“Let me see the note!” Becca demanded, wiping her eyes.
“I lost it.”
“What? How! When?”
“On my date with Mark. But I’m going to go look for it. I was going to give it to the police.”
“Good.” Becca seemed lost in thought as they turned onto silent Mulberry Street, most houses glowing with one or two lights.
“Thanks for bringing me home. And please don’t mention the note to Mark,” Maggie said, unbuckling.
“Why not?”
“Well, he’s an M,” Maggie shrugged. Becca’s eyes widened. She looked like someone had doused her with cold water.
“Right. Thanks for your help, Mags. See you Monday.” She was far more cheerful than before. She had a direction to focus her energy now, Maggie guessed. She shut the door, walking up the silent lawn alone as Becca drove away.
Inside the dark, empty little home, Maggie shivered even though the heat was on.
She went into the kitchen and shamelessly prepared mozzarella sticks. Because sometimes your life is a mess and you just need cheese. She thought only about their crisp, golden exterior and not the slap to her face. She thought of the perfect oven temperature and watching the grease pool on the baking pan, not how it felt to have Tommy’s fingers brush against her leg.
She changed into pajamas while they cooled, forcing herself to have a little self-control so she wouldn’t burn herself. She was walking into the living room, already having devoured one, watching how far she could pull apart both ends of cheese when she happened to glance out the window. The TV wasn’t on, so she heard the low roar of an engine outside. She checked to see if her mom had come home early.
Outside, driving slowly down Mulberry Street was a car―a low riding, red car. She ducked, so she couldn’t see it clearly, or the driver, but it was quite possibly Mark’s car.
She grabbed her phone, thinking of texting Tommy, but stopped on the blank screen, the blinking cursor. What the hell was she going to say?
‘I think Mark is creeping outside my house?’ That was not going to sound likely when probably about a hundred people were with him and everyone knew he was hosting a party at his house. Or maybe, ‘I saw the ghost of your dead girlfriend…pretty sure since there was a séance and everything...’
She poured a glass of wine. It was a bad idea, she knew, but she was shaking like a cold Chihuahua and ice cream wasn’t going to help with that. She sipped it in the dark, checking the doors and windows for locks. She had the house phone and her cell in hand, in case she needed 911. She was not about to end up like those people in the movies.
Her phone vibrated. She ignored it.
It vibrated again, this time longer.
Taking a breath and putting her glass down, she looked: 3 texts.
One: Are you okay? from Sarah.
Yes. She responded, thinking a minute. Went home. Thanks for asking. See you Monday!
Two: Won’t be back until tomorrow night. Will you be okay? from Mom.
Alone? Would she be okay alone in the house all night? No car in the driveway? A car driving by, prowling, noticing?
Well, the full explanation was too much to text and her mom’s reaction would be too much to handle. Feeling like she was getting in deeper, she texted her, Ok. At home now.
Three. She took in a sharp breath. Tommy—How’s the party?
No idea. she responded. I came home.
She waited in the darkness for a few moments. The ice maker clattered, making her jump. She checked the window again; no cars on the street. She heard no engines. She retreated back to the couch, pulling a pillow to her chest, and took another sip of wine. It made her mouth feel dry.
Ok. Sarah had texted back.
See you tomorrow xo. her mom sent.
You alone? Tommy asked.
She paused.
Was he asking because he knew her mom was often gone, came home late? Was he asking if Tyler came back with her? Or was he asking for someone else, one of his friends, maybe the one driving by? Should she tell him? Was she being too paranoid?
No, she reminded herself, this was Tommy. This was the nice guy. If she couldn’t trust the nice guy, she couldn’t trust anyone, and if that was the case, she was screwed either way. Yes. She hit send.
Maybe, she thought as she looked outside again, she should call the cops, file a report, and not tell her friends, just to be safe?
But Tommy’s dad might show up, and then Tommy might find out. If his reaction to her disappearing for a few minutes was any indication, he would flip out. No, best not to mention it.
There was a buzz as her phone vibrated again on the coffee table. She snatched it from the wood.
Want me to come over? Tommy offered.
That was too nice. What was she supposed to say?
‘Yeah, ju
st tell your father you’re popping over to that girl’s house who Tyler took out on a date tonight, who your pops just met when she was on a date with Mark...the one Tyler has kissed, the one dancing with you tonight. Got that? I’m sure he’ll be fine with you coming over here while I’m alone in the house. At night. Just to keep me company, of course.’
And if she told him the truth, that she was frightened, she would have to explain why she was frightened. Because she didn’t know who M was. Couldn’t say that.
Because she thought Mark was stalking her because she was onto him being M? Couldn’t say that either.
Oh, wait. She could always say, ‘because your dead girlfriend is haunting me since I took her friend and I want her boyfriend.’ How had her life come to that?
For half a second she let herself imagine Tommy’s truck pulling up to her empty, darkened house, Tommy’s low voice murmuring, ‘What is it?’ and her sitting on the couch with him as they had sat on the bleachers, whispering in her anxiousness about everything, until it was all out, and he could tell her how silly it all was.
Time’s up, she told herself. Reality calls.
Better not. was all she texted. Busy tomorrow?
She waited for what she hoped would be a no, rinsing her glass and filling it with water to take her pill.
See you then. he said. She tried not to light up at that. Besides, someone might see her if she did. She set the security system since her mom wouldn’t be coming in late, trying to convince herself with the punch of each number that she had not seen what she thought she had.
Beep. Ghosts.
Beep. Are not.
Beep. Real.
But the car was.
And she heard her mom saying, “Be safe, okay?” as Maggie had stepped out of the car, feeling pretty.
“Careful,” Tommy had caught her on the bleachers.
The goth girl, Anna, warning her: “There’s not just one person close to you who is dangerous.” Then later, “You be careful too, Maggie.”
“Be careful, alright?” Mr. Garrett had said, and Officer Latchley had said, “Be careful.”
Maggie was careful. She grabbed a knife from the kitchen and slept in her mom’s room, putting the trash bin in front of the door so it would clatter and wake her up if anyone got inside the house.
She wasn’t going to end up with her whole life on one poster board and a stupid, plastic tiara.
Shit, she thought. They would already have her collage. It was sitting in her room.
With an amount of resolve pulsing through her that she had never felt before, she sent one more message to Tommy. I will see you tomorrow.
Chapter Eleven
The Hunting
The weekend dawned rainy. Maggie woke up late. Her mom was still gone, so there were no noises to rouse her; there was always research that Cassidy needed to do on weekends that couldn’t be done during the work week which was devoured by her cover job- the job she took to get her closer to the people she was investigating.
Maggie supposed she should have saved her own research for the weekend too, since now she had: the deep secret of her math teacher who she owed an assignment, a secret note floating around, a missed history, and a detention Monday. Not her greatest start. She was usually a pretty good student, but she had been so absorbed in the social life and building mystery of this new school that she had fallen out of sync with the actual purpose of the building.
Things had been a little too exciting for her the night before. It was honestly more stressful than the tornado day. Had she seen a ghost? Was that possible? Was there another explanation?
Was the car last night Mark, or was it just her mind in hyperdrive, her nerves on edge? Nothing had come of it, after all.
She pushed it aside and sat down with some cereal to catch up with homework. Today, she told herself, was chemistry and math day. There would be no looking for the note in this weather. Perhaps that was for the best.
She turned on the TV because the house was so quiet, leaving the volume low so she could hear the pitter-patter of rain on the windows and roof, the hush of its thin, persistent stream falling onto the bushes.
She was focused, working quickly through math, even doing Monday’s assignment, until she ran into a problem using the variable M. She literally had to find M.
Tapping her pencil on the graph paper to her side, she went back over the possibilities she knew of: Mazy, Mark, Ashley Monroe. Goth girl had been eliminated. She did wish she had gotten the girl’s number so she could find out if anything spooky happened the night before at the séance. Maggie had never seen anything happen with that sort of stuff, but she had also never seen a cheerleader no one else could see.
Refocusing, she turned her attention to chemistry which went a lot slower and was much more painful, her mind straining when her answers didn’t work, frustration raking her body. When she finally found the answer she could have cried: magnesium. Mg. Of course. She threw the book, listening to the bump it made on the hardwood.
She glared at it. Only then did she realize it had stopped raining. The sky was still muggy, the air looked cool and thick with moisture, but it had stopped raining.
Up for a hunt?- Tommy.
Absolutely.
She hurriedly got ready, stealing a pair of her mom’s shoes to go with a cute sweater and some comfortable pants.
The truck outside made its own specific noise. It sort of snored. It wasn’t the vroom of a normal truck; it made chug-a chug-a chig-a. It was white, or it used to be. Now it was a sort of off-white that comes with age. He clearly took good care of it. It was clean and never struggled to start or stop. It didn’t leave a thick trail of black from its exhaust. Sure, there were spots of rust, but it had character. Maggie had never been a pickup truck kind of girl, but it fit Tommy. And she was definitely a Tommy kind of girl.
When she climbed inside the cab, she breathed in deeply. He was wearing a comfy blue hoodie. It was magical, she thought, how hoodies seemed to be specially designed to absorb and amplify people’s scents. That wasn’t always a good thing, but in his case, it was.
“So what are we looking for?” he asked as her seatbelt clicked into place.
“A note on wide-ruled paper.”
“On the peak?”
“On the peak.” she nodded.
“Okay.” They pulled away. Clearly, he wasn’t hopeful. She wondered why he was doing this.
“You know you don’t have to do this.”
“I swear to God, Margaret, if you say it’s really nice of me one more time…”
She laughed. “No, no. I wasn’t going to. Just thank you is all.”
“No problem.”
“I’m betting you could be doing loads of other things with your Saturday.”
“Well,” he said a little darkly. “My usual weekend plans were sort of canceled.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He shot her a look to let her know he wasn’t upset with her. She tried to smile.
“I’m sorry. I bet you’re tired of hearing that.”
She attempted to shake her head and ended up kind of wagging it.
“No, it’s okay. I would too. I bet Becca talks about her all the time. It’s not fair.”
Maggie shrugged. “It’s okay.” She didn’t know how to feel, and her stomach didn’t know how to sit, apparently.
That was exactly when they started down the road to hell. Somehow, America’s curviest stretch of blacktop was even worse in the day. Every time she thought they must have been over the last hump or around the last needless bend, it went on. And on. The hills were just big enough to lift your gut like an elevator then gently drop it, but were all the curves really necessary? What were they even curving around? It was as if someone had made the road just to keep people from going down it.
“Is there another way?” she moaned.
Tommy laughed, earning him a dirty look. “Nope. Sorry.”
She tried to focus on how pretty it was as the sun came out, streaming thro
ugh clouds onto still, green fields, everything sparkling with water. Heck, there was even a rainbow. You can make it, she told herself. You can make it.
If she puked in Tommy’s truck it would never smell good again. She accidentally let out a groan as she pressed her head to the cool glass.
“You okay?” he asked with concern.
“I kind of feel nauseous on this road.”
“Yeah, it’s rough when you’re not used to it. Want me to pull over?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just crack the window.”
She sat up straight. Another turn. She would be happy to never, ever go down this road again.
It took her a few minutes to recover, and when the ride finally stopped, she didn’t feel like she had stopped at all.
Tommy did not give her space to be sick in private as Mark had. He leaned against the truck at her door while she gasped in breath after breath, head between her knees, until her head stopped spinning and her stomach stopped churning. She felt rather accomplished.
He let out a giggle.
“Laugh it up,” she snapped, shutting her door. She took a few steps toward the picturesque woods, Tommy’s footsteps crunching on the gravel behind her.
They tried to trek up the cliff in silence, scanning the ground every step. It was muddy, and the fresh air smelled sweet. Inside the woods, it was wet, cool, and piney. She breathed deeply, letting it fill her lungs like medicine. The birds were chirping. A hawk cried out above them, flying across the sun she glimpsed through a gap in the trees. The pair walked quietly, shoes pressing against moss and pine needles, occasionally catching each other’s glance then returning to searching the ground.
“Are we going up?” he asked as they reached the point Mark had said it became climbing.
“Yep.”
She needed help. Hands on a sturdy root and the rock, she couldn’t hoist herself high enough. She tried. Tommy pressed his shoulder and one hand, palm up, to her bottom to give her a boost. It worked, and she stood at the top, steadying herself against a tree. “Thanks,” she said shyly, dimples showing. He was looking at her, a half-smile, eyes down, then back up.
He hoisted himself with his arms, then pushed himself upright, swinging a leg around, much more gracefully than she. They were standing close then, facing each other as he clapped the dirt from his hands, smiling.
Keep Your Friends Close Page 15