You’re Next

by Kylie Schachte

  I hop off the wall and sidle over.

  Elle continues playing catch and release with her ball. “What do you want?” Her eyes never leave her phone.

  “Tell me everything you know about Ava McQueen.”

  She shrugs one dainty shoulder. “Hardly knew her. We didn’t exactly run in the same circles. I guess I wasn’t her type.” Elle bounces the tennis ball again. It hits the ground less than an inch from my foot. I don’t blink.

  With Elle, there’s no appealing to her better nature or trying to find common ground.

  “Come on,” I coax. “You know everyone’s secrets. Do you expect me to believe that you had nothing on Ava?”

  “I don’t know why you even bother. I watch the news: she got mugged, the guy freaked out and shot her.” Elle turns her full attention to me now, not bothering to catch the ball on the next bounce. It rolls away off the curb. Her eyes sweep over me in calculation, and she smiles. I swear her teeth have been filed to points. “I’m sure you’re devastated, God knows we’ve all watched you make puppy eyes at Ava for long enough, but it’s hardly a mystery what happened. Go find another hobby.”

  Don’t react. Don’t slap her. She likes it too much.

  I ask, “What was Ava doing wandering around Whitley in the middle of the night, then?”

  Elle twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “Who knows? Maybe Little Miss Power to the People was slumming around the inner city, communing with the unwashed masses. Or maybe she had a secret fuckbuddy.” She shrugs and turns her attention back to her phone. “I wouldn’t waste your time, though. Whatever her secret was, it’ll be disappointing and boring, like everyone else’s. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “What are you even doing out here?” I switch tracks. Elle has French this period. Her classroom is across from my locker, and it’s good to keep tabs on apex predators.

  “Campaign event.” She says it lightly, but there’s an undercurrent of annoyance. “Without his perfect trophy daughter at his side, how will voters know my father’s a family man?” Elle’s dad is a congressman, but he’s running for a promotion to the Senate this year.

  “I thought he was all about education reform. Surprised his own daughter is cutting class,” I throw back.

  She tucks her hair behind her ears. “Apparently, we all have to make sacrifices for the public good, also known as his political career. Besides, the last time he ran for the Senate he lost. Pretty sure he’d offer me up as a blood sacrifice if voters demanded it.”

  She looks away, but not before I glimpse a strange vulnerability in her eyes. Still, Elle’s daddy issues are so not my problem right now.

  The soft whirr of an expensive car makes me turn. A black town car with tinted windows rolls to a stop at the curb.

  The driver steps out and opens the back-seat door. “Miss Dorsey.”

  “Nice talking with you, Flora.” Elle tosses her coat and bag into the driver’s hands and slides into the back seat with a final swish of her dark hair.

  Cass circles the block where Ava’s family lives. There’s a squad car parked out front to keep an eye on things, but the house is still and dark.

  On our way over here, I called the HR department at the Whitley Gazette, pretending to be an assistant in Detective Richmond’s office. Despite what Lainie told me, the paper has no record of Ava ever working there. Elle might think Ava was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but she was right about one thing—Ava obviously had secrets, and I want to know what she was hiding.

  Cass parks the car a couple blocks away. She peers out the window, checks all of her mirrors. Watching our backs. Guilt ripples through my gut again.

  I made her miss her audition. I know that’s not what good friends are supposed to do, no matter how many times she says it’s okay.

  “Cut it out.” Cass gives me an all-knowing eyebrow. “I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re fine. I can do the audition tomorrow. Literally everything isn’t life-and-death, okay?”

  My guilt only deepens. “I can’t worry about you sometimes?”

  She gives me a sad smile. “Today’s my turn.”

  My throat is suddenly thick and cottony. I nod.

  “You sure you want to do this today?” she asks for the billionth time. “It’s okay if you want to take, like, a minute. We can go home and order pizza or something.”

  I know that’s the healthy thing to do, but every time I sit still for more than a few seconds, I see Ava’s pale, lifeless face in my mind.

  “I need this. I need something to focus on, or I’ll lose it.”

  Cass hesitates but doesn’t push any further. If this is where I am today, she’s with me. “It’s going to be a lot. Being in Ava’s house, with all her stuff. Go slow, okay?”

  I nod.

  The officers on watch are probably eating potato chips and grumbling about their crappy assignment, but I don’t want to waltz through the back door if they’re in the middle of a secondary sweep. I open the police scanner app on my phone. The radio crackles about traffic stops and an injured deer blocking the northbound side of Elm. Not a whole lot happens in Hartsdale, usually.

  I check the many pockets in my lavender backpack. It’s my work bag, where I keep my flashlight, stash of dog treats, and other assorted accessories for the resourceful girl treading on the wrong side of the law. The familiar task is soothing.

  Finally, “Car 43 checking in. All clear at 27 Southwest Twelfth.”

  That’s Ava’s address.

  I turn to Cass. “What do you think?”

  She considers the clock on her dash. “It’s twelve-ish now. They’re either ready to switch shifts, or they’ve ordered food. Either way, they’re distracted. Go in through the back, be quiet, and stay away from windows.”

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath. “You’ll keep watch?”

  “Make sure your phone’s on Vibrate. I’ll call if they move.”

  I reach for the door.

  Cass sighs. “Wait.”

  If it were anyone else, I’d be out the door already, but Cass has earned her best-friend rights the hard way. The least I can do is listen, even if all I want to do is go. I turn back but keep my hand on the door.

  She runs her hands over the stitching on the steering wheel. “We’re, like, an hour into this investigation. I’m not going to tell you not to do this, but just don’t be reckless, okay? You can’t afford to get caught. Not again.” Her eyes are shiny and dark with worry.

  I remember my grandfather’s disappointed face as he watched the police lead me out of a holding cell two and a half years ago. “I know. Believe me, I know.”

  “I know you do. But for real, text me if you need backup. Or diversionary measures.”

  “I will.” I pop the door handle.

  “Oh, wait! One more thing!”

  I’m going to throttle her. “Stop stalling.”

  “This is helpful,” Cass promises as she roots around in her back seat. She pulls free a pink flat-brim hat with GRRL stitched on the front in white block letters.

  I look at the hat. I look at Cass. I look back at the hat. I blink a few times.

  Cass huffs, “It’s for your hair, you idiot. Put it in a bun and tuck it under the hat. If you have to run and someone sees you, it won’t be hard to figure out who the fleeing redhead is.”

  “Fine.” I snatch the hat from her and do as she says. “How do I look?”

  “You don’t want me to answer that.”

  “Right. I’m leaving. Pull up closer as soon as I’m clear.” I open the car door and climb out.

  “Don’t get arrested,” Cass calls after me. Our version of “Good luck.”

  I walk down the road, scanning the houses for a good mark. One has all its lights out. I sneak along the side into their yard and cut across the backs of houses in the direction of Ava’s place.

  It’s noon, but the clouds are already dark and heavy. We’re going to get one of those bitter winter rainstorms tonigh
t. It’ll be miserable later, but for now it’s exactly what I need. I stick to the shadows. If I get caught, Richmond will make sure I can’t get within a million yards of this case again, and that’ll be the end of the story. No answers. No justice.

  One yard has those little white flags that mark the boundary of an electric fence. I reach into my backpack to arm myself. Sure enough, a golden retriever trots over a moment later, but he’s easily bribed by my fistful of treats. Rover licks my palm clean, and I continue on my way.

  I always wanted a dog. I asked once, but Gramps gave me this look and said maybe, if I were home to walk it more often. I didn’t ask again. He had a point.

  I reach Ava’s backyard and pull my gloves out of my bag. Soft, supple black leather, specially fitted to my hands for maximum dexterity. They were a gift from my grandfather last Christmas.

  This morning, he gave me a knowing look and said, “Chilly weather forecasted today. Make sure you’ve packed your gloves.” I read the subtext loud and clear. No matter how scared he is of where this case could go, I might as well be careful.

  There’s a police sticker across the seam of the McQueens’ back door. If anyone enters the scene, the sticker will break and the police will know. I pull out a razor blade and set to work peeling up the edges, then try the doorknob. Locked, but that’s okay. It’s a basic knob lock. I have a set of picks in my bag, but these locks are so easy it’s not even worth unpacking them. I always keep an emergency bobby pin in my back pocket, and with a few shimmies and twists, the door pops right open.

  Inside, I take careful steps, peering around corners as I go. As I move through the darkened house, my brain is blissfully silent for the first time all day.

  I haven’t been here since last summer, but my feet follow the familiar path up the stairs to Ava’s bedroom. It looks pretty much the same as I remember it. String lights crisscross the ceiling. Her bass guitar, with its sparkly butterfly sticker on the body, is propped in one corner. One wall is a collage of concert tickets, sketches, and Polaroids of Ava and her friends. There’s a new poster over her bed: young Angela Davis, walking into a courtroom with her fist raised in the air.

  I step through the doorway, and the lingering smell of Ava’s woodsy perfume makes my pupils dilate.

  I stop. Close my eyes. Count to five. I don’t know how long I have in here. I can’t get hung up on emotional stuff right now.

  I stand in the center of the room and turn in a slow circle. There’s a ruffled look to the place—the cops have already conducted their search. Still, a bunch of middle-aged men searching a girl’s bedroom? There’s no way they got everything.

  In Ava’s closet, I search through pockets and up all the sleeves. I fight to keep my head blank. Clinical. Don’t think about Ava wearing that flannel shirt, or the dress with the cutouts.

  An egg-yolk-yellow halter top makes me pause. I remember the feel of it underneath my hands, the way the warmth of her back radiated through the silk.

  Ava was my first kiss. From a girl, I mean. This was in ninth grade, way before our almost relationship last summer. Lucy was killed that September. I was arrested in October, and murmurs of “freak” and “psycho” had started to follow me through the halls at school. Cass convinced me to go to some stupid party, where Elle Dorsey called me an attention-seeking creep. I went outside for fresh air, and Ava followed.

  I was surprised. Ava was a year older than me, beyond intimidating, and cute as hell. She flashed me one quick, unsteady smile, like maybe she was as nervous as I was. It was such a bewildering thought that at first I didn’t react when she kissed me.

  I already knew I was bi at that point. The kiss didn’t bring on some kind of divine revelation or anything. But it was the first time I kissed someone I truly, desperately wanted.

  She pulled me close by the belt loop of my jeans. Her mouth was cold with the tang of stolen vodka, and the skin behind her ear was warm with the scent of her perfume, like trees and campfires. I had kissed two boys before that, but this was different, or better, or scarier. I felt like I was all chin and teeth, but then Ava sighed a little into my mouth and suddenly I figured out how to really kiss.

  Ava pulled back first. All of my blood had pooled in my face, in my lips.

  She curled one strand of my hair around her finger and said, “Don’t let the assholes get you down.” She went inside, looking back once before she slipped through the glass doors.

  I let out a slow breath and slide the yellow silk halter to the right. The rest of her closet doesn’t yield much besides a lipstick and a crumpled five in one coat pocket.

  After the kiss, Ava waited for me to come to her. She kept looking at me in class with that little secret smile. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted it so much. But every day my life fell apart a little more.

  Mom left for Germany a week after the party. I hated that it hurt, but it did. Olive stopped speaking to me, at least for a while. My court date got scheduled. With Mom gone, Cass was the one who helped me figure out what to wear. Gramps baked cake after cake and couldn’t meet my eyes. I didn’t say anything to Ava.

  Kids in school thought I was weird. Scary. I’d never had a ton of friends, but there had been the usual crowd I ate lunch with and sat next to in class. Suddenly they didn’t want to talk to me, didn’t want to hear me go over my obsessive conspiracy theories yet again. But some people started bringing me cases to solve. They heard what I did for Lucy, and even though Matt Caine never got arrested, never paid for what he did, they all knew that I was right. I threw myself into the work, glad to tackle cheating boyfriends and stolen laptops if it meant I could ignore the dumpster fire of my life.

  And then one day I came out of a bathroom stall after fifth period, and Ava was leaning against the sink.

  “Look, are we ever going to talk about it?” She picked at her black nail polish like she didn’t much care about my answer. All I wanted to do was wash my hands.

  “You’re avoiding me,” she said. “And I don’t do well with being ignored.” She slanted me one of those smiles that always made my belly button feel too tight.

  I could have moved closer. I could have pressed her up against the sink. I could have told her I’d been wanting to kiss her again ever since she pulled away that night at the party.

  Instead I stepped to the side and used the other sink. “I don’t have time for that stuff right now.” I kept my eyes fixed on the lukewarm water running over my hands. After a moment, she brushed past me out the door.

  I need to get it together.

  I try the dresser. If you have something to hide, a false bottom is easy enough to rig up. I rummage through Ava’s clothes and feel along the base of each drawer, but there are no telltale lumps or loose contact paper.

  The incident in the bathroom was the last time I really spoke to Ava for a year and a half. It was Lainie’s plagiarism case that broke the dam. After our kiss in the darkroom, we spent half the summer curled up in my bed or hers, laughing and making out and not talking about anything too difficult. I thought maybe I would finally get it right with her, but I couldn’t quite figure out if she was my girlfriend or just someone I made out with a lot. I came home from my trip to visit Mom determined to settle the question once and for all. I must have sent Ava a million texts after I got back, every one of them unanswered.

  The first week back at school, I found her outside the chem lab. Her eyes darted to the left, like she was thinking about walking around me but then decided against it.

  “So, are we taking turns avoiding each other?” I joked awkwardly.

  She didn’t laugh. Didn’t give me that slanted smile. “I can’t, Flora. I’m really busy. I don’t have the time right now.”

  I don’t think she turned my words back on me to be cruel, but it hurt anyway. She did look at me then. A sad look, desperate to get out of an uncomfortable encounter. I stepped aside and let her go.

  It made sense. It had always seemed a little too weird that someone as cool, as b
eautiful, as together as Ava could want me. After all, no one else did. Ava was my first kiss from a girl, but she was also my last kiss from anyone ever, if you want to get real particular about it. Being a sixteen-year-old detective is a highly effective mode of contraception. Not as many people have Nancy Drew kinks as one would think.

  I thought I scared Ava off, just like everyone else, but maybe there was something bigger going on. According to Lainie, Ava believed in the work I do. I can’t let her down. And that means I need to put all these stupid, useless memories in a box and seal it shut.

  I close the last drawer in her dresser and rock back on my heels. My gaze lands on the desk. I open the first drawer and find a big stack of papers; the sheet on top is a history quiz, dated last October. The papers are creased, like someone already shuffled through them and decided there was nothing worthwhile.

  Maybe the cops missed something? I’m about to flip through the stack when my phone buzzes in my coat pocket.

  Shit.

  I pull it out. Cass’s name flashes on the screen.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Someone’s coming.

  What are my options? It’s too risky to run. I could end up halfway out the back door right as the cops walk into the kitchen.

  Downstairs, the front door creaks open.

  Heavy footsteps on the stairs, then male voices. “What did they say on the phone?”

  “Richmond says there was a page missing from a diary. She wants us to check the girl’s room.”

  Don’t panic. Don’t panic. My eyes land on Ava’s bathroom door.

  No time to shut it behind me. I step right into the bathtub, yank the curtain in place, and lie down. I’ve got Ava’s papers clutched to my chest and one hand over my mouth to muffle my frantic breathing. This is a ridiculous situation, but I’m too terrified to find it funny yet. My pulse rabbits away in my chest, loud enough that I swear it echoes off all the hard surfaces of the bathroom.

  The voices are at the landing. “Richmond thinks an awful lot of herself, making us do her grunt work,” one of them says.

  “Wouldn’t mind her doing a little grunting for me,” the other replies. His partner laughs.