by Diana Urban
“Sorry, do you need to lie down?”
I glanced at the floor. “Why?”
“I didn’t realize you were recovering from spine removal surgery.”
I scowled at him. “Well, what else was I supposed to do—”
Someone swung open the door to the hall and clopped up the stairs. I mouthed, Put that thing out, pointing frantically at Scott’s joint. He squished the tip between his fingers and put it in his pocket, but the stairwell reeked of pot. When the stairwell door slammed upstairs, I scrambled to my feet and slung my bag over my shoulder. “I’m leaving. Whoever that was might tell a teacher what they smelled.”
He patted his pocket. “Geez, you need this stuff more than I do.” He grinned. “Wanna buy some? I give discounts for newbs.”
“No! Ugh.” I headed for the door.
“Wait.” Scott climbed to his feet. I hadn’t noticed his bloodshot eyes before.
I swatted at the wisps of smoke lingering in the air. “What is it?”
“I just wanna say . . . I think you’re giving that girl too much power.”
I tilted my head. “No, I’m not . . .”
“You are. It’s not just you, though. We all do it.” He screwed up his face and shook off some thought. “I mean, c’mon, Red, think about it. Did you even talk to the rest of the drama club about their bizarre ask?”
My eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what do you mean?”
He guffawed. “They really think it’s a good idea to turn Juliet’s suicide monologue into a song? Who the hell breaks into song before offing themselves?”
When Sasha asked me to compose those singing numbers, I panicked, agreeing right away for fear that all my hard work the past few months would be for nothing. But maybe I should have asked to join a drama club meeting. “Wow, you’re right. I should have tried to talk them out of it.” I pressed a palm to my forehead. “But it’s probably too late now.”
Scott leaned back against the opposite wall, watching me with glassy eyes, a smile creeping across his lips. “Nah. You still don’t get it.”
“Well, what do you mean, then? I caved to them quickly. Sure. I get that. Next time they ask for something dumb, I’ll meet with them and convince them there’s a better solution—” I paused when Scott slapped his knee, hooting. “What is it?”
“Poor innocent little Amber Prescott. Red, you have no idea how the world really works, do you?” He hunched over, laughing like he’d just heard the most hilarious joke on the planet.
“Oh my God. You’re high as a kite, aren’t you?”
He more lolled his head than nodded, zoning out toward the wall behind me. “Well, yeah. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re naïve as a pebble.”
I crossed my arms. “That’s not an expression. So what am I so naïve about? Care to enlighten me?”
He chuckled, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “I already told you, Red. What Sasha wants, Sasha gets.”
God, this was so frustrating. He was talking in circles. “Will you stop speaking in code? If there’s something I’m missing, just tell me. It’s not even what Sasha wanted—”
“Eh? Eh?” He pointed at my face, almost touching my cheek, and I swatted him away.
“Oh my God, what the hell is wrong with you?”
But he just laughed. “Looks like Sasha has more than one dirty little secret.”
The way he said it sent a chill down my spine.
Sasha was the queen of everything, but she’d been nothing but kind to me—befriending me without question, helping me with the play, setting me up with her best friend. Still, I knew she wasn’t as perfect as she let on. She was guilty of underage drinking, and on school grounds—but so was I. She cheated on that bio exam Priya stole the answers to—but I helped Priya get away with it. As far as I’d seen, Sasha hadn’t done much worse than I was willing to do. So what was I missing? Was Sasha in some kind of trouble? Or was she hiding something from me? Had I been wrong to trust her so implicitly?
I prodded Scott’s arm. “What’s her other secret, then?”
He grinned. “I can’t just tell you. Otherwise she’ll know I blabbed. You’ll need to catch her in the act.”
“But I don’t even know what it is. How can I catch her?”
“I dunno yet.” He seemed to be having trouble focusing. “I don’t know when the next time will be. When I do, I’ll text you.” Without another word, he strolled into the hallway, leaving me more confused than ever. What “dirty little secret” could Sasha Harris possibly have?
35 Minutes Left
Everyone gaped at Scott like a herd of gazelles that spotted a tiger ready to pounce. His words echoed in my brain. Maybe Becky thought I’d be the one psycho enough to kill one of you.
Scott was the outsider. The outlier. And he was arguably a little off-kilter. But did that make him a potential killer? No. It didn’t.
“Why would you say that?” I asked, my voice strained.
“One of these things is not like the others,” Scott said in a singsong voice, motioning to one of us with each syllable. But his grin dissolved as he took in everyone’s wide-eyed looks of fear.
“Just because you’re kind of an outcast doesn’t make you a psychopath,” I said.
“He’s not just an outcast,” said Robbie.
“Oh, right, I forgot.” Scott narrowed his eyes at Robbie. “To you pretentious assholes, I’m nothing but a stoner. A drug dealer—”
Before he could say anything else, Sasha suddenly lunged toward the table and swept up the syringe. “Sasha!” I screamed. “What the hell are you doing?”
She clenched the syringe in her fist, angling it toward Scott. “I’m protecting us. He’s dangerous. That’s why he’s here. He’d kill one of us.” Her hair tumbled wildly over her shoulders. A few stray strands were matted across her forehead.
“Holy shit. I was kidding.” Scott raised his hands and pressed himself back against the wall, his face contorting with pain.
“Why the hell would you kid around about something like that?” she screeched. “Are you insane? That just proves you’re crazy enough to kill us all.”
Diego tilted his head. “Does it, though?”
“I can’t even stand right now!” Scott shouted, breathing hard. Beads of sweat dropped from his chin onto his shirt. “You’re the one pointing that toxic shit at me. You’re not exactly in a position to question anyone else’s sanity.”
“Oh, no. Don’t you turn this around on me. You’re the one who’s messed up in the head. You’ve probably blasted your brain cells with weed and God knows what else.”
“Sasha.” I inched toward her. “Put the syringe down. Scott wouldn’t hurt us.”
“How can you be sure of that?” She stepped away from me, shaking her head, fighting back tears. “Why do you trust him?”
Scott stared at the syringe in Sasha’s grip, a grimace etched on his face. “Why don’t you trust me?” he cried. “You of all people have every reason in the world to trust me!”
Robbie frowned. “What’re you talking about?”
“I don’t know. He’s nuts.” Sasha’s eyes flicked to Robbie again. “Maybe . . . maybe he should be the one we choose.”
“What?” Priya cried.
Sasha’s eyes brimmed with tears. “If we have to do this . . . if we have to choose someone to kill . . . it should be him.”
I shook my head, repulsed that she would suggest killing Scott—especially because I knew why. And it wasn’t because he was dangerous.
“Fine, I shouldn’t have cracked that joke.” Scott’s hands were trembling. “I was just throwing out a wild theory for why Becky or whoever would have invited me. But I have no clue why I was really invited, I swear.”
A tear trailed down Sasha’s cheek. “I don’t believe you.” She moved closer to Scott, each footstep like an explosion in my ears. Nobody dared move an inch. But Scott wasn’t the psychopath Sasha was painting him as. He only knew her “dirty little secret.”
Maybe she wasn’t just crying at the thought of killing Scott—she was also terrified he’d spill the beans.
“What is it?” Robbie asked, noticing my expression.
But I ignored him and approached Sasha. “Killing him won’t fix this.”
Sasha’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?” She licked her lips. “I don’t want to have to do this. But if it’s the only way out . . . killing him will stop the timer. It’ll get us out of here—”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Killing him won’t bury your secret . . . because I know it, too.”
3 Months, 3 Weeks Ago
OCTOBER OF SENIOR YEAR
“Mike’s Diner okay?” I secured my seat belt, my stomach grumbling at the prospect of a milk shake. Robbie had an hour to kill before his baseball game since the opposing team was stuck in traffic, so he promised me a quick dinner date.
“I’m not really hungry, are you?” Robbie put the key in the ignition without turning it, his eyes lingering on mine.
I shrugged. “Well . . . I guess not. We can sit here and talk for a while.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Sure. Let’s talk.” He trailed his fingers over the back of my hand, sending shivers to the base of my spine. I knew where this was going. Lately we spent most of our dates huddled in his SUV. I’m not going to lie; I enjoyed our make-out sessions immensely, so that was fine by me. But I wasn’t ready to go any further—especially not in the middle of the school parking lot.
Not that we hadn’t come close before. He’d cup my face in his hands, and start each kiss so softly, so carefully, like I was some prized treasure he wanted to protect. Then he’d run his hand under my shirt, his skin hot against mine, and it was hard not to melt into him completely. But sex was a big deal. I was terrified to give myself so completely to another person . . . no matter how fiercely my nerve endings tingled at his touch. I’d never so much as kissed another boy before Robbie. I just wasn’t ready yet.
I clasped his roaming fingers, holding them still as my heart pounded in my chest. “So there’s something I’ve been curious about.”
“What do you call a curious musician?”
I grinned, and as I mulled it over, he brought my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers one by one. Finally, I said, “I don’t know, what?”
“An in-choiring mind.”
I shoved his chest. “Oh my God, that’s terrible.” But I laughed anyway as he cracked up. “No, but seriously.”
“Yeah?”
“If you suddenly couldn’t play baseball anymore, for whatever reason, what would you do instead after you graduate?” Now that college applications were looming, and he still hadn’t been recruited to a college baseball team, I was curious what he had in mind as a fallback plan. Maybe he could apply to some schools in Southern California. “You know, for a career?”
“Ugh.” He furrowed his brow. “To be honest, I don’t know. Baseball’s been it for me, you know?” He ran his fingers along my neck, leaning closer. “I can’t think of anything else I love as much.”
“Why do you love it so much?” I prodded. Maybe some elements would translate to another field.
He grinned. “Ah, man. Where do I even start? I love the anticipation of each pitch. The tension released at every swing of the bat. The smell of the grass on the field. I love how it’s a game of inches, how hitting the ball in a slightly different spot can change the course of an entire game. I love the precision of it, you know?” My mind whirred. Maybe math? Or physics? “But also how sometimes when everything goes right, like when you end the game with a walk-off homer, or when everyone’s in sync with base hit after base hit, it seems like fate. Or destiny.” Wow. I never knew he could be so poetic. “I dunno. It’s hard to explain.”
I smiled. “You’re doing a pretty good job.”
“Yeah?” Without warning, he unclipped my seat belt and tugged me toward him by one of my belt loops, so I was sitting on his lap. “I can think of something else I’m pretty good at, too.” He brushed back my hair with one hand and cradled my cheek with the other, bringing his lips to mine.
If he was implying he was a good kisser, he was one hundred and fifty percent correct.
Robbie’s phone suddenly blinged, jolting us back to reality. I disentangled myself from him and slumped back in my seat as he dug his phone from his pocket. “Um . . .” He furrowed his brow at his screen. “It’s your mom. ‘Is Amber with you? Is she okay? Please reply ASAP.’”
“Oh, shit.” I fished my own phone from my purse. I was supposed to text to let her know we got to Mike’s Diner, but we’d never left the parking lot. Sure enough, I’d missed a few calls from her and about fifteen texts, which devolved from a basic check-in to about a bajillion red angry face emojis. I unsilenced my phone and let out an annoyed huff—she’d promised she’d only use Robbie’s number in an emergency, and this definitely did not classify as an emergency.
As I rattled off a reply to let her know I was fine, a new text popped up. It was from Scott. Back door, junior wing. Outside. 10 minutes.
I sat up straight. It had been two weeks since Scott hinted at Sasha’s secret, and I still had no idea what it was. Curious and concerned, both for Sasha and the trust I’d placed in her, I’d texted Scott every day since, prodding him to tell me her secret, but all he’d text back was either the joy or wink emoji. But it seemed he was finally ready to show me whatever it was, and I was lucky I was still on school grounds. I had to go see.
“I’m sorry, I have to go.”
Robbie groaned. “Well, I can drive you home.”
“No, that’s okay . . . I biked in.”
“Alright.” We got out of the car and headed toward the school. Robbie entwined his fingers with mine. “You sure you can’t come to the game?”
“Sasha’s coming over in a bit. She’s freaking out about the SATs on Saturday.”
He rolled his eyes. “She would be. Uh . . . bike rack’s over there?” He pointed toward the bike rack we just passed.
“Oh, I—I have to use the bathroom first.” My cheeks flamed, but he didn’t question me. After crossing the vestibule, I gave Robbie a peck on the lips. “Good luck tonight. Or break a leg?”
“Luck works.” He waved and headed toward the boys’ locker room. Once he disappeared around the corner, I jogged through the deserted halls toward the junior wing, past empty classrooms to the back door. I inched it open and peeked outside. The floodlights lit up the baseball field in the distance, casting a lavender glow on the dusky sky, but the closer football field was deserted. There was no sign of Sasha.
“Hey, Amber!” someone called behind me. I let go of the door and whirled. Oh, God. It was Diego. He carried a large tripod, and a camera dangled from his neck. “Heading to the game?” He adjusted his camera strap as he approached, his dark hair falling over his eyes.
“No, not tonight.” I glanced down the hall, but there was no sign of Sasha. “You?”
“Yep. I’m filming this one. Need to create a montage for the County League’s website.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “You have time for that kind of thing?”
He nodded. “No.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, and his copper eyes sparkled.
“It’s fun, so I make time,” he said. I wasn’t surprised—years ago he’d made these viral videos for SpongeClown that helped it take off. Resentment clenched at my gut, and my smile withered away. “But I clearly chose the wrong game to film. The other team’s still a half hour away. So what’re you doing here so late?”
“Nothing. I mean, I was . . . studying.” Dammit, I was a crap liar. But I didn’t have time for this—I couldn’t miss whatever was about to go down outside. “Anyway, I need to get going.” I swung the door open again, but he followed me outside.
“You parked in the commuter lot, too?” He motioned to the path leading up the hill.
“Um . . . no.”
“Okaaay.” He tilted his head, probably thinki
ng I was a total nimrod. Couldn’t he just leave? I cringed against the frigid air seeping through my leggings—it was freezing for October. Was Scott planning to meet me here? Or did he only know where Sasha would be? The bleachers were still empty, and only a few players tossed around balls on the field. Scott must have been mistaken.
Or maybe I was too early.
“Oh, I just remembered, I forgot something in my locker. I’ll see you later—” I tried to open the door and return to the warm hallway, but it had automatically locked behind us. “Ah, crap.”
Diego laughed. “You seem to have a problem with doors, don’t you?”
I grimaced. “God, can’t you just—” I pinched my lips, stopping myself from saying something I’d regret. “I’ll go around front. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
He shrugged. “Okay, then.” I bit my lip as he climbed the hill toward the commuter lot. Why did he always show up at the most inopportune moment? It was almost like he was looking to bust me for something.
Or maybe he was just looking for a chance to talk to me, just like before the winter ball. Maybe he really did want to be friendly again.
Ignoring the fluttering sensation in my stomach, I glanced around, but there was nothing to see. Maybe I was actually too late. Dammit.
A couple of pigeons darted out of the way as I trudged through the mud past the bleachers toward the front of the school, getting muck all over my boots. Suddenly I caught movement under the bleachers.
I gasped as Sasha ducked through the side frame of the bleachers, still in her gym clothes from cheerleading practice. She started toward the school, and when she spotted me, her eyes widened. She darted over and grabbed my forearm. “Shit, hi. What’re you doing here?” She smacked her forehead. “I didn’t tell you drama club was meeting tonight, did I?”
“No.” I’d wanted to go to last Friday’s meeting, but Sasha told me it started at four when it really started at three, so I’d missed it. She was so busy lately, she couldn’t keep her schedule straight. “I was just with Robbie . . . what were you doing back there, anyway?” I twisted toward the bleachers in time to see Scott climb out, too. He wore his usual leather jacket, his dark curly hair poking out from under a black beanie. He winked at me and fished a box of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. “Holy shit, Sasha. Were you hooking up with Scott?”
