My locker was cleaned and repainted by lunchtime on Friday, like nothing ever happened. But I’ve felt exposed ever since, the back of my neck prickling when I think about the fact that someone, somewhere went to a lot of trouble to add my name to that court. I told Viv that I didn’t think the vandal and Lacey’s murderer are the same person, and objectively, that still makes sense. Subjectively, though, the whole thing makes me sick.
Ezra looks dubious. “How does somebody rig votes?”
“By hacking the app. It wouldn’t be hard.”
He cocks his head, considering. “That seems extreme.”
“Oh, and bloody Barbie dolls are restrained?”
“Touché.” Ezra drums his fingers on the table. “So what, then? You think Lacey and Sarah are connected, too?”
“I don’t know. It seems unlikely, doesn’t it? They happened almost twenty years apart. But somebody’s threading all these things together, and there has to be a reason why.”
Ezra doesn’t say anything else, but takes Sadie’s yearbook from the bottom of the pile and opens it. I pull Lacey’s closer to me and flip through the junior class pictures until I reach the Ks. They’re all there, the names I’ve been hearing since I got to Echo Ridge: Declan Kelly, Lacey Kilduff, and Daisy Kwon.
I’ve seen Lacey before in news stories, but not Daisy. She shares a few features with Mia, but she’s much more conventionally pretty. Preppy, even, with a headband holding back her shiny, pin-straight hair. Declan Kelly reminds me of Malcolm on steroids; he’s almost aggressively handsome, with piercing, dark-fringed eyes and a cleft in his chin. All three of them look like the kind of teenagers you’d find on a CW show—too beautiful to be real.
The R section is a lot less glam. Officer Ryan Rodriguez’s high-school-junior self is an unfortunate combination of prominent Adam’s apple, acne, and bad haircut. He’s improved since then, though, so good for him. I turn the yearbook around to show Ezra. “Here’s our neighbor.”
Ezra glances at Officer Rodriguez’s photo without much interest. “Nana mentioned him this morning. She’s got some cardboard boxes she wants us to bring over. She says he sold the house? Or he’s going to sell the house. Anyway, he’s packing stuff up.”
I straighten in my chair. “He’s leaving town?”
He shrugs. “She didn’t say that. Just that the house was too big for one person, now that his dad’s dead. Maybe he’s getting an apartment nearby or something.”
I turn the yearbook back toward me and flip the page. The club and candid photo section comes after class pictures. Lacey was part of almost everything—soccer, tennis, student council, and choir, to name just a few. Declan mostly played football, it looks like, and was a good-enough quarterback that the team won a state championship that year. The last photo in the junior section is of the entire class, posing in front of Echo Ridge Lake during their year-end picnic.
I pick Lacey out right away—she’s dead center, laughing, her hair blowing in the wind. Declan’s behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist, his head tucked into her shoulder. Daisy stands beside them looking startled, as though she wasn’t ready for the shot. And on the far edge of the group is gangly Ryan Rodriguez, standing stiffly apart from everyone else. It’s not his awkward pose that catches my eye, though. The camera caught him staring straight at Lacey—with an expression of such intense longing that he almost looks angry.
He probably had a crush, Sadie said. Lacey was a beauty.
I study the three faces: Declan, Daisy, and Ryan. One who never left—until now, maybe—and two who returned. Malcolm doesn’t know where Declan is staying, but Mia’s mentioned more than once that her sister is back in her old room. What had Mia said about Daisy during Thursday’s assembly, again? Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.
Ezra spins the yearbook he’s been studying around so that it’s facing me, and slides it across the table. “Is this what you wanted to see?”
A girl with a cloud of curly dark hair is at the top of the page, her smile so bright it’s almost blinding. My mother, twenty-three years ago. Except the name under the picture reads Sarah Corcoran. I blink at it a couple of times; in my mind, Sarah’s always been the serious, almost somber twin. I don’t recognize this version. I flip to the previous page and see Sadie’s picture at the bottom. It’s identical, right down to the head tilt and the smile. The only difference is the color of their sweaters.
The pictures were taken their senior year, probably in September. A few weeks later, shortly after Sadie was crowned homecoming queen, Sarah was gone.
I close the book as a wave of exhaustion hits me. “I don’t know,” I admit, stretching and turning toward a row of tiny windows on the far wall that sends squares of sunlight across the hardwood floor. “When do we have to be at work, again?”
Ezra glances at his phone. “In about an hour.”
“Should we stop by Mia’s and see if she’s working today?”
“She’s not,” Ezra says.
“Should we stop by Mia’s and see if she’s working today?” I repeat.
Ezra blinks in confusion, then shakes his head like he’s just waking up. “Oh, sorry. Are you suggesting a reconnaissance mission?”
“I wouldn’t mind meeting the mysterious Daisy,” I tell him.
“Roger that,” Ezra says. He gestures to the stack of yearbooks between us. “Are you gonna check any of these out?”
“No, I’m just— Hang on.” I pull out my phone and snap a few photos of the yearbook pictures we’ve just been looking at. Ezra watches me with a bemused expression.
“What are you going to do with those?” he asks.
“Documenting our research,” I say. I don’t know if this morning will turn out to be worth anything, but at least it feels productive.
When I finish, we each take an armful of yearbooks and return them to the Reference section. I throw our empty coffee cups into a recycling bin, which makes a much louder noise than I expected. The sleeping librarian startles and blinks at us with watery, unfocused eyes as we pass her desk.
“Can I help you?” she yawns, feeling around for the glasses looped on a chain around her neck.
“No thanks, all set,” I say, nudging Ezra to walk faster so we can exit before she recognizes us and we have to spend fifteen minutes making polite conversation about California. We push through the library’s front door into bright sunshine, and descend wide steps to the sidewalk.
Ezra and I walked home from school with Mia a couple of days ago, and she’s only a block from the library. The Kwons’ house is unusual for Echo Ridge: a modern, boxy construction set on a large expanse of lawn. A stone path connects from the sidewalk to the front stairs, and we’re halfway across it when a gray Nissan pulls into the driveway.
The driver’s side window is half down, framing a girl with long dark hair who’s gripping the steering wheel like it’s a life preserver. Oversized sunglasses cover half her face, but I can see enough to tell that it’s Daisy. Ezra raises his hand, about to call a greeting, then lowers it as Daisy lifts a phone to her ear.
“I don’t think she sees us,” I say, glancing between the car and the front door. “Maybe we should just ring the bell.”
Before we can move, Daisy drops her phone, crosses her arms over the steering wheel, and lowers her head onto them. Her shoulders start to shake, and Ezra and I exchange uneasy glances. We stand there for what feels like ten minutes, although it’s probably less than one, before Ezra take a tentative step forward. “Do you think we should, um…”
He trails off as Daisy suddenly raises her head with a strangled little scream and slams her hands, hard, on either side of the steering wheel. She whips off her sunglasses and runs her hands over her eyes like she’s trying to erase any trace of tears, then shoves the glasses back on. She throws the car into reverse and starts to back up, stopping when s
he looks out the window and catches sight of us.
Ezra offers the sheepish half wave of someone who knows he just accidentally observed a private moment. Daisy’s only indication that she sees him is to roll up her window before she backs out of the driveway and leaves in the direction she came from.
“Well, you wanted to meet the mysterious Daisy,” Ezra says, watching her taillights disappear around a bend. “There she goes.”
MALCOLM
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 26
When I poke my head into Mia’s room, she’s wedged in against a small mountain of pillows on her bed, her MacBook propped on her lap. She has her earbuds in, nodding along to whatever’s playing, and I have to rap on the door twice before she hears me. “Hey,” she says too loudly before unplugging. “Practice over already?”
“It’s past four.” My one and only activity at Echo Ridge High—which is one more than Mia’s ever signed up for—is band. Mr. Bowman got me into it in ninth grade when he suggested I take drum lessons, and I’ve been doing it ever since.
It’s not the same without him. The woman who took over isn’t half as funny as he was, and she’s got us doing the same old crap from last year. I’m not sure I’ll stick it out. But tomorrow night we’re playing at a pep rally, and I have a solo that nobody else knows.
Mia stretches her arms over her head. “I didn’t notice. I was just about to text you, though.” She shuts her laptop and puts it aside, swinging her legs off the bed and onto the floor. “Freaking Viv’s most cherished dream has come true. The Burlington Free Press picked up her story about the vandalism, and now they’re covering it along with a five-year anniversary piece on Lacey. A reporter called a little while ago, trying to get hold of Daisy.”
My stomach flops like a dying fish. “Shit.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. The Homecoming Stalker—so named by the Echo Ridge Eagle student newspaper—has been busy. He, or she, left a bloody mess of raw meat on the hood of Brooke’s car Monday, which made her gag when she saw it. Ellery got off comparatively easy a day later, with a spray paint job on the side of Armstrong’s Auto Repair that reads CORCORANS MAKE KILLER QUEENS.
Yesterday was Katrin’s turn. On the street where Mr. Bowman died, in the corner that’s turned into a makeshift memorial with flowers and stuffed animals, someone added an oversized print of Katrin’s class picture with the eyes gouged out and an RIP date of October 5—next weekend’s homecoming dance. When Peter found out about it, he got as close to losing his shit as I’ve ever seen him. He wanted homecoming canceled, and Katrin barely talked him out of calling Principal Slate. This morning, we got a homeroom announcement reminding us to report anything suspicious to a teacher. But so far, homecoming is still on.
Mia grabs a black studded sweatshirt from the back of her desk chair. “You didn’t hear anything from Declan about it? I figured the reporter must have tried to reach him, too.”
“No.” Declan finally answered my texts over the weekend to tell me he was back in New Hampshire. Other than that, we haven’t spoken since we met in Bukowski’s Tavern. I still don’t know what he was doing here, or where he was staying.
“Daisy’s been holed up in her room ever since the call came in,” Mia says, yanking the sweatshirt over her head. The fabric muffles her voice as she adds, “Not that there’s anything unusual about that.”
“You still want to go to Bartley’s for dinner?” I ask. Dr. and Mr. Kwon both work late on Thursdays, and Peter and my mother have date night, so Mia and I are heading for Echo Ridge’s only restaurant. “I have Mom’s car, so we don’t have to walk.”
“Yeah, definitely. I need to get out of this house. Also, I invited the twins, so they’re expecting us. I told them five, though. We can hang out and have coffee till then.” She stuffs her keys into her pocket and heads for the door, hesitating as she reaches the hallway. “I’m just gonna check…” She backtracks a few steps to a closed door across from her bedroom, and raps on the frame. “Daisy?” No answer, so Mia knocks harder. “Daze?”
“What?” comes a quiet voice.
“Me and Malcolm are getting dinner at Bartley’s. Do you want to come?”
“No thanks. I have a headache.”
“You might feel better after you have some food.”
Daisy’s tone hardens. “I said no, Mia. I’m in for the night.”
Mia’s lip quivers a little before she scowls. “Fine,” she mutters, turning away. “I don’t know why I bother. Let the parents worry about her.” She stalks down the stairs like she can’t wait to get out of the house. Mia and I both think the other has it better, homewise: I like how the Kwons’ place is bright and modern, and her parents talk to us like we actually have a clue what’s going on in the world; she likes the fact that Peter and my mother barely pay attention to anything I do. The Kwons always wanted Mia to be more like Daisy—sweet, studious, and popular. The kind of person who can be counted on to say and do all the right things. Until, all of a sudden, she didn’t.
“What do your parents think?” I ask Mia as we step outside and into the driveway.
Mia kicks a stray rock. “Who knows. In front of me they just say, Oh, your sister was working too hard, she needed a break. But they’re having all these tense conversations in their room with the door closed.”
We get into my mother’s car and buckle in. “Tense how?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Mia admits. “I try to listen, but I can’t catch anything except tone.”
I back out of the Kwons’ driveway and into the road, but haven’t gone far when my phone vibrates in my pocket. “Hang on,” I say, pulling off to the side. “I want to make sure that’s not Declan.” I shift the car into park and extract my phone, grimacing when I see the name. “Never mind. It’s Katrin.”
“What does she want?”
I frown at the screen. “She says she has a favor to ask.”
Mia grabs my arm in mock horror, eyes popping. “Don’t answer, Mal. Whatever it is, you don’t want any part of it.”
I haven’t replied, but Katrin’s still typing. Gray dots linger for so long that I wonder if she put her phone down and forgot to finish the message. Then it finally appears. Brooke just broke up with Kyle. I don’t know why, but homecoming’s next weekend and she needs a date. I was thinking you could ask her. She seems to like you. Probably just as a friend but whatever. You weren’t going to go anyway, were you? Hang on, I’ll send her number.
I show the message to Mia, who snorts. “Christ, the entitlement of that girl!” She mimics Katrin’s clipped, breezy tone. “You weren’t going to go anyway, were you?”
Another text appears from Katrin, with contact information for Brooke, and I save it automatically. Then I shrug and put my phone away. “Well, she has a point. I wasn’t.” Mia chews her lip without responding, and I raise my brows at her. “What—were you?”
“Maybe. If they still have it,” she says, and glares when I start to laugh. “Don’t give me attitude, Mal. I can go to a dance if I want to.”
“I know you can. I’m just surprised at the ‘want to’ part. You have the least school spirit of anyone I’ve ever met. I thought that was, like, a badge of honor with you.”
Mia makes a face. “Ugh, I don’t know. One of Daisy’s old friends called to say that a bunch of them are going to be chaperones for the dance, and asked if she wanted to go too. I think she was considering it, which would be the first thing she’s done besides hide in her bedroom since she came home, but then she said, Well, Mia’s not even going. So I said, Yeah I am, and now I guess I have to, and you can wipe that stupid smirk off your face anytime.”
I swallow my grin. “You’re a good sister, you know that?”
“Whatever.” She picks at the peeling black polish on her thumbnail. “Anyway, I was thinking about asking that hot girl who works at Café Luna. If she says no, Ezra i
s my friend backup.”
I frown. “Ezra is your friend backup? You’ve known him for two weeks!”
“We’ve bonded. We like all the same music. And you have no idea how nice it is to finally have a queer friend at school.”
I can’t fault her for that, I guess. Mia’s taken shit for years from guys like Kyle and Theo who think bisexual equals threesome. “You should just go with Ezra, then,” I say. “Forget the Café Luna girl. She’s pretentious.”
Mia tilts her head, considering. “Maybe. And you should go with Ellery.” She shoots me a shrewd look. “You like her, don’t you?”
“Of course I like her,” I say, aiming for a casual tone. I fail.
“Oh my God,” Mia snorts. “We’re not in fourth grade, Mal. Don’t make me ask if you like like her.” She props her boots against the glove compartment. “I don’t know what you’re waiting for. I think she likes you, too.” A lock of hair falls into her eye, and she peers into the rearview mirror to readjust the clip holding it back. Then she goes rigid, twisting in her seat to look out the back window. “What the hell?”
I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed that something distracted her. “What?”
Mia’s still staring out the window, scowling. “Where’s she going? I thought she was in for the night.” I turn to see Daisy’s gray Nissan backing out of the Kwons’ driveway, heading in the opposite direction from us. “Follow her,” Mia says abruptly. She pokes me in the arm when I don’t move right away. “Come on, Mal, please? I want to see what she’s up to. She’s such a freaking vault lately.”
“She’s probably going to buy Tylenol,” I say, but execute a three-point turn to get behind Daisy’s rapidly disappearing taillights. I’m curious, too.
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