My mom put the ancient car in gear, rolling through the parking lot and out toward the main road.
She spoke up suddenly. “As a matter of fact, this is your grandmother’s car. It’s been sitting in her garage for ages. It took me a few minutes to get it started.”
“Wait. Grandma’s car?”
I ran my palms across the smooth, faded leather seats. It was nice, a luxury car for someone in the forties or fifties.
“It’s from the fifties,” my mom said, reading my mind.
“It’s hard to imagine Grandma driving this…driving anything or anywhere…”
“Oh, Mimi was quite a showboat in her day. She had money and fame, all of it…she was beautiful and glamorous—quite the charmer, indeed.”
“Like my father?” I turned to look at her, really seeing her for the first time since she showed back up in my life. She seemed harder, worn out…but her hands around the wheel were soft, gentle. Images of her tickling behind my ears, pressing her face against mine…the images fluttered in and then they went back out…
“Yes, like your father.”
I realized then that she was pulling over, slowing down against a grassy patch on the side of Utica.
“Why are you stopping?” I asked. But she didn’t answer—just put the car in park, unbuckled her seatbelt, and turned to look at me.
“Look, I’m not going to make any promises this time…”
Oh boy, here we go again.
“But I love you, Mandy. Always have and always will. You captured my heart the day you were born. You’ve had my heart ever since. I know my actions don’t always match what’s inside, but God…I love you, Mandy. I love you so much.”
Her eyes brimmed over with tears. Surprisingly, I wanted to hug her.
I realized then how long it’d been since anyone touched me. I saw Mimi every day, but she wasn’t like a mother and I didn’t have a boyfriend to hold me…Jordan was the first guy to really hold me and when he pulled me close today, it felt so good…
But then I remembered his girlfriend, Lauren.
My mother reached across the seat, pulling me in for a hug. I let her hug me, enjoying it more than I’d like to admit.
“Tell me what’s going on at school,” she said, finally pulling away and looking straight into my face. She looked serious, worried. “Do I need to take you out of that school?”
“Mom, you don’t even take me to school. How are going to take me out? I don’t think you’ve earned the right to tell me when I can and can’t go to high school.”
“Okay. You’re right. I deserve that. But how can I help? I don’t want you to be scared anymore. I might not be good for much, but I’d like to think I’m a good listener. Will you talk to me, honey? Please?”
I looked at my mother, wishing—not for the first time—that she could always act this way, the way she did when she was at her best, sober.
I chewed my bottom lip, thinking about Genevieve and what happened to Brittani.
So, I told her. Everything. About the psychopath last year. About Jordan and his girlfriend. About never fitting in and being odd woman out with Dakota and Sydney. I talked about Genevieve, what it was like when I found her…and I filled her in on the attack against Brittani.
It felt good laying it all out. Letting someone else deal with my problems for once.
***
After that, she took me back to Grandma Mimi’s. I expected our “moment” to be over, but instead she ordered pizza and suggested we spend the whole weekend together.
“Having girl time,” as she called it.
I felt lost without my iPhone. But there was a part of me—a very prominent part—that felt relieved to be cut off from the world. Even if I could call someone, who would it be? And did I really want to talk to them?
No, I decided. Having my mother in the house brought new life to Grandma Mimi too. She dusted off the china, took down three champagne glasses, and put on her favorite black flapper dress.
She and Mom made this seafood Cajun pasta that was unlike anything I’d eaten, with fat peppery jumbo shrimp and creamy pasta with spices I couldn’t identify.
I watched the two of them gliding through the kitchen, performing a graceful dance they’d mastered long ago. Mimi isn’t my mother’s mother, but you couldn’t tell it from watching them side by side. It seemed strange to see them mesh so well together. I guess they both loved my father at one point; their failures meshing together, creating some strange, unexpected bond…
The house seemed alive, bluesy music playing—to go with our Cajun feast. I drank wine, a few too many glasses, actually. Mimi never let me drink so I took advantage of this one occasion.
We retired to the living room after dinner, talking about the past. I listened, eager to hear some stories, especially about Vegas.
But the fun was interrupted by sharp rapping at the door.
“Who the hell could that be at this hour?” Grandma Mimi tiptoed to the window, separating the curtains to peer outside.
“Oh. It’s that detective.”
My heart sank. So much for avoiding the outside world…
Chapter Fifteen
Mom and I sat across from Detective Simms, the only thing between us the table and my cell phone. That and the smell of liquor on my breath. I excused myself, went to the bathroom, and rinsed my mouth with mouthwash as fast as I could.
I sat back down, the bitter aftertaste making my mouth burn.
“We didn’t find anything on your phone. No missed calls or texts from unknown numbers. We haven’t had any luck tracing the calls from this summer…apparently, whoever is doing this is using a disposable, prepaid phone.”
I stared at the phone in question—my phone, with its plastic case decorated in tiny, childish stickers.
“Like I said, we haven’t heard from anyone in months. After Ashleigh went away to juvie, we each got called a maximum of three times. It was a recording, vague stupid threats about how the cheerleaders would die one by one. We didn’t take it seriously…”
Detective Simms waited for me to say more, to fill the awkward space between us.
I rambled on. “I think it was a prankster. Someone trying to perpetuate the drama at Horror—Harrow High, I mean. Or for all we know, it could have been Ashleigh again, calling from inside juvie. They do get some phone calling privileges in there, don’t they?”
Mom spoke up. “My daughter should have told you, Mr. Simms. That would have been the responsible thing to do.”
I frowned, glaring at my mother angrily.
Who the hell did she think she was? And speaking of responsibility…maybe she should learn how to be a better, more responsible mother.
“Wait. Do you think the person who called them is the same one who killed that girl and tried to kill the other?” my mom asked.
“Their names are Genevieve and Brittani, Mom.”
I stared at Detective Simms, wanting to hear his answer.
They both ignored me, talking like I wasn’t even there…
“I absolutely do, ma’am,” he said.
With that said, Detective Simms placed a Ziploc bag on top of the table. He slid it toward me.
There was a note inside of it, five lines of blood red letters written on the front side of the plain white sheet of paper:
I got murder, yes I do
I got murder, how about you?
We got murder, yes we do
I'll chop your nose off
And eat it too…
My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst through my chest. I could feel my mother stiffen beside me.
“Who wrote this?” I asked. It was a stupid question. If he knew who wrote it, he wouldn’t be sitting here talking to me…
“We found this in Genevieve’s backpack. Someone must have sent it to her at some point during the day. Her boyfriend Ronnie said she seemed worried about something at lunch and still seemed upset before she headed to practice. Someone was waiting fo
r her in the girls’ locker room. This was premeditated.”
“Is that blood?” I pointed at the bright red writing on the note.
“It’s being tested, but I don’t think so. It’s too bright, too fresh.”
Detective Simms was watching me, studying my reaction to all of this. He had probably been to see half a dozen other kids from school too, but I couldn’t help feeling that he might suspect me because of my family history of violence and craziness…
“That’s not all,” he said.
I watched in horror as he reached inside his bag, pulling out another note covered in plastic.
I stared at the words, not breathing.
Violets are blue.
Roses are red.
Genevieve lost her nose.
Now you’ll lose your head…
“In the other girl’s locker?” my mom asked, touching the plastic evidence, then pulling her hand back in disgust.
I felt hands on my shoulders from behind. I looked up at Grandma Mimi. She was nervous…more nervous than I’d ever seen her, lips pursed and one eye twitching.
“Will that girl be okay? The one whose throat was—”
“Her name is Brittani,’ I interjected, my voice flat.
“I think she’ll be fine. She’ll have a scar, but that’s it. She got lucky. It was a person all in black, face covered, who attacked her in the girl’s bathroom. She was getting changed for tryouts, since the locker room and gym were closed. Whoever it was, they were waiting in a bathroom stall. That’s according to Brittani’s own account.”
I shivered.
“A janitor came in and the perpetrator ran. If he hadn’t interrupted, I have no doubt Brittani would be dead right now, and this second note—about losing a head—was certainly intended for her.”
After showing us the freakish letters, Detective Simms asked me nearly fifty questions. Did I know of anyone who’d want to hurt Genevieve or Brittani? Anyone who’d want to hurt me? Where did I change for practice? Did I see anyone or anything suspicious? Had I received any notes similar to these notes?
I can barely recall my answers. Once he was gone, I took my phone and climbed the steps to my bedroom, too mentally exhausted and overwhelmed to do anything.
I crawled beneath the covers, my body still chilled from the creepy words on the notes.
A few minutes later, I heard the door to my bedroom open. My mother kicked her shoes off and climbed in bed beside me. Normally I would have protested, but tonight I was grateful not to be alone.
Chapter Sixteen
I slept till nearly noon on Sunday, too cold to get out of bed and too comfortable to give a damn.
“Ready to eat something?” My mom was sitting on the edge of my bed, making me nostalgic. I turned away from her, squeezing my eyes shut.
When I was little, she and Dad made breakfast every Sunday morning. You wouldn’t know it by looking at them, but they never got married.
“I don’t need a piece of paper to prove my love,” my dad said more than a few times while I was growing up.
“If you love me, don’t leave this time.”
I don’t know where it came from, but there it was—my pathetic plea to be loved.
“I promise. I won’t,” she said, despite her earlier claim not to make promises.
She sat beside me, wrapping me up in her arms. It felt good, as much as I wanted it not to.
***
School was called off on Monday. And then it was called off Tuesday too. I can’t say that I minded. I wasn’t ready to go back yet. It poured rain both days, the drizzly, blue-black skies fitting my mood completely. I stayed inside, watching reruns of old corny soaps with my mom and helping Grandma Mimi cook dinner and clean.
My grandma seemed happier than I’d ever seen her, and I couldn’t help wondering why—it had to be my mother coming back because nothing else good had happened, that’s for sure.
I expected Tuesday to be quiet and calm, but then I got a visitor. It was Coach Davis, and seeing her standing on my front porch dressed in jeans and a frayed t-shirt was strange, to say the least. She seemed so out of her element, less mythical.
“I’m just stopping by to check on you, Amanda. Your cell goes straight to voicemail…” I let her in. We took seats in the living room, both of us feeling awkward.
“I’m totally fine. Eager to get back to tryouts,” I lied.
“Good. I don’t want to be disrespectful to Genevieve or Brittani, but the show must go on, as the saying goes. I’m going to accelerate tryouts. School is back in session tomorrow. I want everyone to meet after school. We’ll practice for an hour and then tryouts will be held. I’ll announce the girls who made it on Thursday.”
Surprised, I asked, “What about the individual cheer?”
“I think I can make my decision based solely on the group routine. It’s not ideal, but it’s necessary. We’re already behind. The season will be starting soon and I need cheerleaders on game night.”
I nodded. It made sense. “I’ll be there tomorrow,” I promised. With that, Coach left, using her purse as a shield from the unrelenting downpour.
I stood at the screen door, watching the rain pound the thick black pavement and grass, creating muddy pools all over Grandma Mimi’s yard.
Grandma was napping and Mom was in the shower, so I climbed the creaky, twisted staircase and locked myself in my room.
I crawled back into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. I couldn’t get the chill out of my bones. Was it the weather or just the creepy sensation that a killer was on the loose in Harrow Hill?
Sighing, I reached for my cell phone. It’d been sitting on my nightstand—turned off—ever since Detective Simms returned it.
As much as I didn’t want to, I turned it on. Instantly, it chimed again and again, an endless reminder of my negligence. Some of the messages and calls were from Sydney and Dakota, no doubt. Plus the usual influx of social media notifications.
I waited for them all to come in then started swiping through each notification, eager to get this over with and take a nap. I had a couple missed calls from Coach Davis and Sydney. I also had a few texts:
Dakota: Are you okay? I was going to come over but you weren't answering your cell and I thought you might be spending time with your mom…
Sydney: Are you okay? Phone going straight to V-mail.
Winter: Hey, girly. I still can't believe what happened. Wow, this new school is turning out to be crazy! Call me if you can/want, please. We can practice the group cheer if you want to…
I felt bad for worrying my friends, but I didn’t feel much like talking…even now.
Browsing through my notifications, I saw several new unread emails in my inbox.
One was from an unknown sender. Expecting spam, I opened it. I was met with eight lines of bright red text in the body of the email.
My hands shook. My heart raced. The message read:
Give me an M!
Give me a U!
Give me an R!
Give me a D!
Give me an E!
Give me an R!
What’s that spell?!
DEAD CHEERLEADERS.
Chapter Seventeen
This time I did the “responsible thing,” according to my mother, by calling Detective Simms right away. He showed up at the door, rain soaked and wide-eyed, eager to confiscate my phone again. He could keep the damn thing for all I cared.
“What about my daughter? She could be in danger!” My mom was standing in the kitchen, her skin white as a ghost.
“I’ll have an officer sit outside and keep watch for you tonight. And tomorrow, I’ll have several deputies patrolling the hallways and making sure the kids are safe,” he said, trying to comfort her.
I should have felt safer, calmer. But honestly, I felt scared to death. I didn’t want to end up like Brittani, and I certainly didn’t want to wind up dead in a bathroom stall like Genevieve.
Mom slept in bed with me again, but
this time I didn’t sleep well. I listened to the rain beating against the rooftop, imagining every sound as someone breaking in or creeping down the hallway to get me…
After all, both girls who received notes from “The Prankster” ended up dead or injured shortly thereafter…
I need to stop calling him or her The Prankster because what he/she really is…is a killer.
Chapter Eighteen
I planned to catch a ride to school with Dakota, but Mom insisted on taking me herself despite my endless protesting. There was an officer I’d never seen before parked on the street outside our house. Somehow, his presence there both scared and relieved my inner jitters.
“Maybe you should stay home again,” my mom said as she pulled up to park in front of Harrow High.
“I can’t hide forever.” I smiled at her guiltily. She looked so distressed. I hated making her worry, but at the same time…another part of me felt happy to know she cared so much for once.
I assured her that I would be fine and climbed out.
Eager for a distraction, I made my way down to chemistry lab. We were reviewing the periodic table this week and I was paired up with Winter to quiz each other and practice.
“Are you all right? You never answered my text,” she whined when I sat down. She was looking at me worriedly.
“I’m fine. Just spending time with my family.” I was tempted to tell her about the frightening email, but decided against it. I didn’t want to stir up more drama and terror; that’s exactly what the Killer wanted…
In Brit Lit, Sydney and Dakota hovered, continuously asking if I was okay.
“Ready for tryouts today?” Winter whispered. Glad to hear a question that wasn’t about me and my well-being, I nodded. I’d nearly forgotten today was the day!
***
Cutting Up The Competition (Horror High #2) Page 5
