Cutting Up The Competition (Horror High #2)

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  I waited forever, hours it seemed, for the school building and parking lot to empty out. Once clear, I made my way in through a side entrance and padded down the empty hallways, looking for locker number thirty-nine.

  I turned the dial three times, then lifted the latch. It was filled with neatly stacked books. I propped my note on the top shelf, then left my present on top of the note.

  Closing the locker, I slipped out through the way I came in…all the while reciting the chant I knew they’d love…

  United we stand

  Divided we fall

  The sound of Sydney’s screaming

  Just made my skin crawl

  Chapter

  Twenty-Five

  Amanda

  “Where the hell have you been?” my mother demanded as I slipped back inside the front door. I was sweating and breathless from my long walk up and down the streets of Harrow Hill. I felt better, less angry. The air was cold for September and the chill had cleansed me.

  That was until I saw Detective Simms sitting at my kitchen table again.

  He turned around, eyeing my disheveled clothes and haggard appearance suspiciously. “I went for a walk,” I said, my breath catching in my throat.

  “Have you heard from Sydney?” the detective asked.

  “No. If I’d heard from Sydney I would have called you. Why are you here instead of out there looking for her?” I demanded, my voice louder than I’d intended.

  My mom was quick to defend him. “I called him. I woke up from a nap and you were gone. I was terrified that someone took you too. You know better than to leave without telling me! And you shouldn’t be out walking alone!”

  “I’m sorry, Mother. Next time, I’ll use your judgment.” I said it slow and with bitterness, hoping she’d take the hint. I stared at the now-covered sore on her arm. She caught me looking and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she said, her voice softening.

  I looked away from her, focusing on Detective Simms. “Has anyone heard from Sydney’s parents?”

  “That’s the thing…we can’t find a contact number for them and we’ve tried everything. They might be out of the country. I was hoping you might know more…” Detective Simms waited, looking at me expectantly.

  I sat down in the chair opposite of him.

  “The only thing I know about them is that they work in stocks and Sydney said they were out of town. Her dad drives a silver Mercedes and he picks her up from practice sometimes. Dakota should know more. She and Sydney are closer than Sydney and I…”

  “And why is that? Were you and Sydney fighting about something?” he asked.

  I couldn’t help it—I groaned. These questions were just ridiculous! Not to mention downright pointless and a waste of time.

  “Of course not,” I snapped. “It’s just…I only moved here last year, and she and Dakota have been friends since they were little.”

  Detective Simms nodded, seeming to accept my answer. Leaning forward, he reached toward my hair, removing small bits of crunched up leaves.

  “What were you doing in the woods?”

  “I wasn’t in the woods. Well, I did stop near them…to tie my shoe and look around. There’s a killer running around out there; I was hoping I might run into him. ’Cause God knows you’re not out there catching the killer…”

  “You don’t actually suspect my daughter of being involved in anything, do you?” My mom’s face had gone from worried to terrified. I noticed she was scratching at her arms, right around the injection site. Probably thinking about her next fix, I realized angrily.

  “No, we don’t suspect your daughter. But sometimes I have to ask hard questions to get very simple answers. I’m sure we’ll find Sydney soon, but any lead I can get might help the outcome of the investigation.”

  His answer came as a relief to me, although I tried not to let my face show it. The last thing I needed was for him to suspect me of hurting my friend. Detective Simms stood up, slipping a light windbreaker jacket over his bulging arms. He had to be almost fifty, but his body was fit and toned, making him look much younger.

  “What can I do to help Sydney? I feel so worthless at this point. Her phone goes straight to voicemail and she’s not home. I don’t know where to look or who to call,” I moaned.

  “The best thing for you to do is go to school and go home, but that’s it. Don’t go anywhere by yourself. And don’t get in any more fights at school.” He shot me a warning glance.

  “What you can do is call any family or friends of Sydney’s that you know of. Check out her online friends. If you see someone I should talk to, write down their name and call me. We’ll do everything we can to find her. I’m going to make a visit next door and see what I can find out from Dakota.”

  Despite his cold questions earlier, his face seemed softer now. I nodded. “I absolutely will. I’ll call right away if I think of something or someone you need to talk to.”

  I watched him leave through the door then turn left, heading for Dakota’s house next door. I hoped and prayed she had more information to offer than I did. Anything that could help find Sydney…

  I tried to imagine never seeing her again. We weren’t as close as Dakota and I, but we’d had so much fun the other night, hanging out and having a sleepover.

  Tears stung my eyes and my mother rushed over, eager to comfort me.

  “Don’t touch me!” I said, jerking away from her angrily.

  She stared at me, shocked. “What did I do? I’m just trying to help!”

  “I know you’re using again, Mom.”

  Expecting her to deny it, I shot her a hard stare, like a mother waiting for an explanation from a child.

  My mother exhaled. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  She wrapped her arms around me anyway, and I didn’t push her off this time. At least she hadn’t denied it—that seemed like a step, albeit a baby one…

  Chapter

  Twenty-Six

  Sydney’s chair sat empty beside me, a constant reminder that she wasn’t at school and nobody knew when she was coming back. No one even knows where the hell she is, in the first place…I had a sudden thought—what if her parents came and got her, took her away for a while because of all the crazy incidents that happened last week?

  But she still would have called and told us—me and Dakota, at the very least…

  Brit Lit seemed less crowded and quieter today. I looked around, expecting to find more students absent but the only one missing was Sydney.

  Maybe it was just a somber cloud hovering above the students at Harrow Hill. We were all afraid of what might happen next…

  When the bell rang, I caught up with Dakota. Winter, in turn, caught up with me—and the next thing I knew, all three of us were walking together.

  Dakota and Winter didn’t talk or look at each other. I’d become the proverbial monkey in the middle, not knowing who to talk to or how to bridge the gap between them.

  “Did Detective Simms come to either of your houses last night?” I directed the question to both of them, looking from one to the other as we made our way through a long line of band members, some of their instruments bumping my hips as we passed them.

  “He did. I didn’t have much to say that could help him, but I tried to answer everything honestly. I gave him the cell numbers I have for Sydney’s parents…I’m sure they’ll be devastated when they find out,” Dakota said.

  “Maybe they should blame themselves, while they’re at it. What kind of parents leave their child alone for that long?” Winter demanded.

  I felt like saying, At least Sydney’s parents aren’t dead or a junkie like mine, but I bit my tongue, focusing ahead on my locker.

  “Well, they work in stocks and Sydney is reliable. If she were my daughter, I’d trust her!” Dakota said defensively.

  Here we go…I imagined a bell ringing, like round one in a boxing match. These two really didn’t like each other.

  �
��Look, I’m sorry for insulting your friend’s parents, but that’s just crazy for her to be alone like that,” Winter softly said.

  That’s when I remembered—Sydney had a grandmother named Rose. I’d never met Rose, but I struggled to remember what she was like and what her full name was. Sydney talked about her on occasion…where did she live again?

  “Do you remember Sydney’s grandma?” I asked Dakota, ignoring Winter’s speech.

  Dakota furrowed her eyebrows, thinking. “I think so. But doesn’t she live in Tulsa?”

  “Hmmm. I don’t remember. But maybe that’s who we should call.”

  “Most people aren’t listed in the phone book these days. I wonder how easily we can find her,” Dakota mumbled.

  “Facebook. Everyone and their grandma has a Facebook profile these days,” Winter chimed in.

  I smiled, pleased with this new idea. But then I remembered that tracking down Grandma Rose wouldn’t get me any closer to finding this freak who took Sydney.

  But at least someone in her family could be reached until Detective Simms reached her parents. Somebody needed to be notified.

  ***

  I collected makeup assignments from my teachers, looking away in embarrassment as they gave me scolding looks for my recent suspension. Apparently, everyone knew about me punching that loudmouth, Blakely.

  Relieved to see Jordan, I plopped down at our table in Child Development, leaning close to him.

  “I’m so glad you’re back,” he whispered into my hair. “I was so worried about you. Has anyone heard from Sydney?”

  I shook my head, trying to fight back tears again. I was starting to feel like an emotional train wreck. Jordan saw the tears coming and pulled me in for a hug.

  “That’ll be enough of that! If you want to practice being a grownup, you can start by taking one of these.” Mrs. Brooch dropped an enormous cardboard box on our table, making the entire table wobble and shake. I leaned forward in my seat, peeking over the side of the box.

  It was filled with life-like baby dolls. “Creepy,” I said, leaning back in my chair.

  “Jordan and Amanda, perhaps the two of you would like to share a baby. Then you can get a true sense of what it feels like to be an adult couple.”

  I looked over at Jordan sheepishly. “Absolutely, Mrs. Brooch. We’d love to.” He reached inside the box, pulling out a baby doll by its foot. The baby immediately began crying, a high-pitched shrill sort of scream.

  “Oh, lucky you. You picked the addicted baby,” Mrs. Brooch said with a smile. “She needs extra special attention.”

  I groaned.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Seven

  After instructing us on how to properly hold, change, and feed our babies, Mrs. Brooch sent us to our next class with one warning: she could monitor the quality of care we were giving our baby through hourly email reports and those reports would be used to grade us as parents accordingly.

  The baby was heavier than I’d expected, weighing at least seven pounds—to mimic the weight of a real baby, I presumed.

  It cried as we walked down the hallway. I stopped in the middle, disregarding annoyed students behind me, and dug around in the pack Mrs. Brooch gave us for the baby bottle. I pressed the bottle to the baby’s lips, simulating feeding as I made my way to my locker. Other students from my class were doing the same thing, or else I would have felt quite foolish.

  “Can you hold Annie?” I asked, handing her off to Jordan as I reached my locker.

  Getting it open one-handed would be impossible. I had a feeling lots of simple tasks were going to be difficult with this stupid fake baby in tow.

  “Sure. Her name is Annie?” Jordan laughed, leaning against the locker beside me and coddling the baby in his arms.

  I smiled at him goofily. “Is that name okay with you?” I teased.

  He rocked and fed our baby, looking like a natural.

  After that, we made our way to the lunchroom, switching off while the other stood in line to get their lunch. I let him go first and by the time I got back to our table with my tray, the forty-five minute lunch period was almost over and Baby Annie was lying on the bench next to Jordan, while he chatted with some of his new basketball teammates. Sighing, I took the baby in one arm, scarfing down a grilled cheese sandwich with the other just as the bell rang for next period.

  ***

  The baby cried off and on all day. I bounced it on my lap and rocked it side to side—avoiding the smirks of my classmates—but all the same, the damn thing still cried. I used it as an excuse to take more than a few bathroom breaks.

  Perched on a skinny bench in the bathroom, I stared at the bright blue eyes and waxy skin of the doll. “If you were mine and Jordan’s baby…you’d be much cuter,” I mumbled.

  By the end of the day, I was so worn out I’d barely thought about the psychokiller or cheerleading or my missing friend…perhaps this baby would be a welcome distraction for the next few days.

  I tried to find Jordan at the end of the day, to see if he’d take Baby Annie home with him. I figured switching off each day would probably be the easiest—and fairest—way for us to help each other ace the project.

  But I didn’t see him near his locker and his car wasn’t in the school parking lot. Sighing, I climbed into the back of Dakota’s convertible, strapping the baby in tight beside me.

  “Aren’t babies supposed to use a car seat?” Andy looked over the shoulder of the passenger seat, flashing that joker smile of his. I rolled my eyes, fighting the urge to smack him.

  “Good luck with that thing,” Dakota said, eager to drop me off once she pulled up out front. The baby had cried the whole way home, even when I tried to change and feed it…

  Luckily, my mother was home and I pawned the baby off on her. “Just while I take a power nap…” I pleaded.

  Thankfully, she let me sleep for a few hours. When I got up, I remembered Sydney’s Grandma Rose. I pulled up Facebook on my phone and clicked on Sydney’s profile. She had nearly two hundred friends, and I began the very slow and painful process of scanning the names and profile pics of each.

  “What are you doing?” my mom asked, standing in the doorway of my room, rocking Baby Annie in her arms. She looked…motherly, for once.

  “Looking for anyone related to Sydney. Detective Simms said they still haven’t reached her parents.”

  “Well, isn’t she friends with her parents on Facebook?” Mom asked.

  I rolled my eyes. “No one is friends with their parents on Facebook. Unless they’re forced to be.” I specifically remembered Sydney saying she wasn’t Facebook friends with her mom or dad; in fact, she’d said they weren’t even on Facebook and didn’t understand what it was about…

  But after a few more minutes of scanning, I got lucky when I found Rose Cartwright. I wasn’t sure if it was her mom’s mom or her dad’s mom, but either way—this had to be the lady.

  She was a tiny old lady with bright rosy cheeks and professionally curled hair. This had to be the Grandma Rose Sydney was always talking about…and I felt pretty sure I’d seen her picture in one of Sydney’s framed photos at her house.

  I sent this Rose person a friend request and then messaged her:

  Me: Hi, there. I’m Sydney’s friend, Amanda. I can’t get in touch with her parents to let them know Sydney is missing. Have you heard from her? Do you know how to reach her parents? Please message me back and let me know. This is important.

  I stared at the message, reading over it again and again, then finally clicking send. I stared at the tiny messenger bubble, hoping she’d read it right away. Apparently, she wasn’t online right now.

  I arrowed back to Sydney’s profile and clicked on one of her albums. Pictures of her in her cheerleading uniform, group pics of all of us, and silly memes filled the album. I stared at my friend’s face, willing her big saucer eyes to give me a hint. Where the hell are you, Sydney? And most importantly, who took you?

  The baby was crying again.
I looked over at my mom, who I’d almost forgot was sitting next to me on the bed. She rocked the tiny artificial infant, staring at me all the while.

  “I’ve seen these things before. These “think it over” babies, or whatever they’re called…but I’ve never seen one that cries this much. Why does your baby cry so much?” she asked, rocking it harder to make it stop.

  “Because her mother was a drug addict.” It came out sharp and mean, but I guess in truth, that’s how I’d intended it to sound.

  My mom stared at me, wild-eyed. “They gave you an addicted baby? What does that mean?”

  I sighed, staring back down at my phone. No new Facebook messages…

  “It means Mrs. Brooch hates my guts, so she set it on a more difficult setting. My baby has special needs, and it cries…a lot.”

  “I have a feeling it’s going to be crying through the night…” Mom pondered.

  I groaned, feeling exhausted just thinking about it.

  “Want me to keep it in my room?” she offered.

  I shook my head. “I don’t need your help. I can handle things on my own.” It had a double meaning, and she gave me a hurt look.

  Leaning forward, she kissed me on the forehead. “For what it’s worth, I love you.” She handed me the baby doll.

  I checked my messages one last time, then curled up on my bed, cradling my newborn baby.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Eight

  I pressed the pedal down, accelerating through the eerily vacant streets of Harrow Hill.

  The old car stalled at fifty, refusing to go any faster.

  My eyes burned, due to lack of sleep and the freezing cold wind that burned my face. I drove with the windows down.

  Despite the chill and my sleepiness, I felt angry and free. I turned the volume up on the radio when I heard Adele’s voice pouring out. The radio crackled with static, but I belted out the lyrics to her saddest song as I charged through the streets of this horrible town.