They All Fall Down

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Is his dad loaded or something?” Hunter asks as he serves himself enough lasagna to feed a small country. “ ’Cause you should marry him, Molly, and have him buy me a Corvette.”

  “Aww.” Molly angles her head and gives him a pitying look. “Did your anti-idiot pill prescription run out?”

  “Molly,” Mr. Russell says softly.

  “It’s his grandfather who’s loaded,” Mrs. Russell informs us. “His parents passed away many years ago.”

  I look up from my plate. “Really?”

  “Oh, yes, tragic accident.”

  My first bite of lasagna threatens to lodge in my throat, so I grab a sip of milk.

  “What happened?” Molly asks for me.

  “Terrible boating accident while they were on vacation somewhere off the coast of Virginia. I don’t remember where, but it made the news because the whole family was on a yacht that sank.”

  “Oh, wow,” I manage.

  “Sad,” Molly says.

  “Cool, a yacht,” Hunter adds, getting a vile look from Molly.

  “Josh was a baby and his grandfather rescued him from drowning, as I recall. But both parents were killed. They never found the bodies, either. So awful.”

  “I’ve heard Josh is really close to his grandfather,” Molly says.

  “The better to get in the will,” Hunter jokes.

  “You’re a jerk.”

  “Molly …”

  The teasing and chiding continue, but I just stare at my plate. Accidentia eveniunt.

  “What did you say?” Hunter asks me.

  I look up, not aware I’d spoken out loud.

  “Kenzie talks to herself in Latin,” Molly explains.

  As Hunter hoots, impressed, I smile. “I said ‘accidents happen.’ ”

  Mrs. Russell sighs. “You know, I tried so hard to get the job to decorate that house a few years ago, but lost out to some big New York design firm. There aren’t many houses like that in Vienna.”

  “Want me to take secret pictures so you can see what the other designer did?” Molly asks.

  “Yeah,” Hunter says. “You could steal ideas for Mom.”

  He earns a dark frown from his mother. “I don’t have to steal ideas, young man. But …” She turns to Molly. “Yes. Take a ton. I never got into the house but I’ve heard it’s amazing, with an indoor swimming pool and a ten-car garage, adjacent to some of the prettiest parts of Nacht Woods.”

  “So what banks did this guy rob?” Molly’s dad asks.

  Mrs. Russell nods, clearly knowing her Collier family info. “The grandfather, who’s retired, of course, made a killing on Wall Street, as I understand it. Really hit it huge in the go-go eighties.”

  “Where’d they go-go?” Kayla asks, making everyone laugh.

  I eat quietly, listening to the banter, trying not to let it hollow me out because there isn’t anything like this at my dinner table, even on the nights Dad comes over.

  “I still think it’s odd to have a party when a girl’s dead,” Mr. Russell says.

  “Oh, Tim, they’re kids.” Mrs. Russell holds out the lasagna dish to me with a smile. “More, honey? And it’s probably very healthy for all of them to get together and remember this girl.” She shakes her head. “I can’t imagine what her mother is feeling tonight.”

  Her mother! I suddenly remember mine. I haven’t checked my phone in hours, but since she hasn’t tracked me down here, I’m going to guess that my mother hasn’t heard the news yet. How will she act when she learns that a classmate of mine died in an accident?

  Of course, I can assure her I’m not going to get drunk and jump off cliffs, but still, this will tilt Mom sideways.

  “Has there been anything else about Olivia on the news?” I ask.

  “They’re saying it was a freak accident and they’ll be reinforcing the fencing around the quarry so kids can’t go there to party,” Mr. Russell says. “The No Trespassing signs apparently aren’t enough.”

  “What about …” I push some salad around, looking down, thinking of Levi. “The kids who were there? Do they know who they were yet?”

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Russell says. “They haven’t released any names. Those kids could get in trouble for trespassing.”

  Was that all they could be in trouble for? “So they’re sure it was an accident?”

  “So far,” Mr. Russell says. “I guess they’re still investigating.”

  Mrs. Russell shakes her head, sending a warning look to Molly. “Those kids were drinking and smoking pot.”

  “Duh,” Molly says with a sarcastic choke.

  But her father is eyeing her just as hard. “Will there be drinking at this party tonight?”

  “I don’t know, Dad,” she says. “But Kenzie and I don’t party. No worries.”

  “It’s not you I worry about,” he says. “It’s the idiots who can’t handle the peer pressure. But, okay, you girls use common sense.”

  “And call if you need anything,” Mrs. Russell adds. “Even a ride.”

  The conversation is so foreign to me, I’m in stunned silence. My mother would have gone ballistic over the whole topic. This is so much better, so much easier and nicer and more normal. God, I want that. I know our family’s broken and we can never fill the void of Conner’s death, but couldn’t we at least try?

  “We’re good, Mom,” Molly assures her, pushing away from the table. “Let’s get going, Kenz.”

  I get up with her. For the moment, anyway, I’m at the Russell house and I’m going to a party and I just want to revel in the fun and normalcy of that.

  “Hey.” Hunter grabs his sister’s arm. “Saturday is your cleanup day.”

  Her face falls and she looks at her mom. “Can’t we switch for tomorrow?”

  Mrs. Russell nods and shoos us away. “Come and say goodbye before you leave.”

  Hunter starts to balk, but Kayla jumps up to offer to do Molly’s cleanup. A little chaos ensues while we slip out of the kitchen and I’m surprised at how much I’d love to just sit around that table for hours with a family that is so whole and happy.

  But I have only myself to blame for that.

  CHAPTER X

  Holy crap, the Colliers are rich. Molly parks her car at the end of what feels like a half-mile-long driveway, lit up by fake gas lamps. At least fifty cars are in the drive and along the street. Some I recognize from the lot at school, some I don’t. This “little gathering” has to have a hundred kids already, and we’re early.

  “Hey, Kenzie!”

  I turn at the sound of a girl’s voice and see one of them emerging from a group of kids, coming toward me. In the dim light, I can’t quite make out who it is.

  “It’s Chloe Batista,” Molly supplies under her breath.

  She’s wearing superskinny jeans and boots, her cropped top riding high on her bare midriff. She’s cute—and has to be freezing—but, really, nothing extraordinary to look at. “How did she ever get number two?” I whisper.

  “Are you forgetting the blow jobs?”

  Oh, yeah. “Hi, Chloe,” I call back to her.

  “Hey, you,” she says, super friendly, as she threads long blond hair highlighted with pink tips through her fingers. When she reaches me, I can see a tiny nose stud and false eyelashes that she didn’t have on at the school today. Guess a lot of us tried a little harder for the party tonight.

  “Hey, do you know Molly Russell?” I ask Chloe.

  Forced to acknowledge my friend, Chloe barely nods. “Hey.” Then she takes me by the elbow and guides me a few feet away. “Can I talk to you, like, privately?” she asks.

  I turn to Molly, ready to say No, she’s my friend and stays with me, but Molly nods. “I’ll see you in there, Kenzie.”

  “No, Molly, come on,” I insist.

  Chloe squeezes my arm and gives me a purposeful look. “We can’t, Kenzie. List rules.”

  I open my mouth to say Screw the list, but Molly holds up both hands to stop me. “Seriously, Kenz, I’m fi
ne. Come and get me when you’re done.” She gives a quick smile to Chloe, not quite hiding the disappointment in her eyes.

  Before I can stop her, Molly takes off and Chloe slips her arm through mine, a whiff of lemon body spray emanating from her. “We’re going into the woods.”

  “Why?” I ask, walking with her because curiosity has gotten the better of me and I’m still hoping for answers about what happened to Olivia.

  “Because it’s where we meet.” She tightens her squeeze a little and checks out my confused face. “We, the sisters, hon. Except, of course, we’re missing one.” She snorts softly, as if she’s amused by the irony. “Number one.”

  The complete lack of sadness in those words—so different from the tears in the junior lot today—creeps me out and slows my step.

  “Let’s go. I’ve been waiting for you,” she says, tugging my arm.

  So I follow her across the vast lawn toward a dense forested area that’s more or less the everyday scenery in this part of Vienna. Nacht Woods is made up of miles of pine-filled paths, creeks, and cliffs. The woods are a haven for hikers and even hunters, as beautiful as any state park, but not a place I’d venture into at night.

  Yet I’m venturing right along with my new friend, Chloe. Leaves crunch under my sneakers and the light grows dimmer as we get farther away from the Colliers’ house.

  “You party, right?”

  I just look at her, clueless at how to answer because the truth will be … uncool. I’ve never had a drink in my life.

  “I mean you drink, right?”

  No way I’m copping to my total geekiness, not at my first party with this crowd. “Once in a while,” I reply with a shrug.

  “Well, this is once in a while, Kenzie.” She still has me by the arm and gives me another squeeze, pulling me along.

  After an awkward silence, I say, “It’s so sad about Olivia.”

  “Yeah, jeez. What an idiot.”

  I hesitate again, and not only because we’ve reached the tree line and I don’t see anyone nearby. How far are we going into these woods? “Why would you say that?” I ask. “You were just singing her funeral dirge this afternoon.”

  “And I meant it, I’m sad. But come on. Who does that? Drunk boys from West Virginia jump off cliffs, not normal girls like Olivia Thayne. But I guess I’m like the leader since now I’m at the, well, top.” Her voice trails off as we round a thick group of evergreens, the needles scraping my jacket as she guides me in. “We’re at Meesha Mound.” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “Indian burial ground, you know. Cool, huh?”

  “Very.”

  She misses my sarcasm and takes me down a dark path. Almost instantly, I see the lights of a few cell phones and make out a small circle of girls sitting in a clearing at the foot of a hill.

  “Guys, I got her,” Chloe says. “Number five.”

  It’s weird to be introduced that way, but I fold down in the place Chloe indicates, right between Amanda and Dena, who are numbers four and six.

  “Welcome, Five,” Dena says with a soft giggle, the smell of beer oozing off her breath.

  “All right, we’re all here,” Chloe says, sitting down across from me. “The Sisters of the List.”

  I can’t help snorting a laugh, figuring this has to be a joke.

  But eight pairs of pretty damn serious eyes look back at me.

  “Is that the name we picked?” Amanda asks.

  “We picked a name?” I blurt out.

  Chloe sighs as if she has to explain something to a child. “Every year, the list girls give themselves their own name. You know, like our secret club.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly. How does she know that happens every year?

  “I like Sisters of the List,” Kylie Leff says, leaning into Amanda. “We’ve been blood sisters since kindergarten.” She holds up a single knuckle and Amanda meets it with one of her own in the most feminine and lackluster knuckle tap in history. “So it’s perfect.”

  “Should we vote on the name?” Shannon Dill, number seven, asks.

  “We don’t need to vote,” Chloe says. “I decided.”

  Dena sputters. “Who died and left you in charge?”

  Two girls gasp at the question; the rest of us stare slack-jawed at Dena. She throws both hands over her mouth and lets out a little cry. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean that.”

  After a beat, someone laughs nervously. “It’s okay, Dena. We know you didn’t.”

  Chloe produces a frosted bottle from a handbag behind her and holds it high. “We don’t need to vote,” she says again, ignoring Dena’s faux pas. “Tradition says you drink on it. And our tradition is now”—she turns to read the bottle—“Three Olives grape-flavored vodka, thanks to my sister’s boyfriend.” She unscrews the top and sniffs. “Thank God I’m allergic to peanuts and not grapes. Girls, you’re gonna like this tradition.”

  “Tradition?” I say, unable to keep the derision out of my voice. “Why would there be a tradition?”

  “I’m second generation,” Chloe says proudly, like that explains anything at all.

  “You mean your mother was on the list?” Bree asks.

  Chloe gives one confident nod. “She was number four in 1990. They called themselves the Babes of the New Decade.”

  I laugh again, and Dena does the same, only her reaction is a loud guffaw.

  “You think this is funny?” Chloe snaps.

  All the others are looking at me, and I glance at Dena, who has somehow become my partner in this, courtesy of one hug this afternoon and a shared laugh tonight.

  “Well,” Dena says, dragging the word out. “I think it’s a little silly.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper under my breath.

  “Did you think it was silly when Olivia drowned after falling off that cliff?”

  My head jerks around to see who posed the question. It’s Candace Yardley, number ten, who up to this point has been virtually silent. Once again, I take a second to admire her dark good looks; she is runway perfect. How I ever beat her on a list of hot girls is a question for the ages.

  “Of course I don’t think Olivia’s …” Dena shakes her head, clearly unable or unwilling to say death. “I don’t think it’s funny. But that didn’t have anything to do with this list or some secret club.”

  One of Candace’s perfectly waxed brows rises. And something in my chest slips.

  “You think it does?” I ask quietly.

  And no one says a word, the silence just long and heavy enough for me to feel the individual bumps rise on my skin. The weird, anonymous texts dance before my eyes. The feeling of the brakes giving way. The shock of smelling the gas leak. The truck that almost ran me down on the way to Molly’s house.

  All after the list came out.

  “You guys,” I whisper. “Are you saying that …”

  “We’re not saying anything,” Chloe says sharply as she sticks the bottle in the middle of the circle. “We’re drinking vodka in the name of the Sisters of the List. If you don’t join, then …”

  I wait, aware I’m holding my breath.

  “Then what?” Dena asks, her voice rich with sarcasm. “We’re going off the cliff like Olivia?”

  “I hope not.” Chloe closes her eyes, lifts the vodka, and takes a healthy sip. Then she hands the bottle to Kylie. “Three?”

  Kylie does the same, wincing, her drink a little longer. She smiles at her best friend. “Four?”

  Amanda drinks and hands the bottle to me. “Five?”

  Part of me wants to run, part of me wants to giggle nervously—my first drink!—and part of me wants to tell them about the weird things that have been happening. But some other part of me decides to stay quiet. I take the bottle and let a few drops touch my lips, the flavor like bitter grape cough medicine.

  I hand the bottle to Dena and hold her gaze. “Six?”

  “You bitches cray.” She sings the last word on a laugh. “But I need to get fried.” She takes a long, deep drink, finishing off wi
th a satisfied sigh before turning to Shannon Dill. “Seven?”

  Shannon drinks, then gives the bottle to Bree Walker, who passes it to Ashleigh Cummings, who finally hands it to Candace. She flips some of that long black hair over her shoulder and raises the vodka like she’s going to make a toast.

  “Here’s to you, Olivia. I hope to hell that really was an accident.”

  CHAPTER XI

  I don’t drink any more, and in a few minutes, the group disperses and heads toward the party. Dena sidles right next to me as we walk to the house.

  “So, sis,” she says, a little giggle in her voice. “What do you think about all this?”

  I just roll my eyes.

  “You think the list is stupid?”

  “It’s not anything I ever wanted or thought I could be on.”

  “I’ll admit, you were a dark horse for me.”

  I shoot her a look. “Did you really, like, sit around and wonder who’d be voted in this year?”

  “Of course. Didn’t you and your friends?”

  I shake my head and squint toward the house. “Speaking of friends, I kind of ditched mine and I have to find her.”

  Dena grabs my arm, stumbling on the grass. I catch her and look into her eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “Tipsy,” she admits, laughing. “But I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure?”

  Her amusement disappears. “I don’t know. Didn’t that conversation kind of freak you out? About Olivia’s accident?”

  Should I trust her? Should I tell her about the texts and the weird things that have been happening to me? “Yeah, it kind of did. Makes you wonder, huh?”

  “Like, did she get punished for being on the list or something?”

  I consider that, and shake my head. “It just makes you realize how fragile life is,” I say. “Could be taken away any second.”

  “No shit. Yesterday my hair dryer shorted out and I damn near burned down the whole house.”

  “Seriously? What happened?”

  “Hell if I know. My dad said our electrician effed something up in the outlet.”

  “And weren’t you …” Scared to death? “Concerned?”

  She shrugs and gives me a grin. “YOLO, baby girl. Which translates into ‘have some fun.’ ” She shoulders me into the house. “Like, now.”