“What’s going on?” Amanda asks, repositioning herself to get a better view.
“Are they arresting someone?” a kid from another table asks.
Two more students stand up, cell phones already out to take pictures. The quiet of the atrium is replaced by the echo of rising voices.
When Beckmeyer steps aside, I hear the collective gasp, and only then see who is being escorted by the police.
My heart squeezes and nearly stops as I lock gazes with Levi Sterling.
He lifts his chin imperceptibly, a secret nod directed right at me, but then he’s hidden as they surround him and walk out. In my hand, my cell vibrates and I look down, remembering that I’d had three text messages and I’d only read two.
I ignore a new one from Molly and flip back to see what Levi sent to me while I was in Latin class.
Mack, I need your help.
CHAPTER XVII
The noise level rises in the atrium as some kids pour out of the media center and everyone naturally gathers around them to find out what happened. Of course, we join the fray to hear what we can.
“They totally surrounded him at a table.”
“Beckmeyer was about to explode.”
“They read him his rights.”
“They did not, dickhead. He wasn’t even cuffed.”
“Man, he didn’t flinch. Sterling is one tough dude.”
I try to block it all out, still processing what I know about Levi, when a new girl joins the conversation.
“He used to date Chloe,” she says, bringing the group to silence. And he also used to date Olivia, but I keep that to myself.
“Really?” Amanda says. “I never heard that rumor.”
“Well, they had a thing.”
“Define ‘thing,’ ” someone else challenges.
“Yeah, with Chloe a thing could be a hand job in the locker room,” one of the boys says, making them all snort. As soon as they see the vile looks they’re getting from the girls, they go silent.
“She’s dead,” Amanda says sternly, then turns to Kylie. “It’s time.”
They back away from the table and Amanda’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Let’s go, sister.”
I can feel everyone’s eyes on us, but no one says anything. I don’t want a scene, so I walk out with them, although I’d prefer to stay and hear more about what happened to Levi.
“This way,” Kylie says, indicating a stairwell that leads to the subfloor, which is what the basement of Vienna High has been called since the beginning of time.
“Down here?” I ask, hesitating.
No one goes into the subfloor, at least no one who isn’t a janitor or some other staff person. Years ago, it was part of the high school, but after a complete remodeling sometime in the 1990s, the subfloor was turned into storage and utility rooms, and the old labs were abandoned when the new science and technology wing was finished.
When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Kylie pushes a fire door into the hallway, which is so dark it takes a second for my eyes to adjust. With no natural light and cuts in every budget, which I assume includes the electricity bill, the corridor is airless and shadowed.
“Chem lab two,” Kylie says, pointing forward.
“Have you been down here before?”
They exchange a look. “The cheerleading initiation program includes a little, uh, scavenger hunt,” Kylie explains.
“Also known as hazing,” Amanda adds.
I can’t help but make a face. “Why? Why would anyone put themselves through that?”
“To prove your worth,” Kylie says.
“Doesn’t your ability to do a split and wear those inane ribbons in your hair prove your worth?”
Amanda shakes her head, giving me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Some people just don’t get it.”
“Cheerleading?”
“Friendship. Connection. Forever sisterhood.”
“Oh, please,” I say, disgusted with this waste of time and still longing to know what is going on with Levi. “That just makes you a conformist, a joiner, and a person who needs a full support system.”
“So what do you belong to?” Kylie asks me.
Latin club. I hesitate to fully announce my geekdom. But what the hell? It is who I am.
I’m saved by the sight of Dena Herbert and Candace Yardley rushing toward us. Dena’s in jeans and sneakers but Candace is in full-on designer wear, with a short black skirt and wedge heels that clack against the linoleum in an exaggerated beat.
Ashleigh, Bree, and Shannon are right behind, rushing to catch up.
“Did you guys hear about Levi Sterling?” Dena asks when they reach us.
“He must have killed them both,” Candace says without flinching, but then, I doubt she’s ever flinched in her life.
“But if I know Levi,” Dena adds, “he screwed them first.”
I blink at her, not sure I heard her right. “What?”
“Levi’s a ladies’ man,” she explains. “And maybe a ladykiller.”
The others throw her a look, but I slow my step and frown. “Do you have any idea how serious it is to say something like that?”
“Dena.” Kylie grabs her arm to tug her forward. “Nobody killed Chloe or Olivia.”
The words flood me with relief. Not just because there’s someone with a voice of reason, but because I want her to be right. She has to be right.
“And you know this how?” Dena challenges.
“Chloe told me.”
“From the grave?” one of the girls behind me asks with a snort.
“She told me the day Olivia died,” Kylie answers, holding up a hand to stop all eight of us.
“Why didn’t you tell us that?” Dena’s voice rises in frustration.
Kylie ignores the question. “In here.”
The words Chemistry Two are faded on the frosted-glass panel, the wood frame as old school as, well, this old school. Kylie opens the door and leads us into a very dimly lit lab, with empty cabinets against the wall and six large black-topped tables in the middle.
It smells faintly of dust and bleach, and a film of dirt covers almost everything.
When we file in, voices rise with comments and questions and extremely uncomfortable giggles, until Amanda locks the door and the click snaps us all into silence. We stand there for an awkward beat; then Kylie waves us into a small circle.
“Get in order,” Kylie says, gesturing at us. Like sheep, we comply, three through ten, but Dena and I share a look of amusement. Like me, she’s not a girl I’d have pegged for the Hottie List. She’s got a ’fro and isn’t bone skinny, but her smile is infectious and people really like her.
I’m glad she’s next to me.
“Sisters of the List,” Kylie says in a perfectly serious baritone. “The worst has happened.”
Sighing, Dena shifts her feet, her sneakers sticking to the old linoleum. “Seriously, Kylie?”
A rumble rolls through the girls, part laughter, part embarrassment, but Kylie hushes us with a look.
“I’m quite serious, and you would be, too, if you were third.” Her golden-brown eyes spark. “That is … next to die.”
Stone silence is the only answer, except for a pathetic whimper from Shannon. Next to her, Bree bites her lip to keep from laughing.
“You think it’s funny, Bree?” Amanda demands. “ ’Cause when Shannon’s dead, you won’t be laughing so hard, number eight.”
All the smiles are wiped away, especially mine. I look around and don’t see too many honors students in the group; Candace is in some of my classes and Ashleigh is pretty smart, but the rest? I might have to be the brains of the operation.
“You better tell us everything,” I say to Kylie. “It’s only fair that we know what you know so we can figure out what to do about it.”
“Thank you,” Dena exhales.
Kylie steps in a little closer and looks from side to side, like one of the Vienna High janitors might be lurking in a corner an
d listening to eight crazy chicks in an abandoned basement lab.
“Chloe’s mom, as you know, is list legacy.”
Candace lets out a grunt. “Sorority talk makes me want to puke.”
Kylie ignores her. “She knows …” She drags out her dramatic pause long enough to irritate. “A lot.”
“A lot about what?” I ask.
Kylie and Amanda look at each other, silently communicating their agreement. Then, in perfect unison, they whisper, “The curse.”
There’s a second of quiet, then a chorus of female voices, high-pitched enough that I think the old glass door’s going to shatter. Kylie shushes them but not before a few demand, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You can’t really believe in a curse,” I say.
Kylie lifts a shoulder as if to say yes, she can. “It’s not a matter of believing, Kenzie. Two girls are dead by freak accidents.”
“Or not,” I say.
“This is what happens,” she says, her voice low. “This is how it works.”
Seven sets of horrified eyes are the only answer to that.
“There’s a curse on the list,” Kylie whispers. “Chloe told us everything Saturday night.”
“And are you going to tell us?” Dena asks.
“As much as we can—”
A chorus of arguments rises, and Kylie holds out her hand until we’re quiet again.
“Amanda and I were sworn to secrecy.”
“Well, screw secrecy,” Dena mutters to a round of agreement.
“We can’t. That’s part of the history of the curse. She shouldn’t have told us.” The pain in her eyes intensifies. “If she hadn’t, maybe she’d still be alive.”
“What?” I practically spit the word. “This is ridiculous. There are cops arresting kids and two girls are dead and you think there’s some kind of ancient curse?” I feel like my head’s going to explode.
“It’s not ancient,” Amanda says. “It started with the list in 1984.”
“And girls have been dying ever since then? And, like, no one noticed?” I can’t keep the disbelief out of my voice. “This isn’t a campfire game, you guys. This isn’t some sorority hazing joke.”
Kylie takes a step forward and levels me with one hell of a frightening look. “Don’t you think I know that? I’m third. I’m next.”
“Then you should talk to the police and get help.”
There’s a catch in Kylie’s voice as she says, “That’s the last thing I want to do. That’s why all these girls have died.”
“What?” The question comes from several other girls, but I’m still staring at her, processing this.
“Who’s died besides Olivia and Chloe?” I demand. “All the seniors from last year are fine. And no one died when we were freshmen.” Except … I shake off the thought. I will not let Conner’s death into this conversation. They’ll turn it into some sign from the list gods or something.
“Trust me,” I continue. “If teenage girls were getting killed on a regular basis and they all were on the same list, don’t you think 60 Minutes or Dateline would be in here in a heartbeat sniffing a story?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Kylie says. “It’s not always teenage girls who die. Sometimes grown women who’ve been on the list have accidents. Sometimes it happens when they’re in college. Some years no one dies. But every time, it’s an accident—always accidents, and always girls, or women, who’ve been on the list.”
“Accidents happen to other people, too,” I say softly.
But she and Amanda are having none of it, shaking their heads.
“And no one has investigated this?” I ask, incredulity rocking me to the core.
“There’s nothing to investigate, Kenzie,” Amanda insists. “There’s no murder. There’s no crime. There’s no killer when it’s an accident.”
Just like Conner. No one had investigated his death; it was ruled an accident. No one had ever asked why he’d gone to the storeroom and no one had ever found my necklace and added two and two together to get … guilt. Who knows better than I do that sometimes there is guilt even when there is no crime?
“Every single person who’s ever died after she’s been on the list was killed in an accident,” Kylie tells us. “Not one has ever been murdered. Ever. No foul play, no investigation, no open case. Accidents.”
“How do you know that?” Shannon asks.
“I just do,” Kylie says, relying on a favorite answer of teenage girls who actually know nothing.
Candace makes a sound as though she’s thinking the same thing. “How much of this did Chloe know before she died?”
“A lot,” Kylie says. “And she shouldn’t have told us or she might still be alive.”
“Does the curse always kill in order?” Bree asks, earning a disgusted sigh from Dena.
“This has never happened before.” Amanda crosses her arms and looks at me. “But this is the thirtieth year.”
So we’ve heard. “And that means what?” I ask, tamping down every imaginable emotion and frustration at this insanity.
“It means this year might be different,” Kylie answers. “This year might be everyone on the list.”
“We’re all going to die?” Ashleigh shrieks.
“Or it might not,” Amanda says. “You know what Chloe said.”
“What did she say?” About six of us ask in perfect unison.
Kylie waves us all in closer, putting her arms around Amanda and Candace, forming a huddle. We all follow suit, even though Dena and I share a look that tells me she thinks this is as dumb as I do.
“Sisters of the List,” Kylie says breathlessly. “We have to appease … the keeper of the curse.”
No one says anything for a moment; then Shannon inches in closer, frowning. “What does appease mean?” she whispers.
I shoot her a look, my patience waning. “It means this is sheer idiocy,” I say, jerking out of the huddle. “You can’t mess around with BS like this when people are dead.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Kylie hisses.
“Who the hell is the keeper of the list?” Dena wants to know.
Another shared look, but Kylie shakes her head. “She didn’t tell us.”
Amanda agrees. “No one knows who … or what … it is. Just that it has to be appeased.”
More questions and comments, but Shannon stomps her foot. “Will someone please tell me what that effing word means?”
“Appease means …” Kylie hesitates. “ ‘To pay off.’ ”
“Not exactly,” I correct. “It means ‘to make peace.’ Pais is peace in Latin.”
“So is there, like, a war?” Shannon asks. “Like vampires versus zombies?”
I puff out an impatient breath.
“It’s more like blackmail, Shannon,” Kylie says. “We have to pay so we don’t die.”
“How much?”
“Pay in some way,” Amanda explains.
All around, eyes widen and cheeks pale. Except mine, because this ranks with the stupidest, most preposterous conversations I’ve ever had. “Or we could go upstairs and talk to the cops about the weird things that have happened to us.” I look at Dena. “Have any close calls lately? Any almost accidents?”
She frowns, then her eyes pop wide. “My cat chewed my charger wire and I got shocked.”
“Really?” Bree steps closer. “That’s weird, because a power line fell on our roof the other night and my dad said if any of us had been touching anything electric, we’d have died.”
Kylie lets out a soft groan and looks around. “Anyone else?”
Candace pales and looks at Ashleigh. “Tell them.”
“We were stuck on the railroad tracks in my car yesterday. The car stalled and …” She closes her eyes. “We just got off, like, five seconds before a train came.”
“Holy shit,” Bree murmurs.
“I told you guys,” Kylie says.
Amanda looks around and sighs. “We may have to make an offe
ring.”
“Like at church?” Shannon asks in a shaky whisper.
“Like a sacrifice,” Kylie adds, looking at Amanda. It’s clear these two know a lot more than they’re telling us. Not that anything they know makes a damn bit of sense, but everyone in the room is riveted.
“What kind of sacrifice?” someone asks.
Kylie closes her eyes. “A blood sacrifice.”
Chaos erupts around me, but I don’t move. Once again, Kylie calms the others down.
“Oh, brother.” Dena pulls away, disgust on her face. “This is totally bogus. I have class and I’m out of—”
“You can’t leave!” Amanda shouts. “We have to have a plan and a vow of silence and a chain to stay in constant contact. Mostly we need more information. Unfortunately, the only person we can think to ask is Chloe’s mom, but how can we?”
“We have to!” Shannon insists, her voice rising.
“No!” I bark the order, imagining Mrs. Batista. I don’t know her; I’ve never met her. But I know what a mother is like after she’s lost a child. “We can’t ask her anything right now. But I know someone we can talk to.”
“No,” Kylie says. “We can’t tell anyone. If you tell anyone, you’re next.”
“Not even the police?” I ask.
Amanda and Kylie suck in simultaneous gasps. “You might as well write your will tonight, Kenzie,” Kylie says.
I open my mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. What if she’s right? We need help. I glance down at my hand and have my answer. Someone who told me I might need “protection.” Will Nurse Fedder be normal or believe us? But I’m not willing to get into a fight over who I can talk to right now, so I stay quiet.
“Listen, I’ll call the next meeting,” Kylie says.
“Well, what do we do until then?” Shannon asks, a distinct note of panic in her voice.
Kylie gives her a mirthless smile. “Be really careful.”
CHAPTER XVIII
I have a moment of panic when I learn Nurse Fedder isn’t in her office, but then I see her behind a glass-walled conference room, huddled around a table with a few other adults and two girls I don’t recognize.
They All Fall Down Page 13
