“What is that?” I ask.
“I’ll give it to you if you tell me where you were.” She’s teasing, but she’s also serious. I remember Farrah’s advice: keep it close to the truth, and the lie will sell itself.
“I—there was a party tonight at Tucker St. Clair’s.”
“Liar.” She shakes the box. “Well, wherever you were, someone left this for you. It was on the bed when I came in.”
“What?” How is that possible?
But Jenny’s unconcerned. She pushes the box toward me. “Open it.”
I hesitate, then sit down on the other side of the mattress and pick it up. There’s no return address. I pull the bow off and pop the lid open: inside, cushioned against royal blue velvet, are dozens and dozens of pill bottles. I pick one up and read the label: pancrelipase. I put it down and pick up another: ciprofloxacin. Another: acetylcysteine.
“Are those your medications?” Jenny asks.
I nod mutely.
“Holy shit,” she says. “This has to be, like, a month’s worth at least.”
Thousands of dollars’ worth of meds.
My meds.
Only my name isn’t on the label.
I open the bottle of pancrelipase and shake out some of the yellow capsules. I bring one close to my face to examine it, and sure enough, it’s stamped with the identification code MT 4 with MCNEIL underneath it, just like the pills in the bathroom medicine cabinet.
Someone knows the exact medications I need.
Before I can stop her, Jenny reaches into the box and pulls out a small square of paper. “ ‘Stay in the game’? Oh my God, is it about where you were? I knew you were lying.”
I snatch the note from her, scanning the words and the rose insignia below it. The Society. Somehow they know I completed the dare. I recall the flash of movement I spotted before I jumped and barely repress a shiver.
“This box—it was just sitting here?” I ask, sweat breaking out on my brow.
“Yep.”
“Was anyone else here tonight? Ethan? Anyone?”
“No. Why?”
They were here. Tonight. Inside my house. Inside my room. Standing right here in front of the bed, setting this package on the worn comforter I’ve been using since I was five.
I realize my leg is hanging over the bed and whip it onto the mattress.
“Get up,” I order Jenny.
“What?”
“Get up on the bed,” I hiss, hitting her thigh.
She rolls her eyes as she swings her foot onto the mattress. I draw my legs under me, then jump far away from the bed, eyeing the big gap under the frame where a person could hide without anyone seeing. I hesitate, then get on my hands and knees and peer underneath. Nothing.
“What are you doing?” Jenny asks.
I ignore her and turn to the closet, pulling the door open and leaping back. Hangers tinkle quietly from the sudden gust, but the closet’s empty too.
“Okay, you’re starting to scare me,” Jenny says.
I spin on her. “Someone was in my room, Jenny. When did you come in here? Ten minutes ago? Fifteen?”
I watch the full weight of what I’m saying settle over her as she thinks. “Maybe twenty minutes. I woke up, like, half an hour ago, when Mom got up to pee. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I came to see if you were awake, and it was just sitting here.”
I close my eyes and blow out a harsh breath. Mom is okay. They’re both okay.
“Seriously, what is going on?” Jenny asks. “Where were you? And don’t lie this time, or I’ll tell Mom you snuck out and stole her car.”
My eyes pop open. “You wouldn’t.”
She juts her chin.
“Jenny, she’d ground me for life.”
“Well, then you better start talking.”
I grit my teeth.
She must sense I’m about to spill, because she drops the Godfather act and scoots toward me, taking my hands in hers. “You can tell me anything. I promise I’ll keep it a secret. I won’t tell anyone, not even Mom.”
“Not even Mom? Gee, that’s real comforting.”
She squeezes my hands, her big blue eyes alight with barely contained excitement at the possibility of a juicy secret.
Tell anyone about the game, and you will be punished, the note at the warehouse had said. But it also said I’d be punished if I didn’t play, and I won’t be playing long if Mom finds out. If Jenny knew, she’d probably help me sneak out or at the very least cover for me.
She squeals as I dig for my phone, find the invitation, and hand it over to her.
Her eyes skim the screen, and she looks up sharply. “What is this? You didn’t actually go to this place, did you?”
“It was this abandoned warehouse,” I whisper.
“What? And you went in?” She couldn’t be more shocked if I’d announced my plans to sell all my worldly belongings and join a group of drifters.
I nod, and I swear, I actually see her respect for me triple. I don’t tell her about the part where I fell off a fence and was carried inside like a corpse.
“Tell me everything,” Jenny says.
So I do: all about the girls and the dare and taking Nikki to the hospital. The whole time her mouth hangs open and she keeps making these weird noises at the back of her throat, as if she can hardly believe what I’m saying.
“You’re making this up,” she says when I get to the part about dropping everyone off and sneaking back into our place.
“I wish I was,” I answer. Though once the words are out of my mouth, I’m not so sure I believe them. It’s the first bit of action and excitement I’ve felt in…ever.
I finger the medications again, picking up a bottle of cipro. I thought the invitation wasn’t real, but it was. And these don’t look fake….Would it be so bad to keep them?
Mom would notice if unlabeled bottles of pills showed up, and that would lead to questions I can’t answer, but I can hide these and sneak a handful into each bottle at the end of every other week. Maybe then she wouldn’t notice that we’re not going through them as quickly as usual. It would save her tons of money. Money we desperately need.
A hundred thousand dollars. If I won, we’d be free. I’d never have to walk into the kitchen to find Mom crying over a pile of bills. I’d never have to feel the gut punch of guilt when I find her clipping coupons late into the night.
“Show it to me,” Jenny says.
I instantly know what she’s talking about. I reach into my purse and retrieve the money and the pin. She flips through the stack of bills and examines the pin in the fluorescent light pouring through my window. Her eyes finally meet mine.
“Wow,” she breathes. “This is so amazing!”
“Amazing?” I repeat with hypocritical disbelief; moments ago I was thinking the same thing. “It’s dangerous. Don’t forget that someone broke into our house and knows exactly which medications I take.”
“Okay, but they’re like fairy godmothers, don’t you think? Did anyone smash a window? Hurt us? Steal anything? No, they came in quietly and gave us something we really need.”
In a strange way she’s right, but I’m still uneasy. “Okay, but how the hell did they get in here without you or Mom seeing them?”
Jenny gives me a head shake, then reaches over and slides my window open. “For someone so smart, you can be pretty stupid. You never lock this thing.”
I shudder, imagining someone climbing in through my window. We’re two floors up, but there are plenty of handholds they might have used to get up here.
“They could have come in through the front door too. Did you lock it on your way out?”
“I couldn’t,” I answer. “You know how loud that bolt is.”
“Well, there you go.”
I rake my hair back. I can’t believe I left my family vulnerable like that. Of course, I had no idea anyone was going to sneak in while I was sneaking out….
“All right, don’t panic,” Jenny says. “This
isn’t one of your horror movies. It’s just a game.”
It’s scary how trusting she is. I scrub my hands down my face.
Jenny pats my knee the same way Mom might. “Try to relax, okay? I think this is supposed to be fun.”
With that she climbs off the bed. As she leaves the room I have to wonder what sort of fun thirteen-year-olds are having these days.
My alarm clock blares to life. I smash the snooze button and gasp when the action makes a fiery ache burn up my arm. I must have pulled a muscle last night.
I have a headache too.
I drag a pillow over my face to block out the sunlight slanting in through my window. I can ignore the pain if I can just get back to sleep.
After everything that happened last night, I thought it would be impossible to fall asleep in my room, but I passed out almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. I don’t think I’ve been up that late since I was twelve and Mom let me stay up past my bedtime for Aunt Deirdre’s wedding.
I start to nod off again when I distantly hear a knocking at my door. A moment later Mom bursts into my room. “Time to get up.”
“Sleeping,” I mumble.
She yanks the pillow off my head. I groan and shield my eyes from the punishing sun.
“We need to talk.”
I’m suddenly wide-awake.
She knows. Jenny—I’m going to murder her.
My heart races as I push up in bed, fighting to keep the pain off my face.
It isn’t just my arm or my head. Everything hurts. My temples throb dully, my legs burn like I ran a decathlon, and my spine feels split in two. I can almost hear the sickening crack as my body hit the pavement falling off that fence. I’m going to need three Advils washed down with a few Tylenols just to take the edge off. And for what?
All of a sudden I feel so stupid—one mistake and I’ll never leave the house again. I’ll die in this apartment. A thousand excuses rush through my brain, but it’s no use. I’m never getting out of this one.
Mom sits on the end of my bed and folds her hands neatly in her lap.
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
I keep perfectly still. Just get it over with, please. Put me out of my misery.
She takes a deep breath. “And, well…I think you’re right. You can’t spend your whole life holed up in this apartment. I called the school, and you’re going back.”
“Wh-what?” I stutter.
“Starting today. I called Dr. Aguiar, and she thinks it’s fine.”
It’s so not what I was expecting that all I can feel is relief. And then it hits me what this means: I’m going to school. Today.
I clap a hand over my mouth. Mom pulls me into a hug, and an ugly sob escapes me.
“All right.” She pats my back. “I’m glad you’re happy. Now you better get ready, or you’ll be late.”
School. Oh my God. “I don’t even know where to start.”
Mom laughs. “Why don’t you start with a shower?”
An hour later I’m showered, medicated, and dressed in my favorite army green utility jacket, black leggings, and brown suede boots I can only hope are still in style. I’m so excited I barely feel my exhaustion from last night’s adventure. The fear of knowing someone was in my room feels very far away.
Mom insists on driving, even though I could easily take the bus. Buses are a breeding ground for infection, she says. Normally I find it annoying, especially since Jenny gets to take the bus to her middle school, but after six weeks at home I’m not about to complain.
I can hardly breathe as we cross the parking lot to the Rio. I’m waiting for her to notice something is off, that I parked in the wrong spot or didn’t put the seat back to its former position or some other critical error. But when we reach the car, all she says is “You look tired.”
My chest tightens, but not for the usual reasons. If she changes her mind about school now, I think I’ll have a breakdown.
“Really? I feel fine! I had a great sleep last night.” I smile wide for good measure, and Mom’s gaze eventually swings away from me. She fishes her keys from her purse and unlocks the door, but I don’t feel relieved yet.
I watch her out of the side of my eye as she drops into the driver’s seat, flips down the rearview mirror, and fixes a smudge in her eyeliner. Then she starts the engine and reverses out of the lot.
I exhale slowly, feeling the tension fizzle from my body.
“Nervous?” Mom asks.
“Um, I guess,” I say. “It’s been a while.”
“You’ll do great,” Mom says, and I have to wonder who she’s trying to convince here. She nervously taps her hand on the steering wheel to the beat of the song on the radio. I take out my phone and text Ethan:
I don’t need you to pick up my homework Sunday
Why not?
I’m going to hand it in today
I can’t rein in my smile.
Does this mean…????
I text back an emoji of fireworks exploding.
The car rumbles up to the school. I’ve never been so happy to be pulling up to the brick monstrosity. The morning is cool, and everyone is finally making the shift toward autumn wardrobe items: flannel and Henleys and corduroy.
I spot Hartley next to the curb, straddling her motorcycle and twirling her helmet around her fist. Last night flashes back at me in vivid color, and my stomach pitches. She nods at me, and I duck my head, hoping Mom didn’t see and that Hartley doesn’t get any ideas about coming over.
It’s weird seeing her here after last night, like I took a trip to the moon and found a McDonald’s there.
“That Ethan over there?” Mom asks, squinting toward the quad. I follow her line of sight to a group of kids standing under a huge live oak.
Mom waves out of the window.
“Mom, stop it!” I hiss.
Ethan perks up and starts to jog over.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell Mom. “Call you after.” I get out of the car and shrug on my backpack as Ethan approaches.
A door slams. I twist around and frown at Mom, standing outside next to the Rio. That’s when I realize it’s a weekday and she’s not wearing her CVS uniform.
“Mom, what are you doing?” I ask.
Mom puts her car keys into her purse. “I’m coming in.”
Last night’s leap of faith was nothing compared to the horror I feel in this moment. My mother is going to escort me into school. In front of everyone.
“I know you think you can handle it,” she says, “but it’s your first day back. I need to talk to the school nurse and make sure everything is set.”
This isn’t happening.
“Mom. You—you just can’t!”
“It’s not a big deal, sweetie. It’ll only be for a few minutes.”
Right, a few minutes. No big deal. And then she’ll say goodbye like she’s getting onto the last lifeboat and I’m stuck on the sinking Titanic.
“I can talk to the nurse myself,” I argue.
“I’d rather do it. I need to know that your treatments are being done properly.”
“She’s done them before!”
“But it’s been a while.”
“It’s not that complicated. Mom, I’ll be fine on my own. The nurse is a professional. Besides, I used Edna this morning!” I say, referring to the vibrating chest physio vest I sometimes wear to loosen up the shit in my lungs.
“That’s great for an addition to your regular treatment plan, not in place of it. And I’m only coming in for a few minutes. You act like I’m going to sit in the back of your class.”
A zing goes through me.
She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
She would. She could.
“I’m not going to sit in your class, Hope,” she says, guessing my train of thought.
Ethan saunters up and pulls me into a huge bear hug that lifts me off my feet. I’m too stunned and horrified and embarrassed to be thrilled at the body contact.
“Hey
, Mrs. Callahan,” Ethan says when he sets me on my feet again. “How are you?”
“Ethan,” I interrupt, “my mom is coming inside.”
“What?” Ethan looks between the two of us, a frown pulling down his eyebrows.
“I won’t get in your way,” Mom says. “It’ll be fine.”
Realization dawns on Ethan’s face. A long beat later, he says, “Well…that’s great.”
Yes. Great.
The only thing better would be if Mom carried me around in a pouch on her body like a kangaroo. She’d love that.
The bell rings.
Ethan offers me an uncertain smile, and we start up the rock-lined path toward the school.
At first I think it will be okay. Mom hangs back, and nobody seems to care. Other than Hartley, I don’t see any of the other dare-club girls. Not that it matters. No one’s going to come up and talk about our dangerous midnight rendezvous in front of an adult, right?
We breach the front doors, and a cold sweat breaks out on my brow.
There’s a weighted silence between Ethan and me as we walk toward my locker, each of us all too aware of Mom standing within earshot behind us. I long to tell him about the invitation, the dare, the strange gift on my bed, but I can’t do any of that with Mom following us.
“The nurse’s office is this way,” Mom says. “I’m not following you.”
I give a barely perceptible nod, as if I can trick anybody into thinking she’s not with me. And who knows, maybe I can. She was a young mom, and with our signature ash-blond hair and nearly identical height, we’ve been mistaken for sisters before. That one time.
At my locker I hear a flurry of whispers, and when I look for the source, I find Josie Benoit and Sadie Fortier giggling with their eyes trained on Mom. Those two have been laughing at me since I transferred here three years ago. You’d think they could find something other than the sick girl to entertain them, but they still find it funny to cough behind me in the halls.
Sadie slaps the arm beside her, and that girl turns to look too.
Farrah.
Dead Girls Society Page 6
