Dead Girls Society

by Michelle Krys

  “No!” I realize I’ve shouted it and lower my voice. “It’s okay. She’ll just make a big deal out of it. I’m going there anyway later for chest physio.”

  A beat of silence stretches out.

  I decide to distract her and make use of this opportunity. “Hey, I wanted to ask you, did anyone break into your house after the jump? When I got home, there was a gift on my bed.”

  She lifts a delicate gold chain out of her shirt. “This was on my bed when I got home. I had it appraised. It’s real.” After a long beat, she adds, “What did you get?”

  I flush a little. “Um, medications.”

  “Oh.” She says it like she feels bad for me that I got a shitty gift.

  “They’re really expensive. We can hardly afford them.”

  She nods.

  I scuff my shoes on the tile. “I also got a text yesterday. It said…” Time to cut the cord. I clear my throat. “It was reminding me to stay quiet about what happened.”

  “I got something like that too.”

  “You did?” For some reason I feel relieved. It wasn’t just me. “Do you still have it?” I ask. “Can I see?”

  “I deleted it,” she says. “I didn’t want my mom finding it. She likes to snoop on my phone when I’m in the shower.”

  Shit. That sounds like something Mom would do. I make a mental note to delete mine too.

  I get an idea and stand up straight. “These are huge purchases. I bet we can track them, call some pharmacies, find out who bought a bunch of meds recently.”

  “Ever heard of a little thing called HIPAA?” Lyla asks. “You’d need a warrant for that. We’re just a bunch of kids.”

  “Okay, well, does your necklace have a serial number? We could probably check in with local jewelers, pretend you have a secret admirer or something.”

  “Good idea,” she admits, “but I doubt whoever bought it gave his real name. And they’re not going to hand over Visa slips or security footage.”

  I almost tell her we should turn this over to the cops, but I remember the tear tracks on Mom’s face this morning and know I’m not ready to give up yet.

  “When do you think the next invitation will come?” I ask.

  She blows out a harsh breath, tendrils of hair fluttering around her face. “Probably soon. If the game is supposed to be two weeks, like the note said.”

  I cross my arms against a shiver.

  The faucet drips loudly in the sudden silence.

  “Okay. Well,” Lyla says. “I have to meet with Coach, but I just wanted to check on you.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “Really.”

  She nods, and then she’s gone. I face the mirror. I look like shit. No wonder Lyla wanted to get the nurse.

  I splash water on my face and dry it with a scratchy paper towel. Then I pull out my cell. Two missed calls from Mom. I dial her number.

  “Hi, Mom!” I say brightly, hoping she doesn’t notice the echo of the bathroom in the background. “Just wanted to call to tell you everything is going really well.”

  I have an hour before supper when we get home from my regular visit with Dr. Aguiar. I was a little worried she’d listen to my lungs and somehow know I’d leaped from the top of a tower two nights ago, but she gave me as clean a bill of health as I ever get.

  I shut myself in my room and spread the library books I found about Walt Disney out on my duvet. I’m flipping through one of the books when the doorbell rings.

  I hear muffled voices, and then there’s a knock at my door. Mom pokes her head inside. Ethan is behind her.

  “Not too long,” Mom says.

  I nod mutely as Ethan closes the door.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey.”

  My heart beats fast.

  “What are you doing?” He nods at the books.

  “Um, school stuff.” Somehow I don’t think he wants to hear all about my project with Tucker.

  He nods again, then digs in his bag and hands me a package of Starbursts.

  “Oh. Thanks.” I awkwardly take it from him, but he doesn’t flop onto the bed as usual.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Oh. Yeah. Um.” He shrugs out of his backpack and pulls out a folded newspaper. He holds it for a moment before speaking again. “I found this today, and I’m sorry, Hope, but you need to know. Last year Tucker was arrested for assault.”

  I exhale as I realize what he’s talking about. The thing with Tucker’s cousin.

  “It doesn’t say his name,” Ethan continues, “but it’s for sure him. Remember how he went away for, like, two weeks last year? Well, that’s because he had this court case drama going down. Hope, he would have been sent to juvie if his dad hadn’t hired the best lawyers. And that’s not the worst part—”

  “I knew about that,” I interrupt.

  He freezes. “Y-you did?”

  “How did you even find this?” I ask.

  He shrugs, defensive. “It wasn’t that hard.”

  “But why?” I ask. “Why did you look this up?”

  “What do you mean, why? Because you’re my best friend and I don’t get a good feeling about this guy.”

  I shake my head. “Ethan, you don’t get to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  I raise my hands. “Tell me who I can and can’t date. Did you ask me before you started dating Savannah?”

  “Well, no. But this is different,” he says.

  “Why? If I told you I didn’t get a good feeling about Savannah, would you dump her?”

  “Yes,” he says without missing a beat.

  My face gets hot. “Well, I wouldn’t do that,” I answer. “And you’re wrong about him.”

  “Oh yeah?” He takes a swift step closer. “Look at this. The guy he beat up was hospitalized, Hope. He was beaten unconscious.”

  I didn’t know that. And I know from Ethan’s changing expression that he can see it.

  “It’s not what you think,” I say. “He had a good reason.”

  “Really? What possible reason could he have had to beat a guy senseless and then have his daddy cover it up?”

  “Listen, I’m not supposed to say anything about it, but since you’re obviously not going to shut up about this, I will. Tucker caught a guy trying to rape his cousin.”

  Ethan pales.

  “Yeah. So he beat the guy up and probably got a little carried away, but can you blame him? Imagine walking in on a guy forcing himself on one of your sisters.”

  Ethan’s lips twist in disgust.

  “But when the cops came, his cousin didn’t want to press charges because she was worried about her reputation, so Tucker took the fall for it because he’s a decent guy.”

  He opens his mouth, then closes it.

  I cross my arms. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “But you insinuated it. Everyone always treats me like I can’t make decisions for myself.”

  “I was just trying to help—”

  “Well, stop.”

  A pained look crosses his features. I can’t stand it. I climb off the bed and pace to the window, looking at the huge expanse of concrete below. I hear Ethan moving behind me, but he doesn’t speak. How did things go so horribly wrong between us? I wish I could turn back time. Go back to two weeks ago, when the biggest argument we had was which B horror movie to watch.

  “I don’t want this to get weird, Eth.” I spin to face him again. He’s standing next to my bed now with his head hung low and his hands twisted around the newspaper. “Just, please, trust me.”

  The moment expands, stretches out, and I start to worry that this is it. He’s going to call off our friendship. But then he throws the newspaper into a corner. “All right, fine.”

  Relief surges through me. “So we’re good, then?”

  He nods, and some of his hair falls into his eyes. I long to reach up, tuck it back, but he has a girlfriend now. We’re just friends.


  “Good,” I say.

  He clears his throat, then hikes his thumb behind him. “Well, I better get going. It’s late.”

  “Oh. Okay. See you later.”

  And then he’s gone.

  Even though we made up, I feel uneasy about the whole thing. I can’t believe Ethan went to such lengths to investigate Tucker. On the one hand, I’m happy—it means he really does care about me. But on the other, I’m infuriated. He doesn’t want to date me, he just doesn’t want anyone else to date me either. How can he think that’s okay?

  I flop onto the bed, and something crinkles under the covers. I pull them back. Sitting on my bed is a creamy white envelope with my name printed on the front in looping cursive.

  A chill slithers down my spine.

  My hands shake as I slide my finger under the familiar rose wax seal and pull out the thick cardstock inside.

  Congratulations. You made it past the first round. But it’s not over yet. Meet again at 291 Schilling Road at midnight tonight. And come alone.

  If you dare.

  The Society was here. In my room. Again.

  They got inside without alarming my family—maybe even with my family’s knowledge. Got in despite every door and window in the place being firmly shut and locked. I know this because I double-checked before leaving the apartment and no one’s been home since this morning.

  They could have sent another email. This paper invitation is a message, and the message is clear: we can get to you anywhere.

  I become acutely aware of my heartbeat rushing behind my ears.

  I tuck the envelope into my pants, then yank my T-shirt over it and force myself to walk calmly down the hall. Mom’s banging around in the kitchen, so I keep walking to Jenny’s room. She’s reading in bed when I enter but quickly hides the cover when she sees me, as if I don’t already know about her secret penchant for fluffy middle-grade novels.

  “Ever think of knocking?” she asks.

  I click the door quietly closed, then pull out the invitation. “Do you know about this?”

  She scrambles off the bed and takes the invitation from me, quickly scanning the words. “When did this come?”

  “I just found it on my bed. Under my covers.”

  Her eyes dart up to meet mine. “Who could have gotten in?” she asks.

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you.”

  A crease appears between her brows. “Why would I know?”

  I pin her with a stare. “I dunno, Jenny. You tell me.”

  Her frown deepens, and then the crease between her brows clears. “Wait a minute. You think I did it? What the hell, Hope? I don’t know anything about this.”

  I examine her carefully, looking for the telltale signs of a lie, but she looks genuinely confused—and hurt. Shit.

  “Then someone must have snuck in,” I say.

  “What about Ethan? He was just in your room.”

  “Don’t be stupid. I was with him the whole time.”

  But I did turn my back on him. And he did arrive with some serious dirt on Tucker. He said it wasn’t that hard to find, but without any names in the article, it couldn’t have been easy. It’s the sort of dirt the Society has on the other girls.

  I shake my head to rid it of the thought. Ethan is my best friend. Even if we aren’t getting along, he couldn’t be behind this. I know him too well. He wouldn’t want to scare me. Wouldn’t threaten me.

  “So are you going?” Jenny asks.

  I give a tense shrug. “I don’t know.”

  I wasn’t feeling so threatened until now. They have access to my house, to my bed, and now I’m second-guessing the one person who’s been my friend since the first day I moved to New Orleans.

  “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about quitting,” Jenny says, poking my arm with a sharp little finger.

  “Why wouldn’t I be thinking about that?” I ask. “I have a stalker, Jenny.”

  “Just think about the money.”

  “If you want the money so bad, feel free to take my place,” I snap. “I’m sure they have lots of fun and games planned for us tonight if you feel like committing suicide.”

  “All right, fine, forget it.” She picks up her book.

  I was prepared for more of a fight, and now I don’t know what to do with all the excess adrenaline pumping through me.

  “Well, okay,” I say.

  “Okay,” she answers back. When I don’t move, she adds, “Good night,” giving me a pointed look.

  I go back to my room and do a sweep to make sure I’m alone. The window is locked, but I draw the curtains for good measure, then pull out the notebook from under my bed, flipping it open to the first page.

  SUSPECTS.

  I scrawl Jenny’s name beneath Tucker’s. She may have seemed genuinely surprised when I confronted her about the invite, but I can’t deny she has access. Besides, she knows my medications. Just because I can’t think of any real motive for her to do this, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have one. I’m sure there are thousands of ways I could have slighted my little sister without knowing it. Who knows, maybe she’s even jealous of all the attention Mom gives me.

  My pen hovers over the notebook. Jenny’s words replay in my head. What about Ethan?

  He was in my room. He does know my medications. And then there was the article. I bite my bottom lip until tears brim on my lashes.

  I snap the notebook closed.

  Ethan is my best friend. I refuse to let this game make me turn on him.

  I jolt awake. The bedroom is dark, lit only by the dim streetlight filtering in around the curtains. My forehead is damp with sweat, and my pajamas cling to my body. Something woke me.

  Tink.

  A pebble hits my window.

  My heart thunders. Someone is outside. I glance at the bedside table: 11:45 p.m. Fifteen minutes until the meeting time. It can’t be a coincidence. Is the Society out there?

  Tink.

  I kick off the sheets and climb out of bed, then tiptoe to the window and cautiously peer around the edge of the curtain. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t to see Lyla Greene standing in the parking lot with her car door flung wide behind her. She sees me and waves. I exhale a long breath, then open the curtains and heft up the ancient window to stick my head out.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss.

  “You seemed weird about taking your mom’s car, so I thought I’d pick you up. Nikki was right anyway—it’s better if we have fewer cars.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not going. And you need to leave before you wake up my mom.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’ll murder me. Then you,” I say.

  “I meant why don’t you want to come?” she asks.

  “I just don’t want to do it anymore. It’s not worth it.”

  “But I have a plan.”

  “Oh yeah? And what’s that?” I hear a noise in the hallway and hold my finger to my lips, but a moment stretches out and there’s no further sound.

  “I’ll tell you on the way,” Lyla says.

  I press my lips into a line. But I am curious to hear what she has to say, and if I wake up Mom, I can tell her my friend popped by and I went outside to talk to her. That shouldn’t get me into too much trouble.

  “Gimme a minute.” I pull a sweater on over my pajama top, shove my feet into some slip-ons, then creep out of my bedroom, down the darkened hallway, to the front door. A creak sounds behind me. I pause with my hand on the front door. When the noise doesn’t continue, I unbolt the lock and slip out.

  Lyla’s waiting in the front seat of her car when I get there. “Get in,” she calls.

  I scan the apartment windows for signs of life, then sigh and open the passenger-side door. I have to move aside a crumpled bag of McDonald’s so I can sit down.

  “Okay,” I say, leaving my door wide open. “I’m listening but not committing.”

  “So Nikki’s out of the game, right?” Lyla answers.


  I nod.

  “And based on the way Farrah freaked out about the Nikki thing, there’s a good chance she’s not coming this time either.”

  “And?” I peer up at Mom’s window. Still dark. Still quiet.

  “And that means there are only three girls left. Our odds of winning are, like, twice as good as last week. And they’re even better if we agree to split the money. Think about it. If we agree to an alliance, we have a sixty-six percent chance of winning. Fifty K for each of us. And the odds go up to one hundred percent if we beat Hartley.”

  “If we beat Hartley,” I repeat. That girl doesn’t even know what fear is.

  “She’s a strong player,” Lyla agrees. “But we don’t know what the next dare is going to be. It could be something one of us excels at. The point is, we won’t know unless we go.”

  “Why not ask all the girls to split the money?” I say. “Two of us can intentionally fail at the dares, and then we all split the winnings.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t see Hartley going for something like that. She’s an all-or-nothing kind of girl, not a team player.”

  I bite my lip, considering. I’m flattered she chose me. Of all the girls she could have propositioned, I’m clearly the lame horse of the race.

  “I dunno,” I say. “This whole thing has gotten creepy. I got the invitation in my room today. Tucked under my bedcovers.”

  “Mine was on my dresser when I got home from school. But that’s part of the problem. Remember what the note said? Refuse to play the game…”

  “We think you know what happens,” I say, supplying the end of the threat.

  Lyla nods, somber. “Let’s just go. If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late.”

  I look at the time. She’s right. We’ve already spent five minutes having this conversation.

  “Okay,” I relent. “Let’s go.”

  We’ve been on the road for five minutes before I remember I’m in my PJs and that my inhaler, not to mention my cell phone, is at home.

  “You okay?” Lyla asks, somehow sensing the shift in my mood.

  “I’m fine.”

  But Lyla’s not buying it, and I feel the need to give her something.

  “It’s just been a weird couple of days. I had a fight with my best friend tonight.”