My pity party is interrupted when I hear the two-tone sound of a bell chiming—my text message ring tone. I open my purse and grab my phone in a flash, hoping it’s Frances or Callie. I read the message, and my blood turns to ice.
BLOCKED NUMBER
Lying hypocrite! Stay away from him or else. You’ve been warned.
CHAPTER 7
I burst out of the bathroom, determined to have it out with Sidney. Why even bother to pretend the text is anonymous? She’s crazy jealous, but with this new message, she’s just flat out crazy. I amble down the staircase and turn left toward the hallway. I push my way through while scanning the faces of the partygoers, hoping to spot her. Nothing. I end up in the kitchen and notice the patio is lit, and a crowd has gathered.
It’s a cold, crisp evening, the air heavy with moisture. Flames from the fire pit in the center cast a soft glow over the flagstone patio with gray, stone retaining walls. A series of lounge chairs and small, colorful end tables are scattered throughout the space. Some partygoers relax in the chairs while others stand around drinking, conversing, or grooving to the music on the night air. A couple of seniors greet me when they spot me, and I offer a non-verbal acknowledgment.
I observe Sidney at the edge of the patio near the hedges, drink in hand, conversing with Brooke and another senior guy I’ve seen around but don’t know that well. I march over to them, clutching the phone with the threatening message.
I hold up the phone to Sidney’s face. “Do you think this is funny?” I shout at her. “Just how twisted are you, Sidney?”
She gawks at me like I’ve gone mad. So do Brooke and their companion. I no longer hear the murmur of conversation around us. I turn around to see all eyes on us.
“We need to talk, Sidney,” I say, lowering my voice and the phone. “This is getting absurd, and it ends now.”
Sidney hasn’t blinked once since I approached.
“What’s going on?” Brooke asks.
“Sidney knows what she did,” I say through gritted teeth. “I just want a moment alone with her to sort this out. Can you guys excuse us, please?”
They leave without protest.
“Does Christian know you’re a full-on psycho?” Sidney asks, folding her arms. “Somebody should warn him.”
“Are you going to deny you sent me that text?”
I flash back to the conversation with Frances about the things that Sidney is capable of. She almost killed someone, and her parents covered for her. I have to take the text seriously. It wasn’t a subtle threat.
She scoffs. “I have no idea what you’re rambling on about. If I wanted to say something to you, I wouldn’t text you. I would tell you straight to your stupid face. Like, don’t get your hopes up, thinking you have a chance with Christian. He’s playing you for fun. When he gets bored, we’ll be back together. You’re a temporary distraction, like an irritating stomach virus that makes me puke but goes away in a few days.”
We’ll just see about that, you witch.
Her words inflame me. I wish I had superpowers right now that would allow me to wipe her off the face of the Earth. Instead, I force myself to remain composed and unaffected.
“Look, Christian and I like each other. I’m sorry if it upsets you. I don’t get the impression that you were anything more than a casual hookup to him. If I thought for a minute that he was serious about you, I would get out of your way. I keep my business drama-free as much as possible. You know that about me, Sidney.”
She looks bored as if nothing I’ve said interests her in the least. “Whatever, Abbie. Christian’s family has a certain image to maintain, and that includes who he dates and brings home to Bedford Hills. Sorry if it upsets you, but you don’t meet the criteria.”
For the second time this evening, I’m speechless. Sidney flips her hair, looks me up and down as if I were a turd she discovered under her Charlotte Olympia pumps, then sashays her way over to a small group gathered around the fire pit.
I’m on emotional overload; a dense sponge wrung dry, not a drop of liquid left. It’s getting late and time to leave the party.
The valet pulls up near the entrance with my car, and Callie, Frances and I pile in. I send a quick text to Christian, letting him know we’re leaving. We exit the Mueller’s driveway and take the side street that will get us to Route 9 West. Frances sits next to me in the front passenger seat, and Callie is in the back, barely able to form a coherent sentence.
“Why are we leaving the party so early?” she asks. Her mouth sounds like it’s filled with cotton.
“It’s not that early,” I respond. “Dad might blow a gasket if I miss curfew. I have thirty minutes to get you guys back to campus and get home. I’m not going to make it, just so you know.”
Callie goes silent. Frances hasn’t taken her eyes off me since we got in the car.
“Well?” she asks.
“What?” I can tell Frances is in news story mode.
“I’m waiting. Heard you and Sidney got in each other’s faces, and you and Christian were caught making out. Callie and I figured we’d give you some space. What we really wanted was to find you so we could gang up on Sidney.”
“I did need some space to think things through.”
I break down the evening, starting with the insult from Preston, then the kiss, the text message that arrived soon afterward, and the confrontation with Sidney.
Silence envelopes the car, the sound of the engine eating up the miles the only reprieve from the uneasiness. Callie doesn’t say anything about the fact that Christian and I kissed for the first time, even though she’s our biggest cheerleader and to her, that’s big news. I glance at her in the rearview mirror. She’s staring out the window into the darkness, her face expressionless.
Frances doesn’t have a snarky comeback about Preston insulting me or how dismissive Sidney was when I confronted her. Neither one of them tries to explain the text as a prank, no reassurances that it was just some idiot playing some silly games, or that the text was sent to the wrong person.
I hear rumbling in the distance. A deafening clap of thunder roars across the night sky, followed by lightning that sends shivers up my spine. I swerve from the left lane into the middle of the road. My passengers remain stoic. I hunch over in the driver seat, and my fingers clamp down on the steering with an iron grip. Beads of sweat break out on my forehead, but I’m powerless to do anything about it. I navigate back to the left lane, my gaze intense on the road ahead of me.
Thunder blasts through the night again. The sky opens, and a punishing downpour pummels the vehicle, lashing out at the windshield and windows. A whimper escapes my lips. I manage to get the windshield wipers going at maximum level.
“Pull over. I’ll drive,” Frances says.
“I got it,” I squeak.
“Pull over, Abbie. This is your worst nightmare, getting caught in a thunderstorm.”
“It’s okay, Abbie,” Callie says. “We’ll spend the night at your house, drinking hot chocolate and gossiping about the party.”
“And you have to tell us if Christian is a good kisser,” Frances adds.
I can’t help but smile, just a little. I’m terrified of thunder and lightning. It started when I was four. My parents would bribe me to crawl out from under my bed during a storm or make room for me in theirs. I’m embarrassed to say that I’m almost an adult, and I still haven’t outgrown the fear.
The windshield is barely a match for the torrential rain. I make my way to the right lane and come to a stop. I put on the high beam. The nearest car is miles in front of us. On the count of three, Frances and I open the passenger and driver side doors simultaneously. We’re drenched in seconds as we quickly make the switch. We’re both shivering. Frances cranks up the heat even higher, and we take off. My phone rings. I reach for it in my purse resting on the console between the driver and passenger seat. It’s my dad. He must be worried about the late hour and the storm.
“Hi, Dad.”
; “Where are you? Are you girls okay? Are you close to home? Do you need me to come get you?”
“Dad, it’s fine. Frances is driving. We’ll be home soon. Please don’t worry.” I know he’s pacing the living room floor. He’ll then make his way to the family room and continue the pacing there, contemplating grabbing his keys and coming to get us, despite my reassurances. Mom is probably upstairs, pretending to be asleep since Dad is on duty tonight, but she won’t fall asleep until I get home.
“It’s nasty out there. I don’t feel comfortable with you girls driving in this weather.”
“We’ll get home safely. I promise.”
CHAPTER 8
We all dry off and change into pajamas. Three mugs of steaming hot chocolate were delivered to my room. After we warm up, all three of us sit on my bed yoga style.
“What are we going to do about the crazy text message?” Callie asks.
“I’m not sure. Sidney was too calm and uninterested when I confronted her. Either she’s a sociopath or an excellent actress.”
“She might be both,” Frances says. “Although I haven’t heard anything about her acting weirder or meaner than usual. I asked around, and, so far, nothing. It’s still possible whoever sent the messages got the wrong person.”
“I don’t think so.”
“How do you know?” Callie asks.
It was time to confess. “Last week, I got a call from a girl who quoted the note, word for word.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Callie asks, her eyes widening.
“You two have your own stuff going on. I didn’t want to drag you into this.”
“What else did this girl say?” Frances asks.
“Nothing. I said hello, she quoted the note and then hung up.”
“Did it sound like Sidney at all?” Callie asks.
“I couldn’t tell. I don’t know what she sounds like over the phone. The caller could be in our age group, though.”
“If this continues, you have to tell Dr. Kellogg,” Frances says. “This stalking started on school property.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that. I just wish I knew what the person wanted. Three separate incidents make it a grudge of some kind.”
“But who besides Sidney has a beef with you?” Frances asks.
“That’s the problem. She’s the only one with means, motive, and opportunity.”
My friends look at me like I’m a basket case. “I watch Law and Order reruns with my mom, okay?”
It’s coming up on 1:00 a.m. We’re physically drained and mentally exhausted. It’s time to sleep. Callie has something else in mind, however.
“Don’t think we forgot. Details, please.”
“Forgot what?”
“The kiss,” Callie says.
“It’s late, and I’m tired,” I say. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”
Frances tosses a pillow at my head, and I duck. Callie picks one up, too, and aims for my face. I put my hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll talk. You don’t need to suffocate me.”
I describe how the chemistry between Christian and I took me by surprise. That the idea of us as a couple doesn’t seem so improbable anymore because he’s attentive, funny, and genuinely wants to get to know me. How scared I am that falling for him could lead to disaster, if I don’t guard my heart.
“What’s the real reason you’re so scared to be with Christian, Abbie?” Callie asks.
“It’s simple,” Frances quips. “Abbie is afraid she could end up looking like a fool if things don’t work out between them. We know how much she’s a control freak. Christian’s true intentions are unknown right now, the X in a romantic algebraic equation.”
I couldn’t have explained it any better. She nailed it.
“Yeah, what Frances said,” I say, nodding at Callie.
Callie moves her head from side to side, working out the kinks in her neck. The sound of her bones popping creeps me out every time she does it.
“What happened to the Abbie who wouldn’t back down when a psycho was trying to get rid of her mother?” she asks. “Now, you’re scared of a boy? Come on.”
I didn’t know how strong I could be until I had no choice. Two years ago, a deranged lunatic who wanted revenge for reasons that made sense only in her mind framed my mother for murder. Mom spent three months in jail until we figured out who was behind it. In the end, the nutcase had killed three people including her psychiatrist, who had suspected she knew more about Mom’s case than she was saying.
“It’s complicated, Callie. When I’m around Christian, it’s as if I’m on an exhilarating rollercoaster ride. When I come down from the high, I have my doubts.”
Frances rolls her eyes at me and flops down on the bed. Callie stares at me like a helpless cat.
“Christian is making it up as he goes,” Callie says.
“What?”
“I have to hear this,” Frances says. She pops back up into a sitting position.
“He’s clueless when it comes to you, Abbie,” Callie states. “We attend some of the same parties outside of school, mostly during the summer. Girls swarm around him like bees. I’ve seen Hollywood starlets throw themselves at my father, hoping to be cast in his next movie. Christian has my dad beat. These girls know how influential the Wheelers are and how many digits are attached to their family fortune. Eleven, in case you’re wondering.”
“I wasn’t, but thanks for sharing. I still don’t see what any of this has to do with me.”
“In plain English,” a frustrated Frances says, “Christian doesn’t chase girls. They chase him. You changed the game on him, and now his playbook is useless. He needs a whole new strategy to deal with you.”
“Frances is right,” Callie says. “All his life, people have been catering to Christian because of his family name. It’s sad to say, but he’s been taught that they don’t care about him, that they only want what the Wheeler name can do for them. That includes the girls who want to ‘date’ him. I think the fact that you blew him off for so long is a game changer for him.”
“I’m just a regular girl, Callie. I’m not here to be a game changer for anyone but myself, for now. I don’t have magical powers.”
“That’s the best part. Your powers move like the wind,” Frances says, gesturing with her hands. “Mysterious and invisible. Christian doesn’t know what hit him.”
“That was beautiful,” I say. “You’re going to be a great reporter. They may as well hand over your Pulitzer Prize right now.”
She grins and pretends to punch me in the arm.
We talk into the wee hours of the morning, but now, sleep won’t come until my curiosity is satisfied. I finally get up the courage to ask the girls what has Sidney so afraid.
“Have either of you seen Sidney with a vintage encyclopedia? Christian mentioned it after she caught us kissing and went ballistic. There was fear in her eyes. I don’t think he was talking about a real encyclopedia, though.”
Frances sits still. Callie stares off into space, her expression grim.
“What is it?” I ask.
“The encyclopedia is real,” Callie confesses. “The one she owns is special for a reason. I’m surprised Christian said anything. He must like really like you to put Sidney on blast like that.”
“I’m officially confused,” I tell her. “What’s so special about Sidney’s encyclopedia?”
“Because of what’s in it,” Frances replies.
My eyes roam back and forth between them. “So, what’s in it?”
Callie looks straight at me. “Cocaine.”
CHAPTER 9
It’s Monday morning. I stand at my locker replaying the events of the weekend in my head, again. What should I do with the secret I learned about Sidney? Is it a gift, a way to force her to leave me alone and stop threatening me? No way. I shake off the idea as soon as it occurs to me because I would never betray my friends’ confidence for a temporary victory.
My phone chimes, alerting
me to a new text message. I grab it from the side pocket of my bag.
BLOCKED NUMBER
Liar! Hypocrite! Poser!
I should have known Sidney wouldn’t relent. She’s always hated me, but this is a new level of meanness, even for her. Why the intense bitterness? Is this all about Christian? But what about the weird note and the phone call?
I exhale slowly, and then turn my attention to opening my locker. Dahlia is walking toward me, her stride purposeful. My heart rate skyrockets as I anticipate some massive failure in my quest to get my hands on video surveillance that would prove Sidney’s been to my locker and is behind the threats. I start turning the combination on the lock.
“Is it true that you lost it at Evan Mueller’s party?” she asks, leaning up against the locker right next to mine.
I don’t answer at first. I keep turning the combination. I hear giggles as students walk by. Jessica Wallace, a plump blonde with a permanent smirk, one-third of Sidney’s clique, laughs under her breath as she passes by.
“So sad,” she says and then takes off shaking her head.
“That was weird,” I say to no one in particular.
“Everyone’s talking about it,” Dahlia says. “What happened at the party?”
I pop the lock. “Everyone’s talking about what?”
“How you went cray-cray at the senior bash. Sidney started a rumor that you sent yourself a threatening text and then yelled at her in front of everyone. She claims it was a pitiful move to get attention from Christian.”
My thoughts are a jumbled mess. What does Sidney hope to gain by starting the rumor? Was she high when she came up with the idea? Is this her latest tactic to undermine me?
“There’s a picture, too,” Dahlia says.
That statement grabs my attention. “What picture?”
She whips out her phone from her bag and scrolls. She hands it to me, and I have a look. It’s a shot of me, yelling at Sidney and holding up my phone so she could read the text. Everyone on the patio that night witnessed the whole thing. Anyone could have snapped the photo. My face isn’t very clear because my back is to the camera, but there’s no mistaking it’s me.
Game of Fear Page 5
