What If ... Your Past Came Back to Haunt You

by Liz Ruckdeschel

  Hannah and Dave raised their hands.

  “Right here in the front row, I see,” Principal Crum said. “Good. You two will be in charge of tracking down the culprit behind this perverted Web site. If anyone knows anything about this case, I demand that you turn the offender in to school authorities at once! Is that clear?”

  From the back someone shouted, “Watch out for that killer wave!” Heads turned toward Haley. Why? she wondered.

  There were giggles throughout the crowd. Haley was baffled. What was this all about? And why did it sound vaguely, creepily familiar?

  “All right, people,” Principal Crum said. “That is all for now. I expect you to help us catch the criminal in our midst and stop the spread of Internet perversion now! You are dismissed.”

  As the assembly broke up, Haley heard people making fun of Principal Crum and echoing the lines she’d just heard about the killer wave and “towel, please.” She felt uncomfortable. She tried to tell herself that everyone had days like this, that nothing was really wrong, but she couldn’t quite convince herself.

  Coco threaded her way through the crowd, using this opportunity to pass out invitations to her exclusive birthday party. It was going to be big, but not that big—plenty of people at school weren’t invited, and Coco made sure they knew it. To those who were invited, however, she couldn’t have been more gracious.

  “Here you are, Zach,” Coco said, giving Zach Woolsey, a senior soccer player, one of her fancy robin’s-egg-blue envelopes. “I hope you can make it. The governor will be there.”

  As she passed Haley, she paused, and Haley expected to receive an envelope. Instead Coco said, under her breath, “Yours is in the mail.” Then she breezed past Haley, leaving a trail of French perfume in her wake.

  “Yours is in the mail”? What was that all about? Was Coco too embarrassed to be seen in public inviting Haley to her party? Did she invite Haley at all?

  Or maybe Haley’s just having a paranoid day. Why is she feeling so insecure all of a sudden? Is it just her imagination, or is there a reason for it? Principal Crum himself said that salacious videos of some students have been posted online—could that lead Haley to the answers she’s looking for? If you think Haley needs to find out immediately just what’s on that Hillsdale Hauntings Web site, send her home on (TOTAL MORTIFICATION.)

  Or maybe you think Haley’s just having an off day, and by tomorrow everything will be back to normal and Coco’s party invitation will show up in the mail. If you think she can’t wait to witness the most decadent bash of the year, turn to, TEA AND SYMPATHY.

  In other news, why do Devon’s attentions to Darcy bother Haley so much? Do you think he really goes for freshman meat, or is he just being neighborly to the budding blonde? Or maybe he’s just way into tattoos all of a sudden. It’s possible. To hang with the alternative clique and find out just how into tattoos Devon really is these days, go to the TATTOO PARLOR.

  Principal Crum is right about one thing: something creepy is going on at Hillsdale. Haley sees trouble everywhere she looks. But she can’t be everywhere at once. At some point she has to choose a direction. Correction: You have to choose one for her.

  LADY-IN-WAITING

  * * *

  The best way to make a queen bee sting is to give her the wrong kind of flowers.

  “Oh, look at this,” Coco said, nearly spitting in disgust. She had brought Haley along on her birthday party prep errands and the first stop was Hillsdale Stationers, where she’d planned to pick up her invitations.

  Haley picked up one of Coco’s birthday invitations and examined the heavy cream-colored stock and glimmering gold lettering.

  “It looks beautiful to me,” she said.

  “Are you blind?” Coco snapped. “It’s wrong. All wrong!” She threw one of the cards at the woman behind the counter. “I specifically requested these invitations be engraved, not letter-pressed! How do you expect me to send these out with the governor’s name on them? They’re a disgrace!”

  “But you said you needed the invitations in a week,” the stationer said. “And there’s no way engraved invitations could be ready that fast—”

  “No way? You find a way,” Coco said.

  “Coco, I really don’t see how anyone could ever tell the difference,” Haley said. She’d never even heard about letterpress versus engraving, and she seriously doubted that anyone at Hillsdale High besides Coco De Clerq had heard of it either.

  “It’s very easy,” Coco said, turning one of the cards over. “Feel that.” She rubbed Haley’s fingers over the smooth back of the card. “See! Any idiot can tell in two seconds that the card has not been engraved.”

  “Sorry,” Haley said. “But I still don’t think—”

  “How can you give me letterpress for the money I’m paying you?” Coco said to the store owner, interrupting Haley. “I gave you a week’s notice. That should be plenty of time. Find a way to make this happen or I’ll take my business elsewhere. And you don’t want that—our new governor will be throwing a lot of parties.”

  “I’m terribly sorry, Miss De Clerq,” the woman said. “We’ll correct the error at once.”

  “See that you do.” Coco stormed out of the shop, Haley at her heels. “I can’t believe that place. You’d think a girl like me could get decent service in this hick town, but no. . . .”

  They walked down the block and turned into Frilly Lily, the best florist in town. A silver bell jingled as they waltzed in. The room was tastefully abloom with exotic flowers and creative, unusual arrangements. This was no ordinary flower shop. Haley was instantly impressed.

  “Yes, may I help you?” The young man behind the counter had a thin mustache and glasses.

  “My name is Coco De Clerq, and I’m here to see the sample centerpieces Josette has made up for me. I hope they’re ready.”

  “Certainly, Miss De Clerq,” the young man said. “I’ll be right back.”

  A minute later he reappeared with a towering arrangement of white calla lilies, forget-me-nots and exotic vines in a tall glass vase. “Here we are. I think we’ll be pleased.”

  “Ugh, are you kidding?” Coco cried. “We’re not pleased—not pleased at all! What is Josette thinking? The governor will be at this party. The governor! And my theme is English rose. Calla lilies are deco blooms, and therefore not romantic enough. I want every single flower to feel as if it has just been plucked from a garden in Sussex—”

  “But Miss De Clerq, it’s December,” the clerk said. “We have trouble finding choice flowers in bloom at this time of year. The shipping process tends to—”

  “Totally beside the point!” Coco shouted. “The room should be dripping with fragrance and color. Any moron could figure this out. And how dare you show me a plain glass vase? This is just for the sample, I hope.”

  “Actually, we thought the simplicity looked nice with—”

  “Simplicity is for simpletons!” Haley flinched at Coco’s harsh tone. “Anyone can put flowers in a glass vase, for heaven’s sake. Why would I pay for that? I specifically told Josette I wanted something rich and lush.” She grabbed a catalog sitting on the counter and quickly flipped through it. “There.” She stabbed a photo with her finger. It showed an array of vintage china vases, very expensive-looking. “I want these.”

  “But these have to be special-ordered,” the clerk said. “It could take weeks—”

  “Get them here in time,” Coco said. “Find a way. This is exactly what I want—and it’s a much more proper height for a table centerpiece than this tall cylinder.”

  “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Good,” Coco said. “Tell Josette to call me when she’s reworked the flowers to a civilized standard.”

  The young man was practically shaking. Haley felt sorry for him. Coco was certainly turning into a tyrant over these party details. Not that she’d ever been easy to deal with.

  They flounced out of the florist shop. “Whew. I need a cappy,” Coco said.
“We’ve earned it. Who knew event planning could be so strenuous? I feel like I’ve just gotten a workout.”

  “Yeah, way to work up a sweat,” Haley teased.

  “We do deserve a break,” Coco exclaimed. They wandered the block to Drip coffeehouse and settled at a cozy table for cappuccinos. “This party is going to be the death of me,” Coco said.

  If you don’t kill some poor florist first, Haley thought, but she didn’t dare say it. She didn’t need to bring the wrath of Coco down on her own head. That was one guillotine she was desperate to avoid.

  “So, everybody is talking about that skank Mia Delgado,” Coco said. “Have you heard what they’re saying now? Supposedly there’s this new Web site with sexy videos of girls from our school on it. I heard one of the perviest clips shows Mia hooking up with some older guy. Ew. Can you imagine?”

  “Uh, I try not to,” Haley said. She’d heard rumors about this site too, but she’d brushed them off, figuring it was probably just normal boy talk—in other words, exaggeration.

  “I wonder who the guy is,” Coco said, topping her cappuccino with cinnamon. “Probably Whitney’s dad. Would that not be the grossest?”

  “Yuck,” Haley said. Whitney Klein’s dad, Jerry, had been caught flirting with the leggy Spanish model more than once, so it wasn’t impossible. Still, Haley shuddered at the thought.

  “At least his breath is probably minty fresh,” Coco said. Jerry, who was known as the breath spray king of New Jersey, had made his money manufacturing pocket-sized spritzers.

  Coco’s expression suddenly changed from grossed-out to seriously concerned. “I’ve heard there are videos up of other girls we know, too. Supposedly, there’s a video of . . . you, Haley.”

  Haley almost dropped her coffee in her lap. “Me? How could there be a video of me?”

  Then Haley remembered that her dad was currently transferring all the old Miller home movies to digital format at a local post house—where Garrett “the Troll” Noll just happened to work. Suddenly, Haley herself was concerned.

  Coco shrugged. “That’s what I heard. I haven’t seen it yet. . . .”

  Haley tried to remember if she had done anything particularly embarrassing while her dad was filming. It wasn’t an impossible task, since her dad was almost always filming, and Haley was, well, accident-prone.

  “I keep meaning to check out the site, but I’ve been so busy with the party,” Coco said. “Spencer did say he saw you. Not that he’s the most reliable source on the planet, but on the other hand, why would he lie about something like that?”

  Haley felt her stomach flip. “What else did he say?”

  “I wasn’t really listening,” Coco replied, as Haley gritted her teeth in frustration. “But he did mention something about an inner tube. Whatever that means. Sounds kinky. Guess you’re not quite as innocent as we all thought.”

  Haley practically shrieked. That was it, the video that was now floating around the Internet for all the world to see. Her most embarrassing moment ever, captured on a family vacation to Lake Tahoe. Haley had been riding an inner tube pulled by a speedboat—until she and the boat hit a wake. The force of the impact stripped off her bathing suit, so her underdeveloped ten-year-old body had been bared for all the world—and her father’s Super 8 camera—to see. Perry had thought it was cute and funny, in a Lucille Ball sort of way, but Haley still thought of it as one of the worst moments of her life, especially since a cute sixteen-year-old lifeguard named Trevor could be seen chuckling along with her dad on the tape.

  Poor Haley. This certainly isn’t the first time she’s felt like going into hiding. But this time, will she be able to live down the infamy? How will she face everyone back at school now that she knows they’ve all seen her younger self naked?

  Coco can certainly be a dictator when it comes to party planning. Yikes. Anyone who works for her needs a seriously thick skin. Coco is convinced that browbeating everyone in sight is the best way to get things done, and who knows, maybe she’s right. Her current birthday party stands to top last year’s. She’s certainly focusing on every tiny detail with microscopic precision. But will Hillsdale’s racy new Web site eclipse even the party of the year? It seems pretty certain that Mia will be the talk of the town for the days, weeks and even months to come—and that wouldn’t be out of character.

  If you’re sure that the mere thought of such an embarrassing moment being posted online will send Haley running home immediately to hide in her bedroom and never come out, turn to (TOTAL MORTIFICATION). If you think Haley can handle whatever comes her way and is not about to let a little video footage keep her from Coco’s party turn to, TEA AND SYMPATHY.

  Who’s the mystery guy in the video with Mia? Haley doesn’t know, but if it is Whitney’s father, the damage will be widespread and massive. If you think Haley should find out if there’s any truth to Coco’s speculation about Mia and Jerry Klein, New Jersey’s breath spray king, join forces with Whitney and Sasha on, GETTING FRESH. Finally, if you think Haley should INVESTIGATE MIA before she jumps to any conclusions, turn to INVESTIGATE MIA.

  BOOB TUBING

  * * *

  Ordering pizza can be dangerous, and not just because of the calories.

  “I’m thinking hoop skirts and corsets,” Whitney Klein said as she put the finishing touches on a coat of coral toenail polish. “Updated, of course. Shorter, a full skirt, nipped waist, something silky . . .”

  Sasha, who was going for a funkier navy polish on her toes, said, “I’m not sure I want to go along with Coco’s whole English rose theme. I mean, I know she’s the First Girlfriend now, but does that mean we all have to go proper and have tea with her under the heaters on her lawn?”

  Haley and Sasha were hanging out at Whitney Klein’s dad’s house, talking about what to wear to Coco’s upcoming birthday bash at the De Clerq manse. Haley’s invitation had just arrived in the mail that very morning.

  “I think she just wants everyone to look elegant,” Haley said, surveying her pearly pink toes. “And more interesting than their everyday school selves. The invitation was pretty, wasn’t it?”

  “I love the gold lettering,” Whitney said. “I just love gold in general. Color something gold and you’ve pretty much got me.”

  “Maybe I’ll wear a gold dress,” Sasha said. “Long and lean like a glass of champagne. If only I could find one.”

  “I could make you a dress like that,” Whitney offered. She’d started her own clothing line, WK, which had already had some success in the trendier local boutiques. “If I have enough time before the party.”

  “That would be amazing,” Sasha said. “Thanks, Whit. What about you, Haley? What are you going to wear to the Cocothon?”

  “I don’t know,” Haley said. “I want something sophisticated, but I’m afraid I can’t pull it off.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Whitney said. “You put on a sophisticated dress, you become sophisticated. Simple as that.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Haley said. “I’ve tried on fancy dresses before and just felt like a little girl swimming in her mother’s clothes.”

  Whitney stood up to survey Haley’s figure, careful not to smudge her toenail polish. “Hmm . . . You know what would look great on you? A cashmere sweater with a poufy skirt. Classic and simple. And maybe a jeweled headband for sparkle . . .”

  “That’s too casual for this party,” Sasha said. “I think you should go nuts, Haley. Bugle beads, sequins, slinky satin, the whole shebang.”

  “But that’s completely out of character for me,” Haley said.

  “Exactly!” Sasha said. “Live a little, Miller. How many chances do you get in this boring town to really dress up? Might as well go for it.”

  “Is anybody else hungry?” Whitney said. “Talking about clothes always makes me hungry.”

  “Talking about anything makes you hungry,” Sasha said.

  “I could eat something,” Haley said.

  “I’ll order a pizza,” Whitn
ey said. “What’s the number for Lisa’s?”

  “I don’t know,” Sasha said. “I thought you’d have it memorized.”

  “Very funny,” Whitney said. “I think Dad’s got it on his computer.” She hurried into her father’s office. Whitney’s dad, Jerry Klein, owned a company that manufactured breath spray, among other things, and sometimes worked from home.

  “Does talking about clothes make you hungry?” Haley asked.

  “No,” Sasha said. “Talking about boys makes me hungry.”

  “Oh my God!” Whitney gasped from the other room. “I don’t believe this!”

  Haley and Sasha ran into Mr. Klein’s office. It was neat and spare, with a new computer on the desk. Whitney was staring at the screen in shock.

  “I logged on to get the pizza number,” Whitney said. “And found that Dad has bookmarked Hillsdale Hauntings!”

  “That site everybody’s been talking about?” Haley asked.

  “With all the Girls Gone Wild videos of kids at school . . . ,” Sasha said.

  “Why would he be looking at this?” Whitney said. “Isn’t that kind of . . .” She couldn’t finish the thought, so Haley finished it for her.

  “Creepy?” Haley said.

  Whitney clicked on a video. “Here’s the last posting he watched. Oh my God—not her again.”

  A grainy video played. Haley gasped when she saw who was starring in it: none other than Mia Delgado. She was lying in bed with some guy, wearing nothing but a bra and shorts, rolling around and making out with him.