Mary-Kate held her hands up. “Everybody calm down. There’s no need to panic. That won’t help anything.”
“Why won’t they let us in?” someone shouted at her. The crowd quieted a little to hear her answer.
“It’s my understanding that the staff is meeting right now to discuss how to best handle this,” Mary-Kate explained. “I’m sure they’ll let us in soon and tell us what’s going on.”
People seemed to settle down as Mary-Kate spread her calming presence throughout the parking lot.
If I could trade places with anyone at school, it would be Mary-Kate. People listened to and respected her. They went to her for advice when they had problems, and she seemed to always have a solution. Unlike me, her voice didn’t quiver when she spoke, and she made everything sound important. She was already the top performer in our Speech class, while I was at the bottom of the barrel. Our teacher, Mrs. Martin, despised me and my horrible fear of public speaking.
Mary-Kate wasn’t Lacey popular—she was the kind of girl who was known for being smart and doing things for the school. Since she’d announced her run for junior class president that Monday, no one else had added their name to the ballot. Mary-Kate had been our president since freshman year, and that wasn’t going to change. The best part about her was that I had never seen her be mean to anyone. She didn’t gossip or insult people. She would speak to you even if you were a nobody. She wasn’t only nice around election time when she needed our votes; she always acted the same way. Most importantly, she never called me Dust.
A horn blared, bringing a brief silence over the crowd, but when everyone realized the source of the noise, they resumed their conversations. Bruce Wiley, who simply went by Wiley, sat in his pickup truck revving the engine. Ranson sprinted over to him. The fact that he was good friends with Ranson was reason enough for me not to like Wiley.
I had no idea why Wiley even came to school. I never saw him in class or even in the building. The only times I saw him, he was hanging out of the window of his black-and-red F150 with orange flames painted on the sides. He leaned out of the driver’s window, laughing about something with Ranson. The two of them looked way too happy considering someone had just been shredded to death.
Almost twenty minutes later, we were herded into the school building. Teachers, security guards, and the office staff stood in the main hallway, directing us to the gymnasium. Quickly and quietly, we filled up the bleachers.
A fire
A basketball post could fall and crush someone
The creature that’s killing teachers in the woods could come in and kill us all
Principal Sharpe stood behind a podium in the middle of the gym looking spent and completely exhausted. It had to be hard to lose people he worked with.
Once everyone was settled, the doors to the gym were closed and silence fell over the place. Everyone shut up because we were eager to learn what had happened. Who had been killed? I made a mental list of teachers I could recall offhand and searched for their faces around the gym. Who was missing? I couldn’t tell, but I was thankful to see Ms. Melcher, my favorite teacher, standing by the door of the boys’ locker room.
Principal Sharpe was a dead ringer for Mr. Clean without the earring. He was even built like him. There was a running joke that he always wore his shirts extra tight to show off his muscles. The lights glared off his shiny head as he wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Ladies and gentlemen, as you have probably heard by now, we lost a teacher last night. His body was discovered this morning.”
The victim was a he. Mr. Rollins, the history teacher? Coach Wimberly? The shop teacher whose name I couldn’t think of right then?
“Mr. Thompson was killed last night.”
Horrified gasps filled the gymnasium. I knew who Mr. Thompson was, but he was the drama teacher, so I had never taken one of his classes. He headed all the school’s productions and musicals. Just like Mrs. Chin, he was married with children, and my heart hurt for his family.
I looked over at Fletcher. He glanced at me and then turned to the person sitting on the other side of him, leaving me to stare at the back of his head. What was his problem?
Principal Sharpe called for everyone to quiet down. “I know this is shocking, everyone. We don’t have many details since the police officers are still investigating. At this time, we want to give the Thompson family the respect and privacy they deserve. Once this assembly is over, you will be free to go for the day. If anyone needs to stay and speak with a guidance counselor or teacher, you are encouraged to do so. Please, go right to your homes, and for your own safety, stay away from the woods.”
Stay away from the woods? That warning was insanely frightening because Everson Woods was surrounded by them—hence the name Everson Woods.
I took that to mean that Mr. Thompson had been found in the woods. What was he doing out there in the middle of the night? What had Mrs. Chin been doing out there? Maybe they had been somewhere else and whatever had killed them dragged them there, but wouldn’t someone have seen that?
Principal Sharpe called for a moment of silence before dismissing us. I stayed in my seat as kids headed for the four exits, either crying or talking excitedly. There was a crowd at each door, so it made sense to wait until they cleared out. Fletcher hadn’t moved either. I watched Mary-Kate speak with Principal Sharpe for a few moments before exiting the gym herself. Knowing her, she was probably asking about floral arrangements or what could be done for the family. That girl never wasted a second.
“Do you want to stay and talk to someone?” Fletcher asked. He studied the lines on his palm, which seemed to give him an excuse to not look at me.
I scoffed. “Why would I want to do that? One therapist is enough. Besides, I think the teachers need counseling more than us.” Mr. Thompson had been a popular teacher, and I was sure he was friends with most of them. Also, they had to be at least a little worried about two teachers dying in the same gruesome, mysterious way. Were they thinking they could be next? I figured the last thing they wanted to do at the moment was talk to a bunch of freaked-out teenagers when they had more of a reason to be freaked out than we did.
Once the gym had mostly cleared out, I rose and slung my backpack over one shoulder. “I guess we should go.”
Fletcher nodded and bounded down the bleachers, while I took the stairs at the side. My long, ruffled dress required me to take small, dainty steps.
Outside, he turned toward his house. My stomach clenched at the thought of being alone. Stay away from the woods. After what had happened to Mr. Thompson, I didn’t want to walk home by myself. “Fletch, are you mad at me or something?”
He stopped, but he didn’t turn around. “I’m not mad. I just think you need some time alone to think about your actions.”
I yanked his arm and spun him around. “What actions? What the hell are you talking about?” Even though the parking lot was emptying, I tried not to raise my voice.
He stared me in the eyes and took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you.”
I was so sick of him saying that that I wanted to punch him. “You can’t tell me what? What?”
“I have to go.” He walked away from me as if the sidewalk was on fire.
“Fletcher!” I screamed after him, but he ignored me, so I turned to head home alone.
As I passed Wiley’s truck, he blared his horn at me. I swore that horn was ten times louder than it needed to be. “Yo, Dust! Your boyfriend’s tripping, huh? I’ll give you a ride.”
I flipped him off, mostly because I was pissed with Fletcher. Wiley hadn’t deserved that. He was an idiot and friends with Ranson Duvall, but he had never done anything to me.
“Whoa. What did I do?” he called after me.
I stopped walking. He was right, and getting a ride home from a boy was something a normal girl would do. It’s not like Wiley was a stranger. We weren’t friends, but I’d known him since elementary school.
Besides, it beat walking home alone, and the parking lot and sidewalks were mostly empty.
I walked back to his truck, where the passenger-side window was rolled down.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
He flashed me a smile, which was actually kind of cute. Kind of. “It’s all right. I think we’re all a little testy considering what happened.” He leaned over the passenger seat and opened the door. “Hop in.”
I climbed inside and placed my backpack on my lap. His truck smelled like a mixture of stale coffee and weed. “Thanks,” I said as I shut the door.
Wiley backed out of the parking space. “No problem.”
Ejected from vehicle
Explosion
Head-on collision
The truck could flip
Airbag malfunction
I reached for my seat belt, hoping that Wiley was a safe driver. There were too many ways to die in a vehicle. I had never been in a hurry to learn to drive. “Your airbags work, right?”
Wiley glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Yeah . . . I guess. Can’t say I’ve tried them out.”
Okay, that was a weird thing to ask. Stop being weird, Arden. I had to think of something normal to say. “It’s horrible what happened, huh?”
“Yeah, Mr. Thompson was cool. My older sister was really into drama, so she had him every year. He taught her a lot. Now she’s doing plays at her university.”
“I never had him, but he seemed like a nice guy.”
Wiley flicked the radio on and surprisingly, classical music blared from the speakers. I tried not to laugh. I liked different music too, but I hadn’t expected Wiley to be into Chopin.
“My grandma likes Chopin too,” I said.
Wiley gave me a blank stare, and I realized how my comment could be taken as an insult. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
He shrugged and turned the music down. “My dad was using my truck earlier, and he loves this stuff.” But he didn’t bother to change the music. We paused at a four-way stop sign, and Wiley looked at me again. “What were you and your boyfriend fighting about?”
Had he heard anything? He couldn’t have. He was too far away and his engine was running. Maybe he could tell we were arguing from our body language. “Fletcher isn’t my boyfriend.” Even though I was mad at him, it hurt to say those words. “And we weren’t really fighting. We just had a disagreement.”
Wiley nodded as if he understood. “You should think about making some new friends. That Fletcher dude’s a nut. Something’s wrong with him.”
I gripped the straps of my backpack. I hated when people talked like that about Fletcher even though I understood. Fletcher made it easy for people to think those things, but they didn’t know him like I did.
“There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s just different, and there’s nothing wrong with different.”
Wiley sighed and turned onto the street that led to my house. “If you say so. If you want to, we can hang out. What happened to Mr. Thompson was pretty scary. I’m sure you’d like some company.”
I would have liked some company, Fletcher’s if he hadn’t been acting so weird.
“Hang out?” Just getting into the car with him had been a huge step for me. I didn’t think I could handle hanging out.
“Yeah, my parents are at work. We can watch some Netflix and . . .”
I knew where this was going, and thankfully he pulled into my driveway. I only realized then that Wiley had known the way to my house without me giving him directions. He’d never been to my house before.
“That’s okay. I think I’m going to use this time to catch up on some schoolwork.”
He reached over and rested his hand on my knee. Something about his touch made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and not in a good way. “You know what Mr. Thompson’s favorite saying was? Carpe diem. Seize the day. If he were still alive, he’d want you to use this time to do something you’d enjoy.”
Yeah. That wouldn’t include spending another second with Wiley. I shoved his hand away. Was Wiley really using a dead man to make a move on me? I mean, what did I look like to him?
“Dust . . .”
And he was still calling me Dust.
“You’re stressed out. You know what the number-one stress reliever is?”
I popped the passenger-side door open. “Thanks for the ride, but I’m sure you can find another girl to watch Netflix and chill with.” I didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in my voice. It felt like he had seen me walking down the sidewalk and thought, Hey, she looks easy. Let me give it a go.
“Okay,” he called out of the window as I headed for my front door. “We can hang out some other time when you’re more up to it.” I waved absently over my head and let myself into the house.
My mother was a stay-at-home mom. I found her in the kitchen wiping down the counters with Lysol wearing her DOMESTIC DIVA apron, gabbing away on the phone. “Oh, hold on, Sharon,” she said when she saw me. “Hey, honey. I heard. I’m so sorry about—”
I didn’t want to talk about Mr. Thompson. “I was normal, Mom. I let Bruce Wiley give me a ride home, and he tried to get in my pants, well, under my dress, I guess. Is that normal enough for you?”
She frowned. “Arden, what—”
But I didn’t stay to hear what she had to say. I took the stairs two at a time and slammed my bedroom door. Once my parents jumped to the conclusion that I was suicidal, they had replaced my old doorknob with one with no lock so I couldn’t keep them out. Fortunately, I’d learned how to wedge a chair underneath the knob to stop the door from being opened. When Mom knocked a minute later, I ignored her until she went away.
Holing up in my room until dinner time, I got a ton of work done and even managed to slip in a nap. The smell of Mom’s famous macaroni and cheese woke me up and drew me toward the kitchen. The best part of her macaroni was the bits of bacon she put into it. That dish had always been me and Dad’s favorite.
When I sat at the table, Mom kissed my forehead. “We’ll talk later. Made your favorite. Hope it makes you feel better.” I felt guilty about being mad at her earlier.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Girls, let’s go,” Dad called from upstairs. When I’d passed Quinn’s room, she and Paige had been in there giggling about something. Dad and my sisters came downstairs and took their places around the table.
Dad patted my hand. “How’re you doing, kiddo?”
I shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
Paige picked bits of bacon out of her macaroni. She was a vegetarian when she wanted to be, which was only half the time. “It sucks what happened to that teacher. His daughter goes to my school.”
“Paige, let’s find a better word for sucks,” Mom snapped. “But yes, it is terrible.”
“Everybody is saying a werewolf did it. There was a full moon last night,” Quinn contributed to the conversation. “My friend Brittney has this theory that it’s a person who hates school that transforms into a werewolf, and it will sacrifice a teacher at the beginning of every year. Last year it was Mrs. Chin. This year it was Mr. Thompson. If I were a teacher, I would quit.”
“Quinn, that’s ridiculous,” Dad said. “There’s some kind of animal lurking in those woods, and I want you all to stay away from there.”
“Why?” Paige whined, as if she ever hung out in the woods. “Whatever it is, it only attacks at night.”
“It seems to be a random animal attack,” Mom said, giving Dad another serving of macaroni. “I agree. Stay away from the woods at night and there should be nothing to worry about. Everyone is getting all worried and paranoid over nothing.”
I put my fork down. Mom’s macaroni didn’t taste as good as it usually did. It tasted kind of like paste, and the bacon bits were too hard. “Is it over nothing, Mom? What would Mrs. Chin and Mr. Thompson have been doing in the woods at night, huh?”
Mom rolled her eyes. “How do you think they got to the woods if they hadn’t gone there themselves? I
don’t know why anyone would go there at night, or for any reason, but they obviously did. Maybe they were going for a night run. People do strange things, Arden.”
Something wasn’t right. Things weren’t making sense. It would have been nice to have Fletcher to talk to, but I had decided that I was never going to speak to him again after the way he’d treated me. What kind of friend kept secrets and accused people of doing horrible things they would never even dream of?
“May I be excused?” I asked, hoping to get away without doing the dishes even though it was my turn.
Mom gave me a small smile. “Sure, honey. Your sisters will clean up the kitchen.”
“What! No!” my sisters wailed at the same time.
“You will,” Dad told them. “Your sister’s had a bad day.”
Quinn poked at her macaroni. “Stupid werewolf.”
Upstairs in my room, I pulled Anastasia from my closet to wear the following day. Anastasia was pastel purple, and I’d added small jewels to the ribbon that tied at my waist. I’d really wanted to wear Eleanor, but she needed to be ironed, and I didn’t have the energy to do that.
Lying on my bed with all my homework done and nothing to do, scary thoughts filled my head. Was there some kind of monster on the loose in our town, or were these just normal animal attacks? I had the urge to talk to someone, but Fletcher was out of the question. I thought about calling Bailey, but that would have been awkward since she’d decided that I didn’t exist.
Scarlett had given me her personal cell phone number and said I could call her any time I wanted, but if I did that, she might actually think I needed her. When I heard Dad go into his office, I knocked on the door and poked my head in. “Hey, Dad.”
He looked up from a stack of papers on his desk. Dad was a marketing executive for an advertising firm. He seemed to love his job, but it sounded pretty boring to me. So boring I felt sorry for him.
“Hey, kiddo. Come on in.”
I pulled up a chair and sat beside him at his cluttered desk. Dad was my favorite parent. It might have seemed wrong to say that, but it was only fair. Parents had favorite children even if they denied it. I wasn’t sure who my parents’ favorite was, but it sure as hell wasn’t me. Maybe Paige was Mom’s favorite since Paige was constantly telling her how she was the hottest mom out of all her friends. Dad always got a kick out of Quinn’s projects and inventions, so she was probably his favorite.
A Girl Called Dust Page 4
