by Jeff Sampson
“Sorry,” I said, leaning back into my seat. “Nothing. I guess we should head in.”
“Yup,” he said. Then he popped up in his seat, beaming. “Actually, don’t move, wait right there.”
Before I could protest, he unclicked his seat belt, shoved open his door, and raced around the front of the minivan. Reaching the passenger side, he opened my door and waved his free hand toward the sidewalk with a flourish. “M’lady?”
Laughing, I hopped down to the street and let him close the door for me. “Wow, what was that?”
He shrugged, still grinning goofily. “I just always wanted to do that. Seemed the gentlemanly thing to do.”
I gently shoved his shoulder and said, “Well, thank you. Sometimes I do desire a big strong man to open my door for me. My tiny girl arms can barely manage.”
His grin faltered, and he looked at his feet. “Oh, I’m none of those things. Just thought it would be nice.”
I stepped in close to him and met his eyes as he looked back at me. Again the musks and aromas swirled, our hyperactive teenage chemistry boiling just beneath the surface of our skin. I hated seeing him look so hurt. I didn’t want to do that to him. “I was just joking,” I said, my voice hushed. “It was very gentlemanly of you. Thank you.”
That brought his smile back, and then, as my mind began to fuzz over once again, all I could see were his big brown eyes. My heart thudded, and suddenly all I wanted was for him to lean forward, close his eyes, and—
Focus, Emily.
I took a step back and let out the breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. Our eyes flicked away and then back to each other at the same time. We both laughed.
“Um, we should go find Dalton,” Spencer said. “Before too many people get here.”
I looked past the minivan to see more and more cars slowly driving down the street, teens peering out their windows to find a place to park. I could see some groups of kids hiking down the sidewalk from the roads up the street, as though they’d given up on finding close parking and decided to just walk a couple of blocks.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go.”
The two of us strode across the grass toward the front porch, some kids waving at Spencer and he waving back. No one seemed to notice me.
Except, near the front door, Megan. I tried to keep my head down, darting glances to see where her current position was. And I knew the exact moment she caught sight of me, because she shoved herself off the wall, uncrossed her arms, and ever so briefly, smiled.
Ignoring her would have been a realm beyond bitchy, even if I did sort of have a good reason to keep her in the dark.
I forced a smile back and raised a hand as I grew close to her. She walked across the grass and came to stand before me and Spencer. We were near the open front door to the house, and I could hear random thumps of a drum, the whining of guitar strings being tuned. Mostly I just heard lots and lots of voices.
“Hey, Reedy,” I said.
“Hey.”
Spencer looked between us both. I didn’t know about my face, but Megan’s was unreadable. For a moment, neither of us said anything.
“Uh, hey, Megan,” Spencer finally said. To me, “Hey, Em Dub, I’m going to go find Dalton. See you inside.”
“All right.”
Megan watched him disappear into the crowd milling about the front porch, then turned back to me. “So—” she started.
“I—”
I smiled nervously. She just looked vaguely annoyed. “Go ahead,” I said.
“So,” she began again. “I just wanted to say… I’m sorry, I guess. This morning was sort of…”
“Awkward?” I finished for her.
“That’s a word that fits, yes.” Crossing her arms, Megan looked at the crowd of kids. “So this is one of those famed high school parties, huh? Are they anything like the movies?”
I shrugged. “Not sure. The first and only one I went to turned out to be a wake. But Megan, are we … are we okay? I know I’ve been distant since school started, and there are things I can’t say, but—”
She held up a hand, stopping me. “I don’t really want to talk about it, okay? We’re both here tonight. Maybe we can just hang out like we always used to. Even if it is surrounded by a bunch of Neanderthals and twits.”
I bit my lip and looked over Megan’s shoulder. Dalton and Spencer were inside, waiting for me. We had only a few hours to scope out Mr. McKinney’s office before the nighttime changes came over us, and we had to do it tonight while we had the party as the perfect distraction.
But Megan was looking at me so expectantly. I remembered her in the car that morning, her eyes watering with tears she refused to let fall. She never got emotional, ever. Not since junior high, when she learned that showing emotions around a bunch of scornful girls was like an open invitation to full-on harassment. I knew she held a lot inside. I thought of her the past week, alone without me… The same rush of emotion that had come over me when I thought of Tracie going through the werewolf change hit me then.
I could take some time out to be with her, at least for a little while. Mr. McKinney’s office wasn’t going anywhere. And I hated being the horrible friend I knew I’d been toward her.
“Sure,” I said with a smile. “Of course! I am not letting you take on your first high school party without me.”
Her face broke into an honest, happy grin. She stepped beside me and hooked her arm through mine, elbow in elbow. “Well let’s go live it up, or whatever these guys do.”
We walked that way, a pair of clear misfits, heads held high as we climbed the porch steps. All it took was a pointed glare from Megan and the kids by the door parted for us.
The inside wasn’t as crowded as I’d expected it to be, but then again, Dalton’s house was of the unimaginably huge variety, with plenty of nooks and crannies for teens to disappear into. Hanging from the ceiling in the foyer was a hand-painted sign that read WELCOME HOME, DALTON! Beyond it, there were kids lounging on the carpeted steps that led to the second floor. Others spread out on the plush couches in the den—a few girls had crowded around Max, the yellow Lab, on a love seat, giving him all the cooing attention a dog could ever want—and a bunch crowded around the dining room table, playing some game. In the back corner of the den, near a massive fireplace, a drum set had been set up, with two familiar figures standing by.
“Hey, the Bubonic Teutonics,” I said to Megan, raising my voice to be heard over the din of chatter. “You got them to come.”
“It wasn’t hard,” Megan told me. “Dalton gave their info to the cheerleaders, and they convinced his dad to actually pay a couple hundred to have them come play.”
I shot Megan a look. “The cheerleaders did that? Why?” Megan rolled her eyes. “They Googled a picture of Jared.”
I looked back across the room and saw him there, behind the drums: Deputy Jared, police officer by day, drummer for a garage band by night. And I didn’t blame the cheerleaders—he was basically model gorgeous, with a lean yet toned body, tan skin, and short honey-blond hair that curled at the ends. He caught sight of me and smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. He waved us over.
Megan sighed. “What does he want?”
“He actually did a lot for me,” I whispered. She gave me a look, so I said, “I mean, when I was going through some stuff last week, he helped me out.”
“Uh, okay,” Megan said. “You mean at the club when … you know?”
“Yeah.” I tugged on her arm. “Let’s go say hi. I mean, look around, all the girls here will totally be jealous.”
“You’re so brazen these days,” Megan said. “It’s weird.” There were more than a few teen girls huddled together by the stairs and on the couches, cups in hand and giggling behind their palms. Their eyes were clearly on the percussion half of the Bubonic Teutonics duo.
Megan grinned, seeing the lascivious looks. “Actually, that sounds like fun.”
Still arm in arm, Megan and I crossed into the d
en and made our way toward the drum set. Megan’s brother, Lucas, was there too, just as tall and spindly and pale as Megan. His white-blond hair was gelled out into spikes, the tips dyed Kool-Aid blue. He fidgeted with his guitar and bent over a speaker, not noticing us.
“Hey there, Emily Webb,” Jared said from his seat behind the drums as we came close. He held his drumsticks high in both hands and tapped out a light beat, waiting for his partner to finish tuning his instrument.
“Hey,” I said.
“Oh, this is perfect,” Megan whispered to me as she glanced over her shoulder at the girls in the room. “They definitely want to be me right now. Awesome.”
“How’ve you been?” Jared asked me. “You were pretty shaken up on Monday.”
“On Monday?” Megan interrupted, no longer concerned with the other kids at the party. “What happened on Monday?”
Jared raised his eyebrows and met my eyes. “I don’t have to say anything, Emily. I just assumed you would have told Megan. It’s all confidential.”
Yanking her arm from mine, Megan rounded on me. “What is?” she asked. “If my brother’s friend knows…”
I placed a hand on her shoulder, swallowing. “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just … it was me and Spencer who found the body of the guy who shot Emily Cooke. In Spencer’s backyard. I called Jared when we found him because I didn’t know what else to do.”
A look of understanding came over Megan’s face. “So is that what this whole week has been about? All that hanging out with Spencer and Dalton? I mean, Em, that’s pretty dark. I would have understood if you were upset about seeing a dead guy.”
“Yeah,” I lied. “Yeah it was mostly that. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier. It just felt … weird.”
I remembered, then, Mr. Savage. The counselor who was supposed to talk me through my feelings about dead Dr. Elliott but who asked unusual questions instead. I turned to Jared.
“Hey, do you know a Mr. Savage?” I asked.
He drummed a quick beat, then shook his head no. “Who’s that?”
“No one,” I said. “Some counselor at school. I thought maybe he was with the police.”
Jared shrugged his delightfully broad shoulders. “No one by that name works with us.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Yeah, all right, nice chat, Jared,” Megan said, stepping between us. “Shouldn’t you two be playing something?”
“Yes, we should.” Lucas finally turned from his speaker and sighed at us. “If Jared ever stops flirting with every underage girl here.”
Jared laughed. “I make it a point not to flirt with the jailbait,” he said. “I can’t help it if the groupies swarm to me.” He winked at me. “See you later, Emily.”
The duo began to play a quiet song to start their set, and Megan and I stepped back. The room started to get a bit crowded as kids streamed in from other areas of the house to listen. Megan listened for half a second before dragging me through the laughing people in the dining room and into the kitchen, where bowls of chips and other snacks were sitting all over the counters.
Megan leaned against the counter near the refrigerator and popped a pretzel into her mouth. The Bubonic Teutonics were getting louder now, and I heard some people cheering. I’m not much of a music person, but I thought they sounded pretty good.
Shaking her head, Megan was back to smiling. “Wow, a dead body,” she said. “That’s intense, Em! I am officially sorry for not just letting you deal. I mean, if you found the body with Spencer, of course you’d want to talk with him about it.”
I forced a smile back. “Yeah. He totally understands what it’s like. It’s been easier to talk to him than that counselor the school gave me, that’s for sure.”
Megan snatched another pretzel but didn’t put it in her mouth. She stared thoughtfully at the linoleum.
I looked above her, at a clock on the wall. Six thirty. I’d already been at the party for half an hour, and time was running short.
“So what did it, like, look like?” Megan finally asked me. “I know it’s morbid, but was it like in horror movies?”
I shuddered, suddenly feeling a chill even though the body heat from all the kids in the house had warmed the rooms up considerably. I didn’t know what to say, really. No, Megan, real dead bodies don’t look like rubber mannequins with red corn syrup poured all over them.
I was spared from answering as soon as I saw Megan’s face turn into her usual default expression: unreadable but probably annoyed. His smell came first, then the warmth of his body. The visions of dead Dr. Elliott flushed clear from my mind.
I turned to find Spencer standing there. He had a handful of cheddar popcorn in his hand. “Hey Em Dub, there you are,” he said. He popped the remaining handful of popcorn into his mouth and swallowed it down. Half muffled, he said to Megan, “And hey again.” Swallowing again, he continued, “Can I steal Emily for a little bit? We were supposed to, uh, do a project. Right?”
“Yeah, right,” I said. “We left some notes here the other day.”
Megan sighed and bit off a piece of her pretzel. Her eyes lit up at the sight of something behind us, in the living room that was past the other end of the kitchen.
“Sure, fine,” she said. “But wait here one sec.”
Tossing the remainder of her pretzel back in the bowl, she darted past us and into the living room. It was dark except for the glow of the massive flat-screen TV a bunch of guys were playing some video game on. I shrugged at Spencer.
A moment later, Megan returned, dragging a boy behind her. A very familiar boy: tall, brooding Patrick Kelly.
Megan hooked her arm through Patrick’s just as she had done back in the library. “Em, I just wanted to officially introduce you to Patrick since I didn’t at the library. He’s from London. We’ve been hanging out lately.”
He nodded at me. He had a strange look on his face, like he was seeing something that I couldn’t. “Emily and I met last weekend, actually,” he muttered. “At a corner store.”
I could feel myself blushing. “You remember that, huh?” “Hard to forget.”
“Hey, man,” Spencer greeted. To Megan, “Yeah, we met already too, he’s my new neighbor.”
“Oh,” Megan said. “Neat. Anyway, I just wanted you to meet my new friend. He and I can hang out while you do … whatever.”
“Cool,” I said. “I’ll catch up with you later, Megan.” She made a show of pretending she didn’t care I was being dragged off, leading Patrick past us toward the dining room. “Sure, Em,” she said over her shoulder. “Take your time.”
I let out a deep breath when Megan finally left the room. Okay, well, that hadn’t been entirely as horrifically awkward as I’d expected. But it wasn’t exactly a comfortable reunion of old besties either. Progress, I guess. Even if I’d inadvertently lied to her about why I’d been sort of avoiding her all week.
“So,” I said to Spencer as he devoured another handful of popcorn. “Did you find Dalton anywhere?”
“I did. He’s busy trying to get away from Nikki.” He wagged his eyebrows at me and held up a keycard, like what they use for hotel doors. “But I got us our way into his dad’s office.”
15
DO NOT ENTER
No one noticed as Spencer and I passed through the boys whooping over the video games and disappeared down the hall with the clearly marked DO NOT ENTER signs that I was guessing were put up by the cheerleaders. Impressively, no one had, and the hall to Mr. McKinney’s office was dark and empty. Distantly, the thumping music of the Bubonic Teutonics echoed. It almost felt like we weren’t in the same house as them and the rest of the party at all.
We reached the door to the office. I tried the handle. Locked, of course. For the first time I noticed a card reader next to the door. I looked around the hallway as Spencer swiped the keycard. None of the other doors were similarly equipped. Mr. McKinney had gone all fancy just for this specific room.
The card reader beeped, and a b
lue light lit up on its side. There came a thunk inside the door as the lock unlocked. This time when I pressed down the steel handle, the door opened.
“Awesome,” Spencer whispered as we tiptoed into the room. “I feel like I’m in a spy movie or something. I’m all Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible right now.”
“Pre-couch-jumping Tom, I assume,” I whispered back as I gently shut the door behind us.
He laughed. “Yeah. I’m old-school Cruise, for sure.” Through soft gray lighting that barely lit up the room, it looked as though Mr. McKinney’s office was exactly the same as we’d last seen it. The glass-and-steel desk with its computer, the strange overdesigned balance-chairs he’d had us sit on, the sparse bookshelves lining the walls. I hadn’t paid much attention to it earlier, but behind the desk was a modern painting in a black frame—gray boxes of various sizes and shades, arranged like a pixelated version of cells you’d see under a microscope.
“So,” I said, scoping out the room. “Where do we start?”
“Probably the computer,” Spencer said, already rounding the desk. He plopped into the leather chair and it reclined back, startling him. He laughed at his own shock, then spun the chair back and forth, bouncing off the tip of his toes.
I went to the shelves nearest me. There were only a few books on each shelf, each impenetrable science tome and scientific journal propped up by little marble bookends. There were also photos of him, his wife, and Dalton, plus other people I didn’t know but who were probably extended family members.
Muffled voices came from the other side of the door, one loud and masculine, the other higher pitched. I stiffened, and Spencer stopped spinning in the chair. For a moment I was sure it was Dalton’s parents arguing just outside the office.
A fist banged against the door. “Guys, it’s me. Open the door.”
Dalton.
I let out a breath, then ran to the door. It opened with another loud thunk as I pushed down the handle—revealing Dalton on the other side, gripping Tracie Townsend by the wrist.
