So I watched Quinn walk away, then grabbed a tray and contemplated what she’d told me as I wolfed down my lunch.
Everyone seemed to have a different theory for why Sydney had killed herself. Guilt, depression, or, as Raley thought, teen statistic. I had to admit, Sydney’s life had been a bit of a mess. But even so, I kept going back to the fact that people who kill themselves usually do it after the secret meeting they’ve set up, not before. If Sydney really had committed suicide, why not wait until after meeting with me? It just didn’t make any sense.
Unfortunately, by the time I was dumping my tray and heading to sixth period, I was no closer to an answer. I was just pulling my chem book out of my bag when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I looked down at the readout.
It was Nicky Williams. I raised an eyebrow. He was the last person I’d expected to hear from.
“Nicky?” I answered, leaning against a bank of lockers outside Mrs. Perry’s classroom.
“Hey. I need to talk to you.”
“Okay. Talk away.”
“No.” I could hear him shaking his head. “In person. They may be listening in.”
“They?” I asked.
“The cops. Look, one of them came to see me after you did yesterday. He said I was obstructing justice, hampering an investigation, all kinds of legal stuff like that.”
Raley. I wondered what the chances were he’d found Nicky out on his own and not by following me to the mall.
“Anyway,” Nicky went on, “I’m ready to talk. I’ll tell you everything you want to know about the test answers as long as you keep my name out of it. Once it’s printed in the paper, the cops will leave me alone, right?”
I shrugged. It was possible.
“Where can we meet?” I asked. “Are you at school?”
Again I could hear rustling as Nicky’s head shook back and forth in the negative. “No. School’s too dangerous. Someone might see us. Tonight. Meet me at Oak Meadow Park. Eight p.m. By the train.”
“Okay,” I agreed. I knew the park well. It was on Blossom Hill Road just down from the junior high we’d all gone to, and not only completely deserted after sunset but completely dark. Usually not a combo I was a big fan of, but I was willing to go just about anywhere to get this story. Which was exactly what I promised Nicky.
“Eight p.m. Oak Meadow. I’ll be there.”
Chapter Twelve
THE REST OF THE DAY WENT BY IN A BLUR OF HOMEWORK assignments, boring lectures, and one pop quiz in trig. And as much as Sydney’s Twittercide was on my mind, another event was slowly pushing its way to the forefront: my date with Chase.
I still wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about it. Chase was nothing like the guys I’d gone out with before. Cole Perkins was my first real boyfriend. We’d gone out freshman year, but things had fizzled when Cole decided my making out with him in his bedroom when his parents were out of town meant we were soul mates. And I’d decided I wanted a soul mate that didn’t kiss like a golden retriever. After Cole I’d dated Josh DuPont who, while scoring a ten on the hot-o-meter, had ended up cheating on me with the president of the Chastity Club and dragging me headfirst into a murder investigation, after which he’d switched schools to avoid the gossip mill and hadn’t been seen since. To say I didn’t have great luck in the guy department was like saying Ryan Seacrest didn’t have great luck in the height department: total understatement.
A fact that left me with an uneasy feeling in my stomach about having pizza with Chase. Chase and I were so different that it had honestly taken me some time before I’d come to see him as a genuine friend. Putting him into the role of something more than a friend suddenly sounded like dangerous territory. Territory that left a weird sensation running through my stomach. Nervous. Anxious. Kinda like I’d eaten a bad Tuesday Taco.
Sam had to meet with her SAT tutor again after school, but as soon as she was done, she came straight to my house.
“Whoa,” she said, walking into my room. “What happened?”
I looked around. Clothes littered every surface, jeans mixing with skirts mixing with capris, and T-shirts, and sweaters, and boots, and me in the middle of it all, trying on my tenth outfit since school had let out.
“I need to be casual but not too casual. Dressy but not too dressy. I need him to think I just threw on the first thing I found and that I’m not taking this too seriously or overthinking it or even that I was thinking about it at all. Because I’m not. I’m totally not thinking about him, and I don’t want him to think I was thinking about him, but I don’t want him to think that I’m not thinking about him, because clearly he thought about me enough to ask me out and it would be mean not to be thinking about him at all, so I need just the right amount of thinking, and I’m not sure if that means boots and a skirt or skinny jeans and ballet flats. Help!”
I paused and took a deep breath, realizing I’d forgotten the importance of oxygen during my plea.
“Okay.” Sam walked in and put her book bag down on the bed. She stood in front of me, doing a slow up and down with her eyes. “I think we can fix this. First thing’s first. Your hair.”
“Hair?” I squeaked out. “Oh, fluffin’ fudge. I didn’t even think about hair!”
Two hours later I’d done the one thing I’d sworn I would never do again—let Sam dress me to go out. Though I had to admit as I checked out the results in the full-length mirror on my closet door I might not have been wrong in doing so. She’d advised on a mid-thigh white denim skirt over a pair of gray leggings. She’d paired that with a long, lean gray tee with rhinestones at the neckline and a lightweight, three-quarter sleeve cardigan. And, while I was a respectable B cup, the push-up bra Sam had insisted on made my boobs stand at attention, giving me cleavage to rival that of any member of the cheer squad. On my feet were a pair of silver three-inch heels that I could almost walk in without wobbling, which Sam had pulled from her own closet. Overall, I had to admit I looked pretty dang hot.
A thought I held on to with a two-fisted grip as I walked the mile from my house to the Pizza My Heart downtown, that taco feeling churning in my gut with every step.
By the time I finally hit the pizza place, I could feel blisters forming on my heels, and my feet were sweating so badly that I feared the effect of my hotness would be overshadowed by my need for Odor-Eaters.
I paused outside the restaurant. Pushed a couple stray strands of hair off my face. Did a quick breath check. Tried to remember how confident I’d looked in my bedroom mirror. Then pushed through the doors of Pizza My Heart at exactly six o’clock for my dinner with Chase.
The place wasn’t huge, and I spotted him right away. He was standing at a table in the back of the restaurant. His back was to me, but his spiky hair was unmistakable. It was mussed into a softer look than usual, kind of tousled like he’d been out in the wind for a while. He wore a black T-shirt, jeans that were somewhere perfectly in the middle of tight and low slung, clinging just enough to hold on to his hips but not so tight that he looked like a cast member of Glee. Black workboots ended the outfit, and a silver chain hung from his pocket.
I did another deep breath thing as I approached.
“Hey,” I said, tapping him on the shoulder.
He spun around.
Then his mouth dropped open just a little as he took in Sam’s handiwork, his eyes honing in on the result of her push-up.
“Heeeeeey,” he said slowly. “Wow, you look—”
“Hot!” another voice finished.
I whipped my head to the left and saw Ashley Stannic sitting at Chase’s table.
What the . . . ?
“Nice shoes,” Ashley said. “You going out later?”
I blinked at her. “I, uh . . .” Slowly I let my gaze shift around the table and realized not only was Ashley crashing my dinner with Chase, but Chris Fret was sitting at the table as well, along with a guy I recognized from Spanish class.
Chase cleared his throat beside me. “I, uh, I’m glad yo
u could make it, Hartley.”
“Thanks,” I answered, hoping the confusion rattling around in my brain wasn’t clear in my voice.
“So, now that we’re all here,” he said, turning back to the table at large. “The reason I invited everyone out for pizza was to introduce you all to the newest member of the Homepage staff.”
I froze.
He invited everyone.
I suddenly felt like the word moron was stamped across my forehead. Chase hadn’t asked me out. He’d asked one of his reporters out. I silently prayed the floor would open up and swallow me whole as I only halfway listened to Chase, embarrassment all but drowning him out as it pounded in my overheated ears.
“Guys, this is Mike Watson,” Chase said, gesturing to Spanish Class Guy. “He’s going to be covering all the away games for HHH, as it’s come to my attention that Chris may be a bit overworked.”
Chris grinned sheepishly at the veiled reference to his cheating attempt.
“Great to have you,” Ashley said. Chris mumbled something similar. Chase clapped Mike on the back.
All I could do was stare dumbly.
Somehow, I managed to sit, congratulate Mike, and even stuff half a slice of pepperoni pizza into my mouth, even though all I wanted to do was crawl into that big black hole. I was so stupid. I was the queen of Stupidville. The Duchess of Moronland. The Empress of Misunderstandingtown.
And by the way Chase kept sending sidelong glances at my rhinestone-framed cleavage and spiky heels, I had a bad feeling he knew it. Clearly I was overdressed for pizza with friends. Clearly I had taken some pains to change after school. Clearly I was expecting something way more exciting than a new sports guy.
Clearly I needed to have my head examined.
By seven, I couldn’t take it anymore. I mumbled something about a previous commitment and slipped from the table as Ashley laid out her ideas for this weekend’s coverage of the homecoming dance. Chase moved to get up as I slipped from the table, but I stopped him with a quick, “See you at school,” over my shoulder as I ran (or tried to—the heels were really wobbly) for the door.
I took half an hour to indulge in a pity-party chocolate bar from Powell’s before I hoofed it down North Santa Cruz Ave to meet Nicky at Oak Meadow Park. I was determined that despite my detour into the stupid lane, my night was not going to be a total bust. So Chase only saw me as a reporter. Fine. That was easier on my stomach anyway. But this week I’d better be a fudging good one and turn in something more than fluff.
I walked as fast as my legs would take me in the tight skirt and ridiculously high heels that Sam had made me wear, all the while chanting to myself that I would never listen to her wardrobe advice again.
I looked down at my cell readout as I crossed Highway 9—7:54. I picked up the pace, half jogging until my calves cramped up, then checked my cell again. 7:58. No way was I going to make our rendezvous time. I bit my lip, praying that Nicky would wait for me.
At 8:06 I finally hit the corner of University and the gates to Oak Meadow Park.
As far as city parks went, it was large: a playground with two big jungle gyms at one end and a carousel and miniature train station at the other. Between them spanned picnic areas and a large expanse of grass used by the local soccer league in the summer.
At this time of night, everything was dark and the gates were closed. I did a brief over-the-shoulder, waiting until there was a break in the passing traffic, then quickly hopped the fence. Or, it would have been quickly if my stupid heels hadn’t gotten stuck in the metal diamonds. I finally kicked them off and threw them over the gate, cringing as they skidded in the dirt on the other side. Sam wasn’t going to be happy about that. On the second try, I slipped over the fence, landed with a thud on the other side, put the shoes back on (only scuffed a little), then picked my way down the gravel pathway to the miniature train station.
The train was a big draw for kids during the weekends and summer break, the station packed with lines of toddlers waiting for the three-dollar rides. But tonight the train was silent, and the giant clock set in the Victorian-style steeple of the station ticked eerily in the dark.
I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing I’d worn something a little warmer, and quickly made tracks toward the quiet station.
I was a few feet away when I spotted a figure in the shadows, just behind the roundhouse. By the dark hair sticking out from under a skater beanie, I could tell it was Nicky. I was about to call out when I saw another person approach him.
I paused. Nicky hadn’t said anything about bringing friends. Suddenly I felt a little outnumbered, standing in the shadows.
Which was ridiculous, because I was just going to talk and get a story. The dark, the quiet, and the eerie Victorian station were giving me the creeps.
At least that’s what I told myself as I approached the two figures. Only they weren’t paying any attention to me. They were talking to each other. Loudly. Arguing, I realized as I got closer. I was too far away to hear what they were actually saying, but the second figure started flapping his (her? It was too dark to tell) arms at Nicky. Nicky stepped back, his voice raised, though the only words I caught were, “Dude, no!”
I paused, not sure I wanted to get in the middle of this, whatever this was. I could see Figure Two was dressed in dark pants and a dark Windbreaker. He (she?) was close to Nicky’s height, but that was all I could make out. Male, female, old, young were all swallowed up by the darkness.
But I could see Nicky was getting more and more agitated. He shook his head, waved his arms. Finally he shouted, “It’s over!” loudly enough to make Figure Two stop in his-slash-her tracks. Nicky turned his back on the guy, as if to emphasize the over-ness of their situation, and started walking away.
I opened my mouth to call out to him.
But that’s when I saw it.
Figure Two bent over and picked up a rock that was lying at his feet. From the effort it took him to stand back up again, I could tell it was heavy. I watched in horror as he took a step toward Nicky, lifted the rock above his body, and brought it down with a thud on the back of Nicky’s head.
Nicky made a pathetic sort of grunt, then slumped forward, crumpling to the ground.
Chapter Thirteen
I WAS FROZEN TO THE SPOT, NOT SURE WHAT TO do. Run to Nicky’s aid? Make a citizen’s arrest of Figure Two? Call for help?
Being that there were a lot more rocks lying around for Figure Two’s convenience, I decided on option three and pulled my cell from my pocket. I backtracked toward the street as I dialed 911, all the while keeping one eye on Nicky’s prone form.
Which meant I wasn’t watching where I was walking, which meant I tripped over a stick on the ground and stumbled to catch my balance.
Figure Two’s head snapped up.
Oh, fluffin’ fudge.
I turned and ran blindly through the trees toward the road again, phone to my ear, though I was only halfway listening to it ring on the other end. The other half of me was completely engrossed in panic. After what seemed like an eternity, someone picked up.
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency, please?”
“I (pant) just (pant) saw someone killed! (pant, pant)”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t understand you. Can you please slow down?”
“No! The killer heard me trip!”
“Ma’am, can you give me your location?” the operator asked, her voice annoyingly calm.
I paused as I reached the gate again, the bright lights of passing cars on the other side a small comfort. I sucked in a large gulp of chilled air and stopped to catch my breath, listening behind me for any sound of footsteps.
I heard nothing but my own Doberman-esque breathing.
“I’m at Oak Meadow Park at the corner of University and Blossom Hill,” I told the dispatcher.
“I’m sending someone out to your location now. Please stay on the line with me until they get there.”
“Okay,” I whimpered. “B
ut hurry. I think they killed Nicky.”
“Don’t worry. Help is on the way,” she said. And even though I knew there was nothing she could do from the other end of a phone call, her voice did make me feel a little less alone.
I managed to hop back over the gate to the street side, and sat down on the curb to wait for help, one ear listening for any sign of the killer, one listening to the dispatcher who continued talking in smooth, even tones.
After ten cold minutes, my butt was numb, goose bumps were permanently embedded in my arms, and the red and blue lights of a police cruiser pulled down Blossom Hill. I jumped up and waved my arms madly at the guy behind the wheel, who pulled to a stop in front of me.
I’d never been so relieved to see law enforcement in my life.
After I explained what I’d seen, the cop grabbed a flashlight from the front seat and disappeared into the park.
I waited alone on the sidewalk again. I was just starting to worry that maybe Figure Two had done the officer in, too, when an ambulance pulled to a stop at the curb behind the police cruiser.
Two paramedics got out, then grabbed a stretcher from the back. One of the guys pulled a pair of wire cutters from the back of the van, making short work of the locked gate, then they wheeled the stretcher down to the field.
Stretcher not body bag.
Did that mean that Nicky was still alive? That he was okay? That maybe I’d just watched an assault and not a murder?
I hugged my arms around myself, anxiously waiting for that stretcher to come back. While Nicky was a cheater and a liar and had basically threatened my best friend, I still found myself quietly chanting, “Please be alive, please be alive,” as I shifted from foot to foot on the sidewalk.
A couple minutes later, the officer climbed back up the hill, his form bobbing through the trees as he approached me.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
The officer shook his head, and I felt myself sag with relief.
“He’s hurt. How badly, it’s hard to tell right now. But the paramedics are doing all they can.”
Social Suicide Page 10
