Social Suicide

by Gemma Halliday

  I looked at my choices. There was a football player/cheerleader couple that looked like they probably stood a good chance. There was a Color Guard girl and soccer player combo that could be a close second. Then there was the Connor, Jenni, and Ben trio. My money was on Connor and Jenni. But honestly? I really didn’t want them to win. Something about the way they’d played girlfriend musical chairs just to get the vote hit me the wrong way. So I decided to have a little fun and write in a couple instead. I dropped the ballot in Jessica’s box and headed toward first period.

  I was halfway there when my cell buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out just outside lit class.

  it’s jenni. we need 2 talk.

  I quickly texted her back.

  about?

  connor.

  I raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t sure what Jenni could tell me about Connor that I didn’t already know, but I was certainly interested in listening.

  @ lunch? I asked.

  sure. meet @ *bucks.

  cool. c u then

  I flipped my phone shut just as the bell rang and quickly joined the swarm of people dispersing to their classrooms.

  The Starbucks on Blossom Hill Road is only three miles from school, which is nothing if you are lucky enough to have a car. And a heck of a hike if you’re not. Thankfully, Sam had borrowed the Green Machine that day and was more than happy to give me a ride if a pre-lacrosse-practice caffeine fix was in the mix.

  It was one of the larger coffee places in town, decorated in a trendy-chic style that was supposed to make people feel good about spending four dollars on a cup of coffee. Personally, if said coffee was full of creamy syrupy goodness, I thought it was well worth it. Tables lined the walls, filled with people on laptops.

  In the center of the room was a circular booth surrounded by tables on all sides where soccer moms chatted in their workout clothes and older couples sat reading books. A few smaller tables dotted the rest of the floor space, and I noticed a blond woman sitting by the windows who kept looking up every time the door opened.

  I blinked as she turned her profile our way.

  Wait a minute. . . .

  “Mom?” I asked.

  Mom blinked across the room at me, surprise hitting her face for a second before a smile replaced it and she waved me over. “Hartley!”

  I crossed the crowded room, Sam a step behind me.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?” I asked, suddenly insanely worried she’d somehow caught wind of my lunch meeting.

  A worry that I realized was completely unfounded as she answered, “I’m meeting someone for coffee.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Someone?”

  She looked down at her napkin. “Uh-huh.”

  “A male someone?”

  “Sort of.”

  “From the internet?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Mom!”

  “What?” she asked, putting out her hands palms up. “Match dot com says that coffee is a perfect first date.”

  “You’re here on a date?” This was much more worrisome than being followed.

  She pulled herself up to her full height, despite the hot pink color spreading from her cheeks to her forehead. “Yes. I’m waiting for my date.”

  “This is a disaster. You can’t date!”

  “Hartley, don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little?”

  “What do you know about this guy?” I asked, ignoring her. “What if he’s crazy? What if he’s some psycho?”

  “Hartley,” she said, giving me a head tilt. “He’s not a psycho. I know him well enough to be sure of that.”

  “You can’t really get to know anything about a guy through IM, Mom.”

  “Which is why we’re meeting in person for coffee,” she said.

  I pursed my lips together. “Are you sure you don’t want to take up knitting?”

  “Hartley!”

  “Fine!” I threw my hands up. “I’m just gonna go sit in the corner now and pretend I don’t know you. But,” I added, “if Cybercreep does anything funny, call me.”

  Mom grinned at me. “He’s not a cybercreep, Hartley. He’s a perfectly nice, normal guy.”

  “Yeah, they all start out that way. . . ,” I said, letting the warning trail off as I jumped into line behind Sam, all the while keeping one eye on Mom. I watched as the front door opened, her eyes shooting to it with way too much excitement as a guy walked in. He was tall, dark-haired, and dressed in a suit. I held my breath as I watched him cross the room . . . then sit down at a table with another suit-wearing guy.

  Whew. Not my future cyberdad.

  I grabbed a skinny caramel macchiato and followed Sam to a table near the back (with a good view of Mom so I could keep an eye on Cybercreep). Sam dug into her feast of a Venti Frappuccino with whipped cream, lemon scone, and a glazed donut.

  In two minutes flat, she’d inhaled the whole thing.

  “Wow,” I commented.

  “What?” She blinked at me.

  “Hungry much?”

  “Hey, this is my lunch. Besides, I need the extra calories for lacrosse,” she said, licking a couple stray crumbs from her lower lip.

  At this rate, all that extra exercise was going to end up adding pounds.

  Thankfully, before I could comment, the front door opened again and a familiar brunette, Bumpit-enhanced hairdo walked in.

  She spotted us, then pointed to the drink line. Five minutes later, caffeinated beverage in hand, she pulled a chair up to our table.

  “Hey. Sorry, wicked long line,” she observed.

  I nodded. “You said you wanted to tell me something about Connor?” I prompted.

  “Yeah.” She put both elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Look, I know you think I had something to do with Sydney’s death.”

  I paused. Was I that transparent?

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Hello? Other woman? Dude, I watch CSI, I know how this goes.”

  Maybe Jenni wasn’t as dumb as I thought.

  “Okay, the thought had crossed my mind,” I admitted.

  “But I didn’t do it,” she protested. “The truth is I’m dumping Connor.”

  Color me shocked. “Why?”

  She sighed. “Do you know how hard it is to compete with a dead girl?”

  Luckily, no. I shook my head.

  “All I hear about is Sydney this, Sydney that,” she continued. “Sydney was going to wear a pink dress to homecoming, and Sydney was going to thank the principal in her homecoming speech. I swear if I hear the name Sydney one more time, I’m gonna lose it. And the worst part is,” she said, leaning in, “I can’t even say anything about it! I mean, I can’t very well put down a dead girl, right?”

  I had to agree, it was a tough spot.

  “That sucks,” Sam sympathized.

  Jenni shrugged. “I guess Connor’s going through some sort of weird survivor’s guilt, but it’s driving me nuts and I can’t take it anymore. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I’m leaving Connor, so you can cross me off your whole suspects list. Truth is he’s so not worth killing over.”

  That I could totally agree with.

  “You don’t happen to know where Connor was three nights ago, do you?” I asked.

  Jenni screwed up her Proactivly-flawless face. “At home, I guess. Doing homework. We had a quiz in Tipkins’s class yesterday.”

  I nodded. I knew. I also knew Connor had suspiciously aced it.

  “About that,” I said. “How is Connor doing in that class?”

  Jenni sipped loudly at her coffee drink through a lipstick-stained straw. “Awesome. His study partner is Val Michaels. You know her?”

  Not personally, but I’d seen her name on the school’s honor roll almost every semester since freshman year.

  “So Val was studying with him three nights ago?” I asked.

  Jenni nodded. “They study together before every quiz or test or anything. Val is really smart and totally has a crush o
n Connor. She gives him all the study notes, he memorizes them, then passes with a good enough GPA to stay on the football team.”

  Geez, was there anyone at our school not smitten with Connor?

  I was beginning to see a pattern. First he’d studied with Quinn, then Val. We knew how the study session with Quinn had ended. Had he made out with Val, too? And how had Sydney taken the news that her boyfriend was not only making out with her best friend and going to homecoming with someone else, but also “studying” with a girl who “totally” had a crush on him? Had she really been as cool with it as Connor seemed to imply?

  “How about you?” Sam asked Jenni, breaking into my thoughts. “Where were you three nights ago?”

  “At home,” she said, slurping.

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  Jenni blinked, her eyes going from Sam to me. “My mom, I guess. Why?”

  “Nicky Williams was attacked three nights ago.”

  Jenni nodded. “Yeah, I know. I got, like, fifteen ‘Nicky’s down’ tweets.”

  “We think the same person who hit him also killed Sydney,” Sam explained.

  Jenni’s eyes got big and round. “Whoa. So the killer is out there attacking other random people?”

  I would hardly call Nicky random.

  “Nicky was going to tell Hartley something, and we think the killer was trying to shut him up before he could,” Sam clarified.

  Jenni blinked at me. Then looked over both shoulders. “Wow. Maybe it’s not such a hot idea that people can see me talking to you, then.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I think the fact that you’re breaking up with Connor is not exactly news to kill over,” I reassured her. I was about to tell her that I didn’t think Connor was going to be that unhappy (considering he’d had the same post-homecoming plan) when a familiar figure walked in the door of the Starbucks. Tall, red-haired, packing a few extra cookies around the middle. Detective Raley.

  Oh, frickin’ fowl fluff.

  He must have been watching me. Must have followed me here from school to meet with Jenni. Seriously? Couldn’t he conduct an investigation on his own? He had to follow me to solve Sydney’s Twittercide? Well, he could follow all he liked, I wasn’t giving up on this story. Besides, I wasn’t doing anything illegal. I was entitled to talk to my fellow students. I had journalistic rights. What amendment did those fall under again? Fourth? Fifth? Man, I really needed to study more for that American Government test.

  I drew myself up as straight as I could, lifted my chin, and rehearsed a very scathing speech to give to Raley about my something-th amendment rights.

  Only I didn’t get to give it.

  Instead of walking toward our table and giving me the leave-this-to-the-real-cops lecture I was so familiar with, Raley looked right past me, his eyes lighting up, his mouth curving into a grin that created little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Then he made a beeline . . .

  . . . straight toward Mom’s table.

  Dude! Detective Raley was my mom’s date?

  Chapter Eighteen

  I FELT SICK AS I WATCHED RALEY LEAN DOWN AND GIVE Mom a peck on the cheek. This was the guy she’d been IM’ing with last night? Giggling, grinning, acting like a fool over? Ugh. Suddenly Mr. Candlelit Dinners didn’t sound so bad after all.

  “Whoa. Isn’t that Detective Raley kissing your mom?” Sam asked.

  I had to get out of there before I lost my latte. I grabbed Sam by the arm and made for the door, purposely not looking in Mom’s direction again.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon with that same ball of nausea in my stomach, torn between the urge to shake some sense into Mom or stick my head in the sand ostrich-style until she came to her senses. Considering Raley had a gun and I was just the teeniest bit scared of him, I went for option number two. Denial, ostrich-style.

  Which worked fabulously until I spied Mom’s minivan parked at the curb after school. The second I slipped into the passenger seat, Mom turned to me.

  “Hartley, I think we should talk about me starting to date again.”

  “I really think we shouldn’t.”

  “I know this is new. And I can see that it’s upsetting to you.”

  “Totally not upset at all,” I lied, holding on to denial with all my might. “I’m cool with it.”

  “Detective Raley and I got to talking the other day when he brought you home, and we realized we had a lot in common.”

  “You don’t need to explain, Mom. I’m fine.”

  “I know you just see me as ‘Mom,’ Hartley, but I’m a woman, too.”

  “Mom, really. We can totally not discuss this.”

  “Women have certain feelings. Emotional needs. Other needs.”

  “Know what? Let’s listen to some Steven Tyler. Really loudly, ’kay?” I begged, reaching for her radio.

  Mom sighed. “Okay. But I just want you to know we can talk about this. When you’re ready.”

  I heaved a sigh of relief as embarrassing classic rock filled the car. Discussing Mom’s needs being fulfilled by Raley was enough to make me throw myself into a pool with a charging laptop.

  Thankfully, I was able to avoid Mom the rest of the afternoon, hiding out in my room as I did my homework. I even got her to agree to lift the lockdown enough to let me go to the football game the following night with Sam and Kyle by (A) pointing out that there would be plenty of teachers around and (B) telling her that I had a need to socialize with people my own age, too. (Not to mention a need to be as far away from my mom’s nightly, giggling IM sessions as possible.)

  So the next day after Sam and I took our dreaded American Government midterm, I went home with her to rummage in her closet for the perfect game-day outfits. Of course, Sam had to call Kyle no less than four times to make sure their outfits coordinated. I wasn’t sure if it was cute or weird, but I decided to stay out of it, borrowing a hot pink sweater and a pair of black leggings that looked great with Sam’s suede calf boots with the fur lining. Sam ended up in a pair of skinny jeans, her I Like Boys shirt, and a red Stanford jacket (one of several her father had purchased for her).

  Kyle met up with us at the hot dog cart, where we found him wearing his Boy shirt, per Sam’s orders, and shoving half a wiener in his mouth. “Hey!” He waved, wiping a glob of yellow mustard from the corner of his mouth.

  “Hey,” I greeted him back. Sam gave him a kiss on the cheek (the one without mustard).

  “Have you seen Connor Crane?” I asked, standing on tiptoe to see over the heads of our classmates crowding into the stadium.

  Kyle shook his head. “I’m sure he’s here, though. He’s the starting QB. Why?” he asked.

  “I have a few questions for him,” I answered.

  With all the not thinking about Mom I’d been doing, I’d had ample time to think about our list of suspects. And I kept coming back to Connor. He’d been the closest to Sydney, and if I’d learned anything from watching cop shows on TV, it was that the boyfriend was always the prime suspect. Was Connor experiencing survivor’s guilt, as Jenni had suggested? Or was it something more sinister . . . like killer’s guilt?

  I told Kyle and Sam my suspicions as Kyle wolfed down the rest of his hot dog. When I was done, Sam nodded.

  “I agree,” she said. “He’s got the shakiest alibi and the biggest motive. Love makes you do crazy things sometimes.”

  Then, as if to illustrate her point, Sam reached up and wiped another glob of mustard from Kyle’s cheek. He grinned, leaning down to kiss her.

  “Ohmigod, you guys are so cute!” Ashley Stannic said, jumping in line behind us to grab a hot dog. “I’m totally writing about those shirts in my column tonight.”

  “Thanks!” Sam said, beaming.

  “Have you seen Connor Crane?” I asked Ashley.

  She nodded, her bangs bobbing up and down. “Over by the locker room. He was signing autographs for freshmen.”

  I thanked her and left Sam and Kyle to find us seats inside while I tracked down the quarterba
ck.

  As I slowly made my way through the crowd, I spied Chase sipping a Pepsi near the entrance to the stadium. I almost called out to him to enlist his help in interrogating Connor, but I paused. Chase was not alone. Someone was with him.

  A girl someone.

  An odd sensation fluttered in my belly as I took in his companion. She was tall, almost as tall as Chase, with dark hair that hung in long, loose waves like in a Pantene commercial. She was showing off her slim figure in a pair of tight, layered gray T-shirts and super skinny jeans that instantly made me aware of how bright and bulky my sweater was. I didn’t recognize her from school, and she looked older . . . maybe college age? Which shouldn’t have been that surprising, I guess, since Chase was a senior. It made sense he’d go for someone who was more mature.

  Miss Perfect leaned in close to Chase, grabbing his arm and whispering something in his ear. Chase grinned, bursting into laughter at their inside joke.

  That fluttering settled into a brick in the pit of my stomach, weighing me down so badly I couldn’t raise my arm to wave at him.

  Chase had a girlfriend. I felt colossally stupid for ever thinking that our mutual investigating had anything to do with going out together. Clearly Chase was already going out . . . with someone else.

  I shook my head, telling myself I didn’t care. Chase and I were not an item; we were nothing. We were one kiss, one time. I had no reason to feel jealous. I didn’t feel jealous. I was fine. Totally fine with Chase being fine with his fine college girlfriend.

  I quickly turned around and all but sprinted in the opposite direction before Chase could see me and my fineness.

  So quickly that I almost knocked into Connor as he exited the locker room in front of me.

  “Whoa. Dude,” he said, his helmet dangling from his hand.