Cutting Up The Competition (Horror High Series Book 2)

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  All Winter could talk about was getting fitted for uniforms. “Do you think we’ll get our pompoms today too?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I practically growled at her.

  I walked with Winter to second period—Brit Lit—avoiding Dakota’s glare as I entered. Expecting her to ignore me as usual, I was surprised when she plopped down in Sydney’s empty seat in the back, right beside me.

  “I talked to Sydney last night,” she said, smiling.

  “You did?” I asked, mouth gaping open. “Is she okay?”

  “She is. And she made me promise to stop being mad at you, even though I want to be mad at you still.”

  Dakota looked at me, her lips pouty. But then they curled up on the edges, the smile of a familiar friend.

  “They’re letting her out. Due to lack of evidence. And I’m pretty sure Coach Davis will let her back on the team,” Dakota said.

  I wasn’t so sure about that last part, but I was happy to hear Sydney was getting out. I let out a sigh of relief. For the first time in weeks, I felt some weight release from my shoulders…finally things could get back to normal. Sure, there was still a psycho on the loose, but at least that psycho wasn’t my best friend.

  I said, “I know she’s innocent. And I’m really sorry. I just jumped the gun—”

  “Gun!” someone screamed from somewhere outside the classroom.

  For a minute, it took my brain to register…

  “He has a gun!” someone else screamed from down the hallway. I exchanged confused glances with Dakota.

  Two gunshots rang out, followed by dozens of screams. People were running down the hallway!

  My heart leapt into my chest, my body paralyzed with fear. I stared at Dakota. She was wearing a mask of pure terror.

  “Everybody! Get under your desk and take cover!” Coach Davis shouted, running over to close our classroom door.

  But before she could make it, there was a loud bang. I watched Coach Davis soar across the room, a baseball-sized hole in her gut.

  Chapter

  Fifty-Three

  The shooter stood in the doorway, dressed in all black, a ski mask covering his face. Two piercing eyes moved side to side—it was all I could see through the mask.

  Students were screaming, huddling up in the back of the classroom. Some of them were crying.

  Some of them were praying…

  I got down on the floor behind my desk, holding as still as possible. From here, I could see the shooter’s bottom half as he came further inside the room and walked toward us, making his way through the aisle.

  I flinched at the sound of another loud bang. More screams rang out.

  Had he shot someone else?

  Oh God, Coach Davis is dead…

  I placed a hand over my mouth and nose, trying not to scream or cry out. Looking sideways, I met eyes with Dakota. Like me, she was on the floor behind her desk.

  I’ve never been this scared in my life.

  Dakota placed a finger to her lips, telling me to be quiet. Then she pointed her finger toward the doorway.

  Surely, she wasn’t suggesting that we try to make a run for it…

  But then I remembered something that I heard once…that if you’re ever being kidnapped at gunpoint, you have a better chance of living if you make a run for it than if you let the kidnapper take you.

  Decidedly, I nodded at Dakota.

  I could hear movement near the back of the room. “No, please don’t!” one student said.

  We have to go now while we’re closer to the door than he is! If we don’t get help, we’ll all die! I realized.

  I mouthed the word “now” to Dakota, and we both took off running for the door, sounds of gunfire ringing out behind us.

  Chapter

  Fifty-Four

  I hoped and prayed that all of those miles Coach Davis made us run would pay off. We sprinted down the hallway, making a quick right down an adjacent, shorter hallway.

  The halls were eerily empty, students hiding and silent in their individual classrooms.

  Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway.

  The killer was following me and Dakota!

  I need to call the police! Horrified, I realized my cell phone was in my backpack—and my backpack was still in the classroom, under my desk. Useless to me…

  Dakota and I stood frozen, not moving. Maybe not even breathing.

  And that’s when we heard it…there was a voice shouting—no, not shouting. Chanting.

  “One. Two. Three. Four.

  Knock those Dragons on the floor!”

  The killer was coming!

  “Five, six, seven, eight.

  You can run like rabbits, but it’s too late.”

  “In here,” I whispered to Dakota, yanking her further down the hall, slipping inside my Child Development classroom. The room was empty this period. I closed the door to the classroom as quietly and quickly as possible, my heart thumping in my chest.

  Dakota immediately dove behind Mrs. Brooch’s desk, crawling up underneath it. Making a quick decision, I ran for the closet.

  I’d seen the inside of it a few times. It was a huge walk-in space, filled with plastic dummy dolls, including the artificial infants, as well as CPR mannequins.

  Darting inside the closet, I dove beneath a stack of dolls, holding my breath and keeping as still as possible.

  In the quiet, I could hear footsteps only a few classrooms away—heavy footsteps, the killer’s boots—and then suddenly, another gunshot went off. The gun was close, only one or two classrooms away.

  My entire body tensed up and I willed myself not to move a muscle.

  What would I do if the killer found me? I thought about my mom and grandma. I thought about all my friends. Oh God, please let them be safe…

  Now the killer was whistling, footsteps sounding closer and closer to us…

  I took one deep breath and held it, praying that the killer just moved past us.

  There’s no reason to call her “the killer” anymore…I already recognized her voice.

  Chapter

  Fifty-Five

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” The killer stepped inside the classroom. Walking slowly, she moved past the big chunky tables. I could hear her steady feet moving as she kicked aside chairs and anything in her path.

  “How about a game of Marco Polo?” she taunted. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing for this to be over.

  “There you are, Dakota!” My heart literally froze in my chest. “Get up on your feet! I’m going to enjoy this part!”

  I could hear Dakota whimpering, begging the shooter not to kill her. I had to do something.

  I had to do something.

  I jumped up from where I was ducking and came running out of the closet, holding one of the plastic CPR dummies in front of me like a shield.

  “Don’t do it! Take me instead.” I was out of the closet, now face to face with the shooter.

  She was holding the gun pressed to Dakota’s head, peering at me through the ski mask with bright green eyes.

  Dakota’s eyes were closed, her body shaking. I’d never seen someone so scared before…

  “Let her go,” I pleaded.

  The killer laughed. “Now why would I do that?”

  She pressed the gun harder against Dakota’s temple. Dakota whimpered in pain.

  “Because this is crazy. You don’t really want to hurt anybody, do you?” I asked.

  Another maniacal laugh. I had to admit—my question was stupid.

  I took a few steps forward. “Please, just let Dakota go.”

  “Again, why would I do that? Especially considering the fact that I plan on killing you both?”

  “Because Sydney was charged with the murder. No one even suspects it was you,” I suggested desperately, gripping the mannequin so tight that my fingernails were digging into the artificial skin.

  “You must think I’m stupid. I know they’re letting her out. I know my plan didn
’t work, and I didn’t even make the team…”

  Out of nowhere, Brittani Barlow came charging through the classroom door.

  “Not this time, you don’t!” Brittani screamed, holding a serrated knife in her hand as she ran.

  I don’t know what was more frightening—Brittani Barlow with a maniac’s knife or the masked killer holding the gun.

  The killer, I decided instantly.

  “Ahhhh!” Brittani screamed, charging straight at the shooter.

  The killer was so surprised by Brittani that she stumbled back, releasing Dakota. But then she got her bearings and aimed the gun at Brittani’s chest right as Brittani lifted the knife. She pulled the trigger.

  Chapter

  Fifty-Six

  I motioned for Dakota to come toward me, but she stood wide-eyed and frantic, staring at Brittani’s slumped body on the floor.

  Brittani tried and failed, but I wouldn’t. Her sneak attack had inspired me and given us a bit of momentum.

  As soon as the killer reached down to grab Dakota again, I ran for the gun. I grabbed and tried to yank it from her hands. My hands were around it, but she wasn’t letting go!

  I fell backwards, still gripping the gun. But the killer was gripping it too, and now she was on top of me.

  We wrestled for it, and then a loud bang went off.

  It was so loud my ears shook—at least that’s how it felt.

  Am I shot?

  I wasn’t sure, but I kept fighting, butting my head against the killer’s head angrily.

  And then suddenly, Dakota was jumping on the killer’s back, screaming and fighting as she ripped at her back and head.

  Suddenly, she let go, falling back. Leaving me with the gun in my hand.

  Jumping to my feet, I aimed the heavy shotgun at Mariella Martin.

  “Take off your mask,” I demanded. Red curls hung down around her face, the mask halfway off from the struggle.

  She shook her head. “You won’t shoot me. You’re not like your father, Amanda. You’re not a killer. I’m walking out of here and no one is going to stop me.”

  Mariella moved for the door, but Dakota moved to stop her. In an instant, Mariella reached out and grabbed Dakota, wrapping her hands around her neck. She began squeezing Dakota’s throat as hard as she could.

  Dakota fought and kicked, but Mariella’s grip was too tight.

  Dakota’s face turned red, almost purple…

  “Let! Her! Go!” I screamed over and over, aiming the gun at Mariella’s head.

  But she wouldn’t. She was going to kill my best friend!

  I took a deep breath and pressed the trigger, watching Mariella’s head blow apart.

  The gun crashed to the floor.

  “I’m not my father. He killed good, innocent people. I only kill bad guys,” I whimpered, falling to the floor.

  Chapter

  Fifty-Seven

  Nobody knows why she did it, exactly.

  Is it ever truly possible to understand the mind of someone like Mariella Martin? I don’t know. I wish I could understand it because then maybe we could prevent others from turning into her…

  But this isn’t a perfect world. Like my mom once told me—People are complicated.

  Mariella wanted to be a cheerleader. She wanted to be popular. She wanted it so bad she was willing to kill for it.

  Why would she do this to us? To herself?

  It was something I couldn’t wrap my brain around, and maybe I’d never want to.

  I never wanted to understand someone like Mariella Martin. I just hoped there weren’t any more out there like her…

  Chapter

  Fifty-Eight

  Two Weeks Later…

  The Harrow Dragon cheerleaders were lined up side by side, facing center court, looking toward the basketball goal.

  But this wasn’t game night.

  We stood hand in hand, memorializing those lost in the shooting. Blakely Clovers and Brittani Barlow were dead. Blakely got caught in the crossfire when she was in the hallway. I didn’t know her well until now. I felt bad for hitting her, wishing I’d gotten to know her and given her a chance to know me…

  And I never thought I’d respect Brittani Barlow, but in all actuality, her actions that day saved our lives…

  Apparently, she’d been so freaked out by the attack against her, she’d been carrying a knife to school. That was a troubling thought…

  The gym was silent as everyone paid their respects. The center of the floor was adorned with memorial portraits, flowers, and letters all left by students. Principal Barlow stood off to the side of the gym by herself, her face contorted in pain over the loss of her only daughter. My heart hurt for the poor woman.

  Coach Davis moved across the gym floor, pushing herself in a wheel chair. Coach Purnell tried to step in and help her, but she swatted him away. That was no surprise to me. Even after losing the ability to walk, she was one of the toughest ladies I knew.

  Despite Mariella’s sick, twisted games and evil plans—there were still so many good people, those who were here to mourn their lost classmates, even Mariella.

  Her face wasn’t on a memorial portrait, but I think we all felt her loss that day. She was a bad person who did horrible things, but what happened to her—all of us—was terrible and tragic.

  I don’t think I’ll ever get over shooting her. I’d like to say that I’m brave and I did what I had to do, but still—it changed me. It made me darker inside—a gray space left in place of a small part of me that used to be pink and happy and trusting of the world.

  Dakota was on my right and she gripped my hand. I smiled at her tightly, struggling not to cry. Sydney was in the stands, watching. She smiled and nodded at me too.

  I know she’s forgiven me, but I still feel bad. Mariella framed Sydney and I just fell right into her trap by believing her. But so did a lot of people, including the police…

  Maybe if the police weren’t focused on Sydney, they would have been out looking for the real killer—Mariella Martin. But it was too late to dwell on “what-ifs” now.

  Sydney was locked up during tryouts, but Coach Davis had agreed to let her be an alternate. She was dressed in her uniform, but stayed on the bench while the rest of us stood.

  Winter was on the other side of Dakota, gripping her hand tightly, but not by Dakota’s choice. I doubt they will ever be friends.

  “Are you okay?” Ashleigh asked me. She was standing on my left side, dressed in her full uniform. She was only an alternate, but now that Blakely and Brittani were gone, she and Gabriella got permanent spots on the team. Lucky them.

  “I’m fine,” I said quietly, staring straight ahead.

  I still don’t trust that girl…

  ***

  It seemed wrong—watching students move the memorial flowers and stands off of the gym floor afterwards, clearing space for the dance floor. Our annual dance was scheduled tonight, and despite some teachers’ insistence that it be postponed, Principal Barlow, for whatever reason, wanted the show to go on.

  “It’s what Brittani would have wanted,” she had said.

  The DJ booth was set up, as well as tables for snacks and refreshments. The once bright lights of the memorial were now dimmed, perfect for couples who wanted to engage in some romantic dancing.

  All of the girls who hadn’t changed into dresses yet—like the cheerleaders and band members who were part of the memorial service—now hurried to the locker room to get ready for the big dance, including me. I’ve never been one for taking long to get ready, so I slipped into my dress and hurried back out to join the others.

  Sydney came out of the girl’s locker room. She was wearing a long, green, A-lined scoop dress, and as usual, she looked long and elegant, like a model who could own the runway. Dakota’s dress was short and sexy, with tiny purple sequins and a poufy skirt far above the knees. Even though she was naturally short, her heels made her look as tall as Sydney. I admired my two best friends. They looked absolut
ely lovely.

  Grandma Mimi had leant me a fancy mermaid dress, with a long lean waist with a wide poof at the bottom. It was bright red and showy, something I normally wouldn’t wear. But I felt almost glamorous as I channeled my inner showgirl—my inner Mimi, I suppose…

  Lauren’s dress was the most eye catching, with sheer rainbow colored fabric and a skirt as poufy and long as a wedding train. She strutted out of the locker room, basking in her own glory, surrounded by her freshman posse.

  The first song that came on was a slow one, and I wasn’t surprised one bit to see Dakota and Andy heading out to the dance floor first. They moved liked they lived in their own little world, not caring who saw or joined them. Honestly, they really were a great couple.

  Other couples and singles filled up the floor. I immediately noticed Jordan, pulling a tall brunette out on the dance floor—not his girlfriend, Lauren, I noted. I looked around for Lauren in the crowds again, expecting to find her upset somewhere or on the sidelines watching her cheater boyfriend.

  But honestly, she too looked happy to be rid of that jerk. She was standing with her group of freshman girls, a couple I recognized from the squad, and she seemed to be having fun without him. Maybe she was happy to be rid of his flirtatious, cheating ass. I know I was.

  Even Sydney, who was normally more concerned with her studies and cheerleading than boys, seemed surrounded by people and relishing in the attention. Ever since her arrest and falsely accused crimes, she had been getting showered by attention from guys and girls. She moved across the dance floor, locking arms with a dark-haired senior boy I’d never seen before till tonight.

  Usually quiet, Sydney seemed to be coming out of her shell and enjoying her newfound freedom. I still had not asked her how rough it was in juvie. But Sydney was tough, and honestly, she was used to being alone—so my guess is that she handled it like a champ, the way she did most things in life.