Bad Girls Don't Die

by Katie Alender

  I didn’t say a word. Kasey and Mom stood, and Kasey linked her arm through Mom’s.

  “Can I sleep in your room tonight, Mommy?” she asked in a pitiful voice.

  Mom’s shoulders slumped. She sniffled and nodded. I felt a pang in my chest.

  “She’s lying,” I said as they walked out.

  Mom didn’t turn around, but Kasey did, and her green eyes flashed at me as she closed the door behind herself.

  I sat down on my bed and pulled my left sleeve up to look at the marks on my arm. They looked like a really bad sunburn, and they were tender to the touch.

  Could a person really snap as suddenly as it seemed Kasey had? One day, be a nice, normal girl, and the next be a total maniac?

  Unless Pepper Laird had been telling the truth.

  And Kasey had actually broken Mimi’s arm on purpose.

  Maybe she hadn’t snapped all at once; maybe she’d been getting worse all the time. And then somehow it had come to a peak in the past day—breaking down after dinner, stealing the reports from school, exposing all my photo paper. . . .

  And having something to do with what happened to Dad?

  The numbers on my digital clock glowed blue. 2:41. It was the middle of the night. I had to spend four more hours in darkness with a crazy sister in the house.

  I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening for any sound that might mean Mom was in trouble or that Kasey was coming back. But I didn’t hear anything, and eventually I faded into an uneasy sleep.

  THE NEXT MORNING I heard Kasey bumping around in her bedroom, humming, but she never came out. I’d grabbed a cold Pop-Tart and a Coke, and I was almost out the front door when Mom appeared at the top of the stairs.

  How great would it have been if she’d said, “Let’s clear the air, Alexis. We’ll sit down in the dining room and you can tell me your side of the story.”

  But of course that didn’t happen. She stared down at me.

  “You don’t believe her, do you?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what to think,” she said. “I only know what I saw. And I know that your sister is terrified of you, Alexis.”

  “Kasey’s not terrified,” I said. “She’s just a really excellent liar.”

  Then I saw my sister. She appeared behind Mom, moving silently, catlike, and glowering at me, arms folded.

  “Maybe we just need to have a talk about it,” Mom sighed.

  “Forget it,” I said. “Maybe later.”

  “No,” Mom said. “I don’t want to forget it. I want to resolve it.”

  From where I stood, it felt pretty darn resolved already. She’d made up her mind. I scooped my schoolbag off the ground and opened the door.

  “Don’t you dare walk out of this house, young lady!” Mom yelled after me.

  But I did, and she only followed me as far as the foyer. I’m sure she spied out the window as I started down the street, but I didn’t want to look back and check.

  My early departure got me to school super early, so I sat on a stone bench in a deserted corner of the courtyard. Carter’s car wasn’t in the parking lot yet, and I didn’t feel like talking to the Doom Squad, who were monopolizing the picnic tables with their usual lively discussions about manga and local bands, everyone trying to hog the spotlight from everyone else.

  I wondered if anyone would notice if I just sat there alone, on that bench, in that corner—for the rest of high school. But eventually I got up and headed toward homeroom.

  When the bell rang, I was starting to think I might get through at least a class or two without incident. And then the classroom door opened.

  Kasey waltzed right in as if she did this every day. A couple of people who knew she was my sister glanced at me.

  Mr. O’Brien, the teacher, looked at her curiously, but just then the morning announcements began over the loudspeaker. Kasey stood perfectly still, not even seeming to breathe, watching me.

  The teacher looked at Kasey expectantly. Probably thinking she was a freshman with a message from the office or another teacher.

  But my sister didn’t move. She just stood there.

  I stood up and went to Mr. O’Brien’s desk, positioning my body so that Kasey couldn’t see my face.

  “That’s my sister,” I said.

  “What does she want?” he asked, craning his neck to look at her. I moved to block his view. “She should probably get to class.”

  “Um,” I said. “She’s not a student here.”

  He looked at me, puzzled.

  I searched my head for an explanation but couldn’t find one. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I said finally.

  I grabbed the hall pass from the chalkboard ledge and walked past Kasey into the hall. She followed, and I heard my classmates buzz as the door swung closed.

  I kept walking until I got to the parking lot. Then I spun on her, my arms folded.

  “What, Kasey?”

  “Mother made you an appointment with a psycho . . . psycho—”

  “Psychologist?” I said. “Mother? You mean Mom?”

  “Yes,” she said, not even blinking. “I am not supposed to say anything.”

  I am not, I repeated to myself. Oughtn’t. Mother. What was with the strange speech?

  Of course, that was pretty much the least of my worries.

  She was so calm—that was the weirdest thing. My neurotic, scaredy-cat little sister, standing there, watching me with eyes as smooth and untroubled as a fresh blanket of snow.

  “So Mom thinks I’m a criminal. That’s not news.”

  Kasey glanced down at my arm, squinting a little in the sun. The marks from the previous night were hidden under my sleeve. “That’s not the only thing,” she said, smoothing her shirt and looking away into the distance. She watched me from the corner of her eye.

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked, wanting to reach out and shake the coolness out of her.

  “I mean, she’s going to find something tonight,” Kasey said.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Something that will make you look very bad.”

  “Like what?” I had no idea what she was hinting at. Suddenly I caught a glimpse of the school security guard making his rounds in the distance.

  I put my hand on Kasey’s shoulder and steered her away, toward the gym. She didn’t resist or even look up at me, just walked beside me as if we were taking a nice sisterly stroll.

  I looked down at her again as we rounded a corner that hid us from the security guard.

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “You don’t want to get arrested, do you?” Kasey asked, her lips working hard to keep from smiling.

  “If you’re trying to scare me, you’re going to have to be more specific,” I said.

  “I’m just saying,” she said, shrugging. “Just don’t be surprised if the police show up.”

  “The police? Is this because of what happened to Dad?”

  She smirked.

  “Do you know who’s responsible for that, Kasey?”

  She shrugged.

  “Was it someone you know?”

  Her smirk twisted into an ugly smile.

  “If you know anything about that, you need to say something,” I said.

  “Oh, don’t worry about me,” she said.

  I stared at her.

  “Kasey,” I said slowly, “what exactly is Mom going to find tonight?”

  The security guard appeared.

  “You young ladies need to get to class,” he said. “Especially you, Alexis.”

  Yeah, yeah. I put my hand on Kasey’s shoulder and began walking again.

  “But you can prevent it,” she said.

  “Prevent what?”

  “The attempted murder charge,” she said.

  I took a staggering step away from her.

  “Just start minding your own business, Alexis,” she said. “That is all I ask of you.”

  We’d stopped near a set of double doors, the entrance to the gym
nasium. I glanced back toward the halls of classrooms, but Kasey headed inside.

  The banquet trappings were gone; instead we found a silent shipyard of floats for the next day’s parade. We drifted through the rows, Kasey studying each float.

  She finally stopped in front of one that was draped in white plastic sheeting with giant red cardboard shooting stars all over it. A long wooden bench was built on either side, so the sponsor club could sit and wave at the bystanders. Running through the middle, between the benches, was a small forest of artificial Christmas trees, some still with bits of leftover tinsel on them. Kasey stared, entranced.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed at her.

  “Pardon?” a voice asked, and Megan Wiley came around the front of the float.

  Oh, perfect.

  “Is this your float?” Kasey asked, her voice flat.

  Megan glanced at me, and then smiled down at Kasey. Ever the diplomat.

  “Yeah, it is. Well, it’s the cheerleaders’. Are you going to watch the parade?”

  Kasey shrugged, then wandered away for a second, staring at the decorations on the side of the trailer. Megan and I were left alone. But I was too busy watching my sister to look at Megan.

  Finally, Kasey came meandering back to us.

  “Well, have a good day,” Megan said, and through her pristine politeness I could tell she was ready to be done with the conversation. She turned to look at the float.

  “I will keep a special lookout for you, Megan,” Kasey said, her eyes locked on Megan’s profile.

  Suddenly an image popped into my head. The yearbook photo with a giant red X through it.

  “Oh good, thanks,” Megan answered, turning to Kasey with a cheery, I’m-nice-to-dumb-kids smile on her face.

  Then, almost as if she’d seen a monster standing there instead of my little sister, Megan’s smile vanished, and she took a shaky step backward.

  Kasey’s innocent gaze never faltered.

  Megan touched her hair self-consciously and shot me a bewildered, questioning glance—almost like I’d said something out loud. A moment wobbled between us, and then I shook it off.

  “Come on, Kasey,” I said, grabbing her arm. “I’m sure Megan has more important things to worry about.”

  “I have to go,” Megan said abruptly, and disappeared around the other side of the float.

  As soon as we were out of the gym, I turned to my sister.

  “Don’t you dare,” I said. “Whatever you’re planning with the police. Who put you up to this? Mimi?”

  Kasey smiled brightly. “I must go,” she said, and turned around and started walking away.

  I followed her.

  “Kasey!” I said.

  She stopped, but didn’t turn around. I had to circle around in front of her to see her face.

  “I mean it,” I said.

  “See you after school,” she said, resting her hand on mine for a split second before I backed away. Then she stepped to the side and walked off past me. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want to watch her go.

  Something moved next to the gym and caught my attention. I looked up to see Megan Wiley hovering, almost hidden, around the far corner. Watching me. No—watching Kasey.

  I turned and found myself face-to-face with the security guard. His name was Hal. I knew him too well. I’m sure he felt the same about me.

  “Hey, you’re bleeding,” Hal said.

  I looked down at my hand, where Kasey had touched me.

  It was a mess of shallow cuts.

  “Oh that,” I said. “I have to get back to homeroom.” And I walked away.

  My mind ablaze with these latest horrors, I did what any high school student does in the face of a major crisis: I went to class.

  First, second, and third period were fine, apart from my aching hand, the nagging fear of what would be waiting for me when I got home, and the feeling that everyone was staring at me. Pretty much the usual. I tried to pay attention to the class work to keep my mind off of prison and the idea that Kasey might be planning to, you know, frame me and get me thrown in jail.

  No way could I talk to Mom about it. I debated going to Mrs. Ames, but I didn’t think she’d believe me either.

  No one would believe me. It was unbelievable. That was my problem.

  But when I got to fourth period, who should be standing in the doorway but Megan herself. I saw her from all the way down the hall, searching the crowded corridor. I tried to mentally will her not to be looking for me, but she stepped into my path before I could get by.

  “We need to talk,” she said.

  “No thanks,” I said, trying to go around her.

  “I mean it, Alexis,” she said, her voice low.

  She grabbed my elbow and pushed me away from the classroom. I followed her into the girls’ bathroom, where she spun on me.

  “Something is wrong with your sister,” she said.

  Somehow I’d suspected this was coming, and at the same time I felt like she’d poured a glass of ice water on my head.

  “She’s acting weird, right?”

  I looked at Megan. She really looked like the popular kid straight out of a Hollywood movie. Even her teeth were sparkling white.

  “Not really,” I lied.

  She narrowed her eyes. “We’ve never been friends—”

  “Yeah, and I’m sure it breaks your heart,” I said, which was what a person like me was supposed to say to a person like her (in the movie version, at least).

  “But right now I’m telling you that something is definitely off with her. What’s her name? Kayli?”

  “Her name is Kasey.” My stomach turned.

  I expected her to say, “Pepper Laird is right and your sister is a psycho, and oh, by the way, she seems to be planning to kill me for some reason, as demonstrated by her strange behavior in the gym, oh, and has she by any chance scribbled over my picture in your yearbook?”

  Instead she said, “Please don’t think I’m crazy.”

  “Why would I think you’re crazy?” I’d been there when Kasey went all Children of the Corn on her.

  I saw a spark in her brown eyes that seemed to be a glimmer of hope. “Alexis, I have a sense for this stuff, okay? All my life I could tell when something was—”

  Suddenly I had a mental image of Pepper and Megan plotting against Kasey. I mean, so what if Pepper was right? Maybe Kasey was crazy. That was still no reason to release the cheerleaders on her. Maybe Mimi and Pepper and Megan were working together, and the whole thing was one giant conspiracy.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t really think it’s your business that my little sister is eccentric.”

  “Eccentric?” Megan said. She looked genuinely surprised. “Alexis . . . your little sister is possessed.”

  I had to put my hand on the sink to keep from toppling over onto the grimy tile floor.

  “Like ghost, demon, dark side, Voldemort,” Megan went on. “Has there been anything strange going on at your house lately?”

  I shook my head.

  “Like weird noises, or sounds, or smells, or pockets of cold or hot air—”

  “No! Stop!” I cried, although of course there’d been noises, sounds, smells, cold air. All of those things.

  “Has Kasey had any blackouts? Has she—” Megan went pale. “Did she have something to do with your father’s accident?”

  “What my sister does at home is private!” I said.

  But I couldn’t get up the energy to say anything else.

  “I felt it,” Megan said. “Like, in my body. When your little sister was in the gym.”

  To be honest, she was freaking me out a little. Maybe . . . maybe if she really was serious, she could help somehow. Maybe she knew how to fix Kasey.

  Or maybe she would tell the cheerleaders that she’d played a huge trick on me and I fell for it, and I would be a total laughingstock.

  “How nice for you. I’m going to class,” I said, heading out of the bathroom.

&
nbsp; Megan matched my pace.

  “You can’t pretend you didn’t see it,” she said.

  Ha. Shows what she knew. I could be a very good pretender.

  We got to the classroom, and I reached for the door. She placed the flat of her hand on the door and held it shut.

  “It could get bad,” she said.

  She looked at me with her lips pressed together, her eyes wide and solemn. No trace of perkiness on her face.

  “It’s my problem,” I said. “Not yours.”

  “But I want to help.”

  “You don’t have to worry. I’ll stop her. I won’t let her hurt you.”

  Megan drew back, her eyes wide. “Hurt me?”

  Whoops.

  “Why would she—”

  The door swung open. Megan had to jump back to keep from getting hit.

  “Were you two thinking of possibly joining us?” the teacher asked.

  Megan and I slipped through the aisles to our desks, but I glanced up and saw her watching me, and I knew our discussion wasn’t over.

  After class I slinked into the library to avoid running into Megan. The librarian was engrossed in a romance novel, but as I walked past her desk, she looked pointedly at the NO SLEEPING ON THE COUCHES sign and then went back to her book.

  It wasn’t that I believed Megan, but . . . I just had to see for myself.

  I went to the bank of computers with Internet access and did a search on possession. The screen went bright blue with a block of white text that said, “RESULTS RESTRICTED.”

  “Exorcism,”

  “ghost,” and “poltergeist” produced the same answer.

  Then I wandered through the shelves, completely unable to find any books that had anything to do with evil sisters.

  Finally I went to the librarian’s desk and asked her straight-out where I should look for books about demonic possession. The look on her face clearly said it was just what she’d expect from someone like me.

  “We don’t stock those books anymore,” she said. “Ever heard of the CPA? Concerned Parents Association? They deemed those subjects inappropriate for children.”

  “So you threw them all away?”

  “No, we didn’t throw them away,” she said, sounding exasperated.