Deadly Cool (26 page)
Authors: Gemma Halliday
“It’s the fire burn.”
“It’s cute.”
“Did you want something?” I asked, blushing so hard I feared my cheeks would turn purple.
“Yes, I did,” he said, popping a pizza stick in his mouth as if nothing in the world could ever make him feel embarrassed or awkward—especially not a kiss that meant so little he didn’t even know what I was talking about. “I thought we worked well together on the story.”
I raised an eyebrow (or a place where an eyebrow would be) his way. “You did?”
“You know, when you weren’t accusing me of being a killer.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that.”
He waved it off. “Anyway, I wanted to know if you wanted a spot on the paper. The
Homepage
could use a reporter like you.”
“Like me?”
“Smart, tenacious, resourceful.” He paused, then grinned at me again. “Willing to sacrifice her eyebrows for the truth.”
“They’re growing back,” I repeated.
“So, what do you say? Wanna come work for me?”
I bit the inside of my cheek. Honestly, I’d never had any journalistic aspirations. Writing an essay for English was about as much typing as I wanted to do. On the other hand . . . I had to admit there was a certain satisfaction in digging Caitlyn out of hiding. Sort of like doing a puzzle where the pieces were all in 3-D. And human.
Besides, after all the ditching I’d done lately, I could see my grades slipping. If I wanted to get into a good college, I was going to need some serious extracurricular stuff to pad my applications.
“Okay,” I finally said. “I’ll do it.”
“Cool.” He popped another pizza stick in. “Room thirty-five. After school. I’ll give you your first assignment today.”
“I’ll be there.”
He downed his last pizza stick and grabbed his tray, unfolding himself from the bench and moving to stand up.
“Oh, and . . . by the way?”
“Yeah?” I asked, looking up at him.
“Shiloh is not my type.”
“Oh?” I asked, my voice going an octave higher than play-it-cool-girl would have liked.
He shook his head. “Actually, I’ve got a thing for blondes.”
I gulped down a shiver.
He grinned.
“See ya later, partner,” he said, then walked away.
I watched his tall, broad-shouldered form strut through the cafeteria, tossing his tray in the bus line, before exiting the room.
Oh boy.
This was going to be a
very
interesting year.
THE
BODY
COUNT
IS
RISING
IN
TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEEK!
YOU HAD TO BE INCREDIBLY STUPID TO GET CAUGHT CHEATING
in Mr. Tipkins’s class, but then again, Sydney Sanders was known for being blonder than Paris Hilton.
HOMECOMING QUEEN HOPEFUL SUSPENDED FOR CHEATING ON TEST
I looked down at my headline for the
Herbert Hoover High Homepage
, our school’s online newspaper. Usually our news ran the exciting gambit from the janitor retiring to a hair being found in the Tuesday Tacos in the cafeteria. So a cheating story was way huge. And I’d been surprised when our paper’s editor, Chase Erikson, had assigned me the biggest story since the principal’s car was tagged in the back parking lot. After all, I’d only been working on the
Homepage
for a short time, making me the resident newbie.
I had a bad feeling that this story was some sort of a test. Do well and I’d earn the respect of my fellow reporters as well as a certain editor with whom I had a complicated personal history. Fail and it was the cafeteria beat for me.
Clearly I was shooting for outcome number one.
I turned up the volume on my iPod in an effort to drown out the noise of the school paper’s tiny workroom and put my fingers to the keyboard.
Herbert Hoover High Homecoming Queen nominee Sydney Sanders was discovered cheating on Tuesday’s midterm in her precalculus class. Mr. Tipkins caught Sydney red-handed when he noticed the answers to the test painted on her fingernails. Apparently Sydney had incorporated the letters A, B, C, or D into the design painted on her fake nails in the exact order that the answers appeared on Tuesday’s test. After Sydney was caught, it quickly came to light that her best friend, Quinn Leslie, had cheated on her test as well. Both girls are suspended from HHH while administrators investigate how the answers to the midterm got out. Sydney, previously considered a front-runner in the upcoming elections, will no longer be eligible to be Herbert Hoover High’s Homecoming Queen at next Saturday’s dance.
“That the cheating story?” Chase asked, suddenly behind me.
Very close behind me.
I cleared my throat as the scent of fresh soap and fabric softener filled my personal space. I pulled out one earbud and answered, “Yeah. It is.”
He was quiet for a moment reading my laptop screen over my shoulder. I felt nerves gathering in my belly as I waited for his reaction.
Chase Erikson was the reason I’d joined the school paper in the first place. He and I had both been investigating a murder at our school, each for different reasons. Chase because he was all about a hot story. And me because the murdered girl had been the president of the Chastity Club and had just happened to be sleeping with my boyfriend. Needless to say, he was now totally an ex-boyfriend. Anyway, Chase and I had sort of teamed up to find the Chastity Club killer, and once we did, Chase told me that I showed promising investigative skills and offered me a position on staff. Considering my college résumé was in need of some padding, I agreed.
So far working on the paper was a lot more fun than I had anticipated. When I’d first heard the term
school paper
I’d envisioned a bunch of extra-credit-hungry geeks with newsprint-stained fingers. But in reality, the entire paper operated online—no newsprint—and several students I knew contributed—none of them geeks. Ashley Stannic did a gossip column once a week that was total LOLs, even if only half the rumors she printed were true. Chris Fret contributed sports commentary and kept a running poll on this semester’s favorite player. In fact, the only thing that hadn’t been all smiley faces about working at the paper so far was Chase himself.
Chase was tall, broad-shouldered, and built like an athlete. His hair was black, short, and spiky on top, gelled into the perfect tousled style. His eyes were dark and usually twinkling with a look that said he knew a really good secret no one else was in on. He almost always wore black, menacing boots and lots of leather.
One time Mom picked me up from the paper for a dentist appointment and, when she met Chase, described him as “a little rough around the edges.” When Ashley Stannic played truth or dare at Jessica Hanson’s sweet sixteen and had been pressed to tell the truth, she’d described Chase as “sex in a pair of jeans.” Me? I wasn’t quite sure what I thought of Chase. All I knew was that things had been uncomfortable and a little awkward between us since The Kiss.
Yes. I, Hartley Grace Featherstone, had swapped spit with HHH’s resident Bad Boy.
When we’d worked together on that first story, I’d ended up getting kidnapped and almost killed. Almost, because Chase had been there to save me at the last minute. And as soon as Chase had rescued me, he’d kissed me.
Briefly. In the heat of the moment. When emotions were running high.
It was a night neither of us had spoken of since, and I was 99 percent sure that it had meant nothing at all beyond relief on both our parts that I was still alive.
But that other 1 percent still persisted just enough that in situations like this—where the scent of his fabric softener was making me lean in so close that I could feel the heat from his body on my cheek—I still wasn’t sure whether I thought of Chase as sex in a pair of jeans or a guy who was a little rough around the edges.
“This is good,” Chase said, bringing me back to the present.
“Thanks.” I felt myself grinning at his praise.
“But you can do better.”
And just like that, my grin dropped like a football player’s GPA.
WHILE WRITING IS USUALLY A VERY SOLITARY JOB, IT TAKES
a village to turn one writer’s thoughts into an actual book. So I have to acknowledge my very cool village, starting with the amazingly perky-and-helpful-at-crazy-early-hours-in-the-morning crew at the Blossom Hill Starbucks for all their support, friendly faces, and excellent lattes (the fuel that drove this book). Michelle, Holly, Angie, Daina, Dave, Kevin, Danielle, Angela, and Mike, you guys rock!
A great big thanks to Nicky, my teen linguistics expert, who has saved me from looking totally lame more than once.
Thanks to the Romance Divas for always having my back and being my BFFs 4ever.
And finally a big, heartfelt thanks to my Agent Awesome, Holly Root; my incredible editor, Erica Sussman, and her fabulous assistant, Tyler Infinger. Thanks for helping me bring Hartley and her world to life!
When
Gemma Halliday
was sixteen, she wanted to be either a rock star or Marilyn Monroe. Instead, she ended up working as a film extra, a teddy bear importer, a department store administrator, a preschool teacher, a temporary-tattoo artist, and a 900-number psychic before settling on the career of author. Since then, her books have been published in several countries, have been optioned for television, and have won lots of cool, shiny trophies, including a National Readers’ Choice award and three RITA nominations. Gemma now lives in the San Francisco Bay area, where she loves watching reality TV shows, eating takeout pizza, and shoe shopping. You can visit her online at www.gemmahalliday.com.
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Cover art © 2011 by Daria Zaytseva
Cover design by Michelle Taormina
Deadly Cool
Copyright © 2011 by Gemma Halliday
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Halliday, Gemma.
Deadly cool / Gemma Halliday. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: When sixteen-year-old Hartley Featherstone finds out that her boyfriend is cheating on her, she goes to his house to confront him and suddenly finds herself embroiled in a murder mystery.
ISBN 978-0-06-200331-7 (pbk. bdg.)
[1. Mystery and detective stories. 2. High schools—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H15449De
[Fic]—dc22
20112011010036
CIP
AC
11 12 13 14 15 CG/BV 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1