Poor Little Dead Girls (15 page)

She found him sitting on the ground in front of his locker, a ragged-looking paperback spread open on his lap. He looked up and raised his eyebrows, but she held up a hand.

“I know. I don’t have my own locker yet, and it was either this, putting my sweaty clothes back on, or swiping someone’s game uniform.”

“Actually I was just going to say that I like it. I think my sisters would be really jealous.”

“Oh yeah? And how old are they?”

He grinned. “Nine and eleven. Big Barbie fans.”

She made a face, but before she could respond he stood up. She had been standing over him, and suddenly he was so close she could smell that distinctive boy-after-shower smell, a mix of lingering heat and Axe shower gel. It made her feel dizzy.

“I’m just kidding, you know. You look great — you always do.”

She crossed her arms over her chest to keep from reaching out and grabbing him. “Oh yeah? And you’ve seen me what, like twice?”

“Well, yeah. But … you’re around.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Our teams share a field, you know? I’m not blind.”

She smiled to herself and followed him out the door and across the stadium. They reached the end of the turf and turned right, following the path out to the beach.

“You’re really great by the way,” he said. “At lacrosse. You have a wicked side arm shot.”

She looked at him, but she couldn’t make out much more than his profile in the dark. “Thanks.” She bit her lip to keep from smiling too widely, but still she felt like she was skirting dangerously close to jack-o’-lantern territory. Any minute her hysterical excitement would light her up from the inside and give her away.

They both fell silent, and she realized it was her move. “So — ” she started, hoping she would come up with something by the time the “o” limped off her tongue. “How’s school?” She bit the inside of her cheek in frustration. Rough choice.

“It’s pretty good,” he said. “The guys are all cool — well, most of them — and I like my classes. My roommate’s great, too. You know Josh, right?” She nodded. He was silent for a moment. “To be honest, I really thought I’d hate it here.”

They were on the beach path now, and she could tell he was looking out over the ocean. His face was in shadow, but she could see the curve of his jaw lit up in the moonlight. A part of her — the same part that led her subconscious through the same cheesy dreamscape every night — wanted to lean in and lick it.

He looked back at her. “This place isn’t really, me, you know?”

Something about his expression made her hold his gaze. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Thought so.” Something in him seemed to relax, and he started to whistle quietly, hands jammed in his pockets. They reached the turnoff toward Keating’s campus, and he stopped.

“Hate to say it, but I think this is where I turn around. I hear Cromwell doesn’t take kindly to Graffs on campus after dark.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “Probably not.”

For a second he was quiet, and she could see the moonlight tripping into a tiny divot that was deepening between his eyebrows. He opened his mouth, then seemed to change his mind.

“Well, thanks for walking me home,” she said, too loudly.

“Anytime. You know, if you ever want to work out after hours you should text me first.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Is that a euphemism?”

He grinned wickedly. “Nope. I’d be happy to kick your butt in some 300s any time you want.”

“You wish.” She had just started to turn away when she felt a hand on her arm.

“Hey, wait a sec.”

She turned, and he was so close she could feel his body heat.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while, and I know it’s probably too late now — I’m guessing at least three guys have asked you already but,” — he paused — “is there any chance you would want to go to the Autumn Ball with me?”

There was a smile on his face, but she could see something else there too, just a shadow of uncertainty that weighed on his features.

He’s nervous
. Suddenly she wanted to laugh out loud.

Instead, she smiled. “Hell, yeah.”

He laughed, clearly relieved, and she smiled wider.

“Okay, then. Well, I’ll call you next week — we can figure out the details.” He gave her a mock salute. “Good night, Sadie Marlowe.”

She waved and watched as he walked away. After a few steps he turned around and she could see him grinning as he called out, “Just don’t wear that outfit to the dance, okay?”

The next morning she woke up feeling tired, sore, and completely irrationally happy. It had been after ten when she got back, but she had padded down to Jessica’s room anyway, the news bubbling up inside of her and threatening to overflow. She had run in and spilled everything, even before Madison could whip off her eye mask and yell at them for waking her up.

After she had huffed and sniffed and flopped over on her other side, they talked in hushed whispers for another hour, Sadie analyzing every detail and Jessica asking follow-up questions like an investigative reporter. When they had finally exhausted everything from his smell to his clothes to his exact quotes (“Did he say he saw you, or did he say he watched you, ’cause like, ohmygodsoawesome or like, easy psycho, you’re so not giving him your skin for a lady-suit”), they adjourned the strategy meeting, and Sadie had tiptoed back to her room. She was asleep by the time her head hit the pillow.

She spent most of breakfast in a happy fog. She sat at her usual table, listening to the girls chattering on about “Jailbait Jenny,” Keating’s and Graff’s latest sex scandal. Some freshman had gotten caught in one of the senior Graff dorm rooms doing what was probably making out but depending on who you listened to could also have been dry humping or filming a soft-core sex tape for his YouTube channel. She was already gone, whisked away early that morning by her father’s chauffeur and leaving nothing but gossip as evidence of her stay at the illustrious Keating Hall.

The noise floated over her and around her, and she uh-huh’ed and totally’ed at all the right moments, but she was too busy looking around for Brett to really commit to Jenny’s roast. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to her alone since their trip to D.C., and she had so many questions, she felt like she couldn’t concentrate on anything else. What happened now? Was Sadie going to be invited to join them, and if so, did she even want to?

Brett never showed at breakfast, and instead of slipping in beside Sadie at chapel, out of breath and sneaking bites of low-carb English muffin from her bag, she never showed up there either. Sadie didn’t think much of it until the bell rang for their first-period calculus class. Brett — and her pencil case, ruler, and notebook, all set in perfect parallel formation on the oval table — was still nowhere to be found.

After an hour of rational functions, she resigned herself to waiting until lunch to launch her verbal assault. When Brett still hadn’t shown by dinner, she interrupted Charlotte midway through a rave about the new eyelash glue her makeup artist had sent her to ask where Brett was. The table stared back at her, a dozen sets of eyes wide as cows’, mouths robotically chewing their organic, fat-free, low-calorie cud.

“Uh, where have you been all day?” Jessica whispered. “Brett’s, like, really sick or something. She’s in the nurse’s office, and they won’t let anyone see her.”

Charlotte perked up. “I heard it’s mono or herpes or something. Whatever it is, it’s super contagious. That’s why no one can go in.”

“It’s not herpes, Charlotte,” Jessica shot back. “She’s no Jailbait Jenny.”

“Hey, I’m just saying what I heard.” She pursed her lips and shrugged her thin shoulders. “I mean, it’s not like she’s Josh’s first.”

Eyes all around the table widened, and Jessica’s narrowed. “At least Brett can remember her first, Charlotte.”

Before Charlotte could respond, Jessica slung her oversized purse over one arm and stood up. “And you’re going to feel like a real asshole if Brett’s really sick.” She stomped away, but Charlotte just shrugged and looked bored. Sadie followed her out the door, and she heard the table behind her dissolve into laughter.

She caught up with Jessica in the lobby, and they sunk down into big leather armchairs in their usual corner of the room. The spot was their observation deck — far enough from the couches that their voices didn’t carry to where the rest of the girls usually sat, but close enough to keep an eye on the natives in their natural habitat. Brett, Sadie, and Jessica spent most nights after practice draped on the furniture, studying or pretending to, and tonight things felt all wrong without her there.

“What was that about?” Sadie asked, as she leaned her head back against the cushions.

“Ugh, Charlotte’s always such a bitch about Josh. She’s still so bitter that he dumped her in seventh grade.”

“What about Brett though — we really don’t know anything?”

Jessica shrugged. “I guess not. I ran into Coach after lunch, and she said Brett didn’t want any visitors. Maybe she just has strep or something, so she can’t be around people for a couple days?” She cocked her head to the side, then suddenly widened her eyes. “Ew, maybe it’s lice? I totally had that once when I was little. Got it from my brother. If you tell anyone I said that I’ll definitely murder you in your sleep. But anyway yeah, I’m sure she’s fine. We’ll go check on her tomorrow — maybe we’ll be able to see her then?”

Sadie just nodded, but she knew she couldn’t wait that long.

Half an hour later she was jogging across the quad toward the infirmary. Down a narrow hallway, she found a nurse’s office and poked her head inside. A plump woman in an old-fashioned nurse’s uniform was sitting at a desk, reading a paperback. Sadie cleared her throat, and the woman looked up in surprise.

“Didn’t see you there, dear. Can I help you with something?” She reached a hand toward Sadie’s forehead, but Sadie shook her head.

“I’m actually looking for my friend, Brett Whitney. She came in last night, I think?”

The woman’s smile faded. “Oh, I’m very sorry, dear, but Brett isn’t taking any visitors right now.”

Sadie frowned. “How come? Is she contagious?”

“Oh no, she’s not sick.” The nurse paused. “She had a bad fall and she’s pretty bruised up. She just isn’t really up for seeing anyone yet.”

Sadie bit her lip, weighing whether or not it would be worth just making a break for it. The woman didn’t exactly look like a sprinter.

“You know, you look very familiar,” the woman smiled, but she had an odd look on her face. “Did you have a sister who was a student?”

Sadie shrugged. “Nope. Only child.”

“Ah well, there’s something about you — just feels like I’ve met you before. I’m Nurse Brennan, by the way.” She held out a small plump hand.

“Sadie Marlowe.” They shook hands, and Sadie could still see the woman studying her face intently. “My mom was a student, though. Like twenty years ago.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “That must be it! What’s her name?”

“It was Maylynne — ” The nurse’s eyes got so wide that Sadie cut herself off. “What?”

The woman busied herself smoothing down a page in her book, but Sadie saw a shadow pass over her face. “Nothing, dear. She always seemed like a very nice young lady. I’m glad she got herself sorted out.”

Sadie raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

The nurse gave her a hard look. “She was a patient of mine for awhile before she left Keating. It was right after her accident — I’m sure you’ve heard the story.”

“Actually, I haven’t.”

“Oh … ” — she squirmed uncomfortably — “well, she was swimming with some friends at the beach, and she got too close to the rocks near that old tower. Nearly got crushed by the waves.”

She must have seen the look of horror on Sadie’s face because she patted her arm. “Gave me quite a fright, but she was lucky. Just a broken leg and some bruised ribs.” Nurse Brennan cocked her head to the side. “You know, you really do look just like her. Same pretty blue eyes and wavy blonde hair — must be those famous genes.”

Sadie’s head was spinning. How could her dad have never mentioned her mom’s accident?

“You sure you’re okay, hon’? I could take your temperature just in case.”

Sadie forced herself to smile. “I’m fine, thanks. I’ll just come back to check on her tomorrow.”

She never got the chance. The next morning when Sadie and Jessica walked into the dining room, Brett was sitting alone at their usual table, slumped over a half-empty mug of coffee. Her red hair had fallen forward over her face, and it looked like it hadn’t been washed in days. Sadie immediately moved toward Brett to give her a hug.

“Brett, are you okay?”

Brett didn’t look up, but she jerked back in her chair, as if her entire body was flinching away from Sadie’s touch. “I’m fine,” she mumbled. “Sorry. I’m just, um, still contagious. You shouldn’t touch me.”

The girls exchanged glances over her bowed head, but Jessica just shrugged. Sadie decided to keep what Nurse Brennan had said to herself. If Brett was lying to them, she figured there must be a good reason.

After the servers had set their places, Sadie tried again, quieter this time.

“Look, are you really okay? We were worried about you. Nobody knew what happened. And you seem a little … down.”

Brett sighed. “It was just a stomach bug or something. I’m really okay.” When they didn’t respond, she straightened in her chair and ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back off her face. Sadie barely stifled a gasp.

“Then what happened to your face?” Jessica cried, bits of egg dribbling out of her mouth. Brett’s eyes were pink and bloodshot, and there was a dark purple bruise spreading across one of her cheekbones.

Brett was smiling, but something was off. Her mouth stretched wide, but her eyes were dull. “Oh, it’s nothing,” — she laughed — “I got dehydrated from all the throwing up, and then on my way to the nurse’s office I fainted and hit my head on the edge of a table. I’m fine, really.”

Grace jumped up from the table. “I’m going to get you some ice — that looks like it’s still swollen.”

Brett waved a hand. “It’s just a bruise.” She smiled her ventriloquist smile again. “I’ll survive.”