Social Suicide (18 page)

I WATCHED IN HORROR AS MR. TIPKINS’S EYES CHANGED
. Gone was the angry flash when he’d talked about how he was an underpaid, underappreciated teacher, the confusion of trying to figure out Titter versus Twitter, and the disdain when he’d spoken about the ignorance of his current students. This was something different. Something dead, flat, and calm, and more eerily menacing than anything I’d ever seen.

Anxiety balled into pure panic in my stomach, making my body move and squirm all on its own.

“Um, you know what? I’m no loose end. I’m hardly an end at all. You see, I’m not into being homecoming queen, or getting cash, or anything like that. I’m totally just into being quiet. Not talking. Not telling anyone about anything. I can be totally quiet, see?” I shut my mouth illustrating my point.

Tipkins shook his head. He was so not buying this.

And I was so out of time.

I wriggled my wrists as he rounded the starting block, coming up behind me. The left one slipped a little. I’d worked out some slack in the rope. But it still held tight.

“You won’t get away with this,” I said, changing tactics. “Someone will notice I’m gone. They’ll come looking for me.”

Speaking of which—where the heck was Chase? How long would he wait before realizing I wasn’t just in the bathroom? How long had I been out? How long would it take him to figure out I was here, on campus still, by the pool with a Twittercidal maniac?

Though, I realized as Mr. Tipkins began to separate my bound wrists from the board, it didn’t matter. I was out of time altogether.

“What are you going to do?” I asked, my voice shaking.

He didn’t answer, instead pulling me up off the ground by my still-bound-together hands. I tried to struggle out of his grasp, but for someone who spent the majority of his life sitting behind a desk, he was surprisingly strong. And, as he steered me toward the edge of the pool, a horrific realization dawned on me.

He was going to throw me in.

“Wait, you can’t do this,” I said, doing my best to dig my heels into the cement. “Please, I swear I won’t tell anyone what you’ve been up to.”

“Too late,” Tipkins said, his hands gripping both my arms as he pushed me forward.

I did the only thing I could think of. I went limp, playing noncompliant toddler and sagging to the ground at the side of the pool.

“Help!” I yelled, being dead weight to the best of my abilities. “Help! Someone help me!”

“No one can hear you,” Tipkins said, towering over me, hands on his ample hips. “They’re all enjoying their stupid dance.”

Which is where, more than anything, I wanted to be. Dancing, laughing. Where I’d been just a few minutes ago now felt an entire world away. Had that been the last time I’d ever see my friends? Sam and Kyle? Chase?

“Help!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. Even though I knew Tipkins was right—there was no way my volume could compete with the DJ’s. No one would hear me. No one would run to the rescue.

I was on my own. And if I was going to get out of this alive, I was going to have to save myself.

Mr. Tipkins leaned down, putting both hands under my armpits to lift me off the ground.

It was now or never.

I took a deep breath . . .

. . . and head-butted him in the nose as hard as I could.

“Unh!” Mr. Tipkins reeled backward, his hands going to his face.

I took the opportunity to pop up to my feet, hopping like a bunny toward the gate that encircled the pool. Only, since Tipkins had two separated feet, he quickly recovered and caught up to me. I felt him shove at my back, hard enough that we both fell to the ground.

I rolled to the right, bringing my feet up and kicking as hard as I could, catching him squarely in the chest. I heard the wind whoosh out of his lungs. I inchwormed myself into a sitting position, pulling my legs under me to awkwardly get back on my feet.

I got one hop away before Tipkins’s hairy-knuckled hand grabbed the rope at my ankles, pulling me backward and down to the ground again.

I fell hard, both knees scraping against the cement as I landed with a thud that jarred my teeth together. I wriggled and kicked backward with both feet as hard as I could, connecting with something soft and fleshy.

Tipkins grunted but kept a hand on my ankles.

“Let. Go. Of. Me!” I shouted.

“Not on your life,” he growled back, regaining his breath and pulling himself onto his knees.

Right at the edge of the pool.

I scrunched myself up into a fetal position, cocking my knees as close to my chest as I could, then shoved hard with both feet.

My extra-high heels caught Tipkins in the stomach, doubling him over in the middle. I kicked again, connecting with his forehead and watched as he toppled backward, hitting the water with a splash that sent water sloshing over the side of the pool.

I didn’t waste any time, immediately popping to my feet, kicking off the heels, and hopping toward the gate again.

I heard Tipkins splashing around in the water. His clothes slowed him down, but it wouldn’t be long before he found his way to the side and out onto dry land again. I had to move fast.

I hopped as quickly as I could, only vaguely aware of how ridiculous I must have looked, making it to the side gate just as I heard Tipkins sloshing up the ladder and out of the pool.

I pushed on the gate, but it was firmly latched in place. Not only that, but a shiny, silver lock gleamed back at me in the moonlight.

I felt desperation bubble up in my throat as I whipped my head around for any sign of a key. But it was too late. I could hear Tipkins’s wet footsteps moving the length of the pool. In an instant, his arms encircled me from behind, wet, rigid, and as unyielding as steel.

“No!” I cried out, feeling tears well in my eyes as he dragged me toward the water.

“Please, I—”

But that was as far as I got in my pleading because, without ceremony, Tipkins tossed me over the edge, into the deep end of the pool.

Cold water instantly enveloped me, hitting my body like a shock. I kicked my legs, wiggled from side to side, moving anything I could as the frigid water rushed over my body, pressing in on me from all sides as I sank lower and lower.

I felt panic coursing through my system and fought the urge to scream as I watched the surface of the pool grow farther and farther away. I could just make out the blurry figure of Mr. Tipkins walking away.

Leaving me there to drown in a watery grave.

I felt hot tears slide down my cheeks in the freezing water. I thrashed, the ropes cutting into my wrists until they burned like they were on fire. I kicked, my feet coming up against something hard. The bottom of the pool. I shoved with all my might, shooting toward the surface . . . but I fell short, only managing to move a couple feet through the thick water . . . that felt like it was growing thicker and heavier by the second, pressing in on me, closing my visions down to one small pinpoint of light as my eyes grew heavy. My lungs were screaming for air, burning, feeling as if they were going to burst at any second. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could resist the urge to open my mouth, not drag the heavily chlorinated water into my body, filling my lungs until I drowned.

My brain began to feel fuzzy, images swimming in my vision as I watched the last of my oxygen leak out of my nose in tiny little air bubbles that floated so easily to the surface. If only I could float like that. If only I was light enough to just float right out of my body, up toward the surface out into that sweet, sweet air.

And suddenly I was floating. I vaguely wondered if maybe I’d left my body, if I was dead and floating toward the heavens, slowly rising from the water. I watched the surface swim closer and closer until I could almost feel the crisp breeze of gloriously fresh air.

I opened my mouth, not able to hold it in any longer, sucking in as hard as I could, expecting the rush of water to fill my lungs and end it all.

Only it didn’t.

Instead, I dragged in a deep, full breath of air as my body broke the surface.

I gasped, coughing, choking, and dragging in oxygen as if I couldn’t get enough.

“Hartley!” I heard someone calling my name from very far away.

But I didn’t care. All I cared about was the delicious feeling of filling my lungs, in and out, in and out. Was there anything better?

“Hartley? Can you hear me?” the voice pressed.

I blinked, regaining my vision, the oxygen slowly clearing the clouds from my brains. A face came into focus in front of me. A heavily made-up face, surrounded by clouds of blond hair.

“Drea?” I asked, confusion lacing my voice as her features materialized in front of me.

“Ohmigod, you’re okay!” She leaned down and hugged me, my soggy self making wet spots on her itty-bitty minidress.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Rescuing you,” came another voice. I looked to my right and saw two more cheerleaders from Drea’s posse standing nearby.

“We saw everything,” Drea said. “We came running to get you out as soon as we could.” I looked down and saw a long pole with a hook on the end that the maintenance workers used to drag leaves from the bottom of the pool. Or in this case, cheerleaders used to drag me from the bottom of the pool.

Great. Saved by cheerleaders. I would never live this down.

“Thanks,” I said. “But how did you find me?” I asked, still dragging in deep breaths.

“We were shooting videos of the dance for Nicky,” Drea explained, leaning down to untie my bonds.

“And we saw Mr. Tipkins helping you from the girls’ bathroom,” Cheerleader number one said. “We totally thought you were drunk or something.”

“Yeah, so we followed you guys, shooting in case you puked or something cool,” Cheerleader number two said.

“Nicky would have loved that,” Drea agreed.

I just bet.

“But I wasn’t drunk,” I pointed out.

Drea nodded. “Yeah, we realized that when he tied you up.”

I blinked at her. “You watched him tie me up? Why didn’t you help me?”

“Dude, we tried! The gate was locked, and we couldn’t get in.”

“We even tried to climb over the fence,” Cheerleader number one said, “but that totally wasn’t working with our wardrobes.” She gestured to the micromini dresses they all wore.

Drea nodded in agreement. “It wasn’t until Tipkins opened the gate and left that we could get in and rescue you.”

“Thanks,” I told them. Meaning it. If it hadn’t been for them hoping to catch me making a fool of myself, I’d have made a dead body of myself. “And Mr. Tipkins?” I asked, my gaze whipping around the area.

“He ran,” number two said. “Totally took off toward the parking lot as soon as he tossed you.”

“So he got away?” I asked, a sinking feeling hitting my stomach.

But Drea grinned. “Not for long. I got his whole confession on video.” She held up the Flip cam she’d been carrying around with her all night. “And,” she added, hitting a little red button on the side, “it’s all uploading to YouTube as we speak.”

I grinned.

Score one for the brats and their technology.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, IT SEEMED LIKE THE ENTIRE STUDENT
population of Herbert Hoover High was standing by the pool, plus our chaperones, teachers, and about a dozen police officers. Drea and Cheerleaders number one and two were enthusiastically giving their statements to officers, complete with lots of hand waving, jumping up and down, and video footage of them coming to my rescue. Sam and Kyle were exactly where they’d been ever since running from the cafeteria at speeds that left both crowns at odd angles: right by my side. Sam had immediately wrapped both arms around me, letting go only when I begged for air, and hadn’t let go of my hand since. Kyle had taken it upon himself to shield me from the thousand questions everyone began throwing at me the second they saw my dripping hair and soggy homecoming dress, holding them at bay by repeatedly yelling, “Give her some room to breathe!”

Someone had found a tarp in the utility shed, which I’d wrapped around myself as a makeshift blanket, but I was still shivering through my wet clothes as I sat on the ground beside the pool. “Hartley!” I heard a voice call through the crowd, and looked up to find Chase rushing toward me. He ignored the crowd, police, and chaperones, enveloping me in a hug so fierce, I might have mistaken him for Mom.

I’ll admit, with his arms around me, some warmth started to return to my system.

“God, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said when he finally pulled away. “As soon as I saw you were gone, I texted everyone to see if they’d seen you. Ashley said she thought she saw you heading toward the quad, Chris said he thought you went out to the parking lot, Jenni said to try the football field. I’ve been all over the school looking.” He ran a hand through his hair, and I could tell by the way his spikes stood up in messy tufts that it hadn’t been the first time he’d done it that evening. His face was pale in the moonlight, his mouth drawn in a tight line. He really did look like he’d been worried.

More of that welcome warmth pooled in my stomach at the thought.

“I’m okay,” I reassured him. Though “okay” was kind of a relative term at the moment. But I was alive, and that was a lot more than I might have hoped for earlier.

I quickly told him everything, from being hit on the head to being rescued by Drea and company. I was just finishing when I saw another familiar face push through the crowd. Freckled, slightly wrinkled, and topped with red hair.

Raley.

And behind him trailed Mom, pushing her way toward me.

“Oh, Hartley,” she said, grabbing me around the middle.

I hugged her back. After the night I’d had, I could use all the hugs I could get.

When she finally pulled away, I noticed for the first time what she was wearing. And it was not the yoga pants and T-shirt I’d left her in earlier that evening.

It was a black sleeveless dress that ended well above her knee, paired with heels that were higher than mine.

“Why are you all dressed up?” I asked.

She looked down. “Well, David and I were at dinner when he got the call about you.”

I cocked my head to the side. “David?”

She blushed. “Detective Raley.”

Mental face palm.

My gaze shifted to Raley and I noticed he was also a notch up from his usual schlumpy fare, wearing a pair of dark slacks with a shirt that actually looked cleaned and ironed.

That’s it. This was getting out of hand.

“This is the third date in as many days, Mom.”

“I know.” She beamed. “Well, technically, it might be the fourth, since David was at our house so late last night—”

“Oh God, Mom. Please stop talking now.”

She shot me a look but, considering my near-death experience, was thankfully compassionate enough to comply.

After giving another quick version of events to Raley (no way was I ever going to think of him as “David”), he told Mom she could take me home and he’d come over tomorrow to take down an official statement.

Then Mom bundled me into her minivan, cranked the heat to full blast, and took me home, where I took the longest, hottest shower on record. (But not a bath. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go near standing water ever again.)

Afterward, I slipped into a pair of long johns, a pair of sweats, two pairs of socks, and fluffy pink slippers, and I was almost warm again.

Mom made me a cup of hot cocoa (with soy milk and organic fructose), though I was so tired, I could hardly hold my head up to sip at it before I fell into bed, my eyes closing almost before I even hit the pillows.

HERBERT HOOVER HIGH TEACHER ARRESTED FOR MURDER

Long known as one of the toughest teachers on campus, Mr. Tipkins was arrested Saturday evening for the murder of HHH student Sydney Sanders, as well as the attempted murders of both Nicky Williams and yours truly, Hartley Grace Featherstone. Mr. Tipkins has pled not guilty but, due to an inability to post bail, was remanded to the county detention facility, pending trial.

The arrest was on the heels of a video of Mr. Tipkins confessing to his crimes that circulated on YouTube. Incidentally the video received 550,000 hits in the first weekend, making it YouTube’s top video of the week.

I looked down at my article. I had to admit, it wasn’t bad. Unfortunately, the major media outlets had gotten hold of the story before I’d had a chance to break the news in the
Homepage
, but I had the most unique angle there was—from a survivor of Mr. Tipkins’s attack. Which included both my perspective on the matter and a whole host of juicy inside facts. And, as Chase had wanted, this was definitely an angle no one else had heard on the story of Sydney’s death.

Which, after viewing Tipkins’s confession, Raley had reopened the case files on, changing the official ruling from suicide to homicide. (Sam and I couldn’t quite convince him to put “Twittercide” in the official report.) He and his police force had found Mr. Tipkins at home, where he’d been packing his bags for Mexico. Into the trunk of his Toyota. Which gave Raley enough probable cause to charge him with not one but two attempts on my life.

And while the extra paperwork had tied Raley up for the day, he’d still found time to go out with my mom again the following evening. I was seriously working on a plan to stop this before it got out of hand. As if living with the SMother wasn’t enough, now a cop was invading my life, too. Not cool. Way not cool.

As for our suspects . . . Nicky was released from the hospital the day after homecoming, but after Tipkins’s cheating scheme was exposed, the administration had no choice but to suspend Nicky for his part in it. Since Nicky currently had a 4.0 GPA, rumor had it he wasn’t really worried about the blemish on his record. And Drea had promised to shoot videos for him of everything he missed at school.

The person who had taken news of Sydney’s death most definitely not being a suicide the hardest was Connor. The fact that no one actually thought him worth killing themselves over had been a blow I wasn’t sure his ego would ever recover from. Well, at least not until the winter formal.

Jenni, on the other hand, was already working on a nomination for homecoming queen next year. According to Ashley Stannic’s gossip column, Jenni was back together with Ben Fisher, and the two of them were seen wearing matching his and hers shirts to the mall last weekend.

Quinn Leslie had been allowed back on the lacrosse team, pending academic probation. Incidentally, she was the only one still wearing a black mourning armband for her best friend. She’d even tried to get a scholarship fund going in Sydney’s name.

And, as a minor last note, I’m proud to say that both Sam and I did pass our American Government midterm. Sam even got the highest grade in the class, completely ruining the grading curve for everyone else. Without cheating. Poor Chris Fret got a 65, but Sam gave him the name of her tutor, so I’m sure he’ll be bringing up his grades soon.

“You got that article, Featherstone?” Chase asked, coming up behind me in the workroom.

I nodded. “Yep. Just emailed it to you.”

“Cool,” he said. But instead of walking away, he sat down at the desk beside me.

“Um, did you want to read it right now?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s fine. I’ll read it later.”

I waited a beat, but he just sat there.

“Was there something else?” I asked, starting to feel a little self-conscious.

He cleared his throat, his fingers picking at a piece of lint on his black hoodie. “Actually, yeah. I, uh, I wanted to apologize.”

I cocked my head at him. “For?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “For leaving you alone at the dance. For letting Tipkins attack you like that.”

I shook my head. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“I was supposed to be watching you.”

“Watching me pee? Come on. You couldn’t follow me everywhere.”

He shrugged. “I should have stayed closer.”

“It wasn’t your fault. And I totally don’t blame you.”

He looked up at me through his eyelashes. “You sure?”

I nodded, feeling my hair bob around my ears. “Totally.”

“So, we’re cool?”

“Cool.”

“Good.” He let out a sigh, the corners of his mouth turning up. “In that case . . .” He cleared his throat again, eyes going back to his hoodie lint. “I was wondering what you were doing this Friday.”

I shrugged. “No plans. Why?”

“Well, I was kinda wondering if you wanted to hang out. Maybe get some pizza or something.”

I paused. “Like another
Homepage
staff meeting thing?”

“Not really,” he said, eyes still on the lint.

“Is this about a story? A new assignment or some-thing?” I pressed.

“No.”

“Then what?”

He shrugged. “I just thought that maybe you’d like to go grab something to eat. You know. With me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you asking me out?”

I didn’t think it was possible, but I swear I saw Chase’s cheeks go just the slightest pale shade of pink.

“Sorta. Yeah. I guess. I mean, if you want to.”

I paused. Did I want to?

“What about that girl you were at the game with last week?” I hedged.

Chase finally lifted his eyes from the lint ball to meet mine, his eyebrows scrunching. “Carly?”

I swallowed. “Yeah. Carly.”

“What about her?”

“Um, don’t you think she’d mind you going out with me?” I asked.

But my sarcasm was lost on him, his eyebrows still scrunching. “Why would my cousin mind me having pizza with you?”

I blinked. His cousin.

Dude, I was so stupid.

“Your cousin. Carly.”

Chase shook his head. “So, what do you say? You, me, pizza? Sound like fun?” A lopsided grin broke through the deepening pink in his cheeks, his eyes warm and soft in a way that inexplicably made my insides feel warm and soft, too.

And I felt myself nodding.

“Sure. Pizza.”

Pizza was good, I told myself. Pizza was easy. Friends had pizza all the time. We were good friends having pizza on a Friday night. It didn’t need to mean anything more than that, and I was definitely not reading anything more into it.

For now.

Chase grinned wide enough that white teeth showed between his lips. “Awesome,” he said. Then he finally did get up from the desk, taking a step toward the door before he called over his shoulder, “It’s a date, then.”

Oh, fluffin’ fudge. Was Sam gonna have a field day with this one.