The Prom Queen (10 page)

“Well, just remember—it's not a coincidence!”

“DAWWWWWNNNNNN!!!!!” came the cry from down below.

“I gotta go,” she said. She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. Her palm was cold and sweaty.

“Here's your rosary, Maria,” I said.

She clutched the beads. “I'll need them,” she said. “I'm going to be doing a lot of praying.”

Dawn hurried out. I followed her out onto the catwalk. As she climbed down the ladder, I settled myself on the catwalk and stared down into the darkened auditorium and lighted stage area.

There was Robbie. He was giving a little speech to the cast. “This show is going to be great,” he told them. “Just the thing we need to start off prom weekend with a bang. But we all need to work hard. Remember, there are only eight days to go until opening night. Okay—places!”

I looked farther back into the auditorium. Who was I looking for? Justin? He had come to watch Simone, I reminded myself.

Then I saw him. All the way on the right. And he was staring up at me.

It was Lucas. Our eyes met. He smiled up at me. He made a kissing motion with his lips.

I looked away. The boy is a psychopath, I told myself.

Thinking that sent chills down my spine. I remembered our encounter outside Simone's. Lucas was so crazy, he didn't need a motive. He could be stalking the prom queens just for laughs.

I once saw a movie on TV where this unpopular high school kid set out to kill off all the cheerleaders, one by one, because the captain of the cheerleading
team wouldn't go out with him. After I saw that movie, I couldn't sleep for a week.

What was Lucas thinking? No—I didn't want to play Mr. Meade's game with Lucas Brown. It was too scary.

I tried not to look back in Lucas's direction. But after a moment I couldn't hold out. I glanced back at him.

He was gone.

Dawn was singing a solo, really belting it out while dancing around the stage.

“Hold it!” Robbie interrupted her. “Mimi,” he said to the pianist, “a little faster there, okay?” He trotted up onstage. “Dawn, sorry to stop you. You're doing great. But I want you to try for an even greater sense of freedom, okay?”

Dawn smiled at him, wrinkled her nose, and said, “Sure.” Robbie put his arm around her. He turned to the rest of the cast. “Can you believe how well Dawn is doing on such short notice? How about a round of applause?”

The cast obliged him with loud applause and cheers. They were used to Robbie acting like Mr. Showbiz.

I stared down at Dawn. I thought taking over Simone's part was supposed to be freaking her out. So why was she beaming as if she had just won at Wimbledon?

Then I had a really scary thought.

Dawn had a clear motive for the killings!

She desperately wanted to win. She was crazy about winning. We all knew that.

Crazy. . . .

What if Dawn got some guy to kill the other candidates?

But what about the talk we had just had? She did seem genuinely scared.

I'd be scared too if I were responsible for two murders—with two to go.

So what about Elana?

No way, I quickly answered. I couldn't see her doing it.

I couldn't believe I was doing this. Suspecting my own friends of committing murder.

Without warning, another name popped into my head. It surprised me.

Gideon!

That day at Pete's Pizza, Gideon had talked about the scholarship money. He had even suggested the rest of us drop out of the running. And Rachel had told him he wouldn't get any of it. Maybe he decided it was time to switch horses. . . .

My head was swimming. Down below me they had started rehearsing again. Dawn was telling the Mother Superior about her confusion about Captain von Trapp. I had to hurry down the ladder and into the wings to lower the next set into place. I hoped I'd make it on time. No more daydreaming.

I carefully unwound the rope on my left. I made it just before my cue and let the rope go.

“Oh, no!” I cried as I realized that more than the set was dropping into place.

A big, heavy sandbag went plummeting to the stage.

Then I heard a scream from onstage.

It was Dawn's scream.

The sandbag landed with a sickening thud.

“D
awn!” I shrieked in a horrified voice I didn't recognize.

Kids on the stage were screaming as well.

When I got onto the stage, there was such a tight circle around Dawn that I couldn't see her.

“Dawn! Dawn!” I called, desperate to know if she was hurt.

Then I saw her nun's habit. She was standing up. She was okay.

I worked my way through the knot of people to get to her. I could see the heavy sandbag lying at her feet.

Dawn was crying. “It came so close,” she was saying. “It came so close.”

I put my arm around her.

“Lizzy!” Robbie looked furious. “What happened?”

“I really don't know.” I stared up into the flyspace over our heads. “When I pulled the rope . . .”

I turned back to Dawn. Through her tears, she was giving me an accusing stare.

“Hey, it wasn't me!” I cried, hurt that she'd suspect me. “Dawn—don't look at me like that.”

“Someone is trying to kill me,” she said darkly, choking on the words. “And this is the second time they've tried.”

“What?” Robbie cried with an expression of disbelief. He turned to the rest of the cast. “Okay, everybody, let's take five. C'mon. Give us some room.”

He put his arm around Dawn's shoulders and walked her back to the dressing room. I followed. Dawn slumped into a chair in front of the big mirrors.

“Now, what's this?” Robbie said. “Who's trying to kill you?”

But even as he said it, I was wondering, What's Robbie really thinking?

Robbie had hated Simone. But why would he kill Rachel? Or his new leading lady, Dawn?

Stop it, Lizzy. Stop it right now, I warned myself. You can't suspect everyone.

“If we knew who was trying to kill us,” Dawn said testily, “don't you think we'd tell the police?”

Robbie sighed. He picked up a powder puff, examined it, then dropped it back on the table. Then he turned to me.

I could see in the mirrors that I looked just as scared as Dawn did. “Now, what's this crazy conspiracy theory you've got going?” he asked us.

“Simone and Rachel were murdered,” I told him. “Or did you forget that?”

“What is it with you two?” he said, pushing his glasses back on his nose. “I know these have been scary times. But no one's out to kill you. Obviously there's another psycho out there who got inspired by the first one. It's totally random.”

“And that sandbag?” Dawn said.

“The sandbag? It was an accident.”

I didn't like the way Robbie was talking. It made me suspicious again.

“C'mon,” Robbie said. “I can't baby-sit you forever. We've got a show to rehearse. Now, let's go.”

“Robbie,” I said. “Someone just tried to kill her. I'd like to see how you'd react if that—”

“Lizzy, read my lips,” Robbie said, his voice going up an octave. “It was an accident. Got it?”

“Look!” I said, surprised at how strange and shaky my own voice sounded. “Why are you being so dense? Dawn is right. This can't all be a coincidence. Someone
is
out to get her. Okay? And whoever it is, they're out to get me too. Maybe it's
you!”

At that, Robbie threw his hands into the air and started to walk out.

“Robbie!” I yelled. “Two of the prom queens have died already. Okay?”

“Two of who?” he asked.

I couldn't take it anymore. I suddenly had to get out of there. I had to get out of there fast. I pushed him aside and stomped out of the dressing room.

“Where are you going?” Robbie shouted after me. “You have to run the scenery changes!”

“Someone else can do it!” I yelled back over my shoulder. I hurried through the auditorium, the cast members staring at me. I kept my head down and kept going.

I was about to burst into tears at any second. I didn't want it to happen in front of everyone.

I slammed out through the double doors. Then I started to run. The hallway was dark, deserted. The classrooms were all locked.

I shoved the metal bar of the exit door with my hip and was relieved to be outside.

It was raining. When was the rain going to let up? Maybe everything wouldn't seem so frightening and so dreary if it would only stop raining.

I ran through the rain to my car. Someone
is
out to get Dawn, I told myself. And that meant that someone was out to get me too. And Elana. But who? Who?

I clicked on my seat belt and screeched away, nearly hitting a passing station wagon.

Soon I was roaring down Division Street, my mind whirling.

“Oh!”

I cried out as a face popped up in my rearview mirror.

A hand gripped my shoulder from behind.

I screamed. And the car spun out of control.

S
till gripping my shoulder, the guy in the backseat laughed wildly as the car lurched out of control.

My wheels slid on the rain-slick road. The car was skidding toward a guardrail.

I turned the wheels into the skid and pumped the brakes. That was something my dad had once told me to do when he was teaching me to drive. How I remembered to do it, I'll never know.

I hit the rail. There was a thud and scraping sound as my car fishtailed, bouncing along the railing. Finally I managed to get the car back on the road.

“What are you trying to do, Lucas?” I screamed. “Get us both killed?”

He let go of me and slumped back in his seat.

The road had widened now. I spotted a shoulder up ahead. Carefully I pulled over and parked. I was shaking. I turned around and stared at Lucas with total hatred. If looks could kill . . . I was trying to burn holes into him with my eyes.

He finally stopped laughing and his expression darkened. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to scare you.” He chuckled some more. “But you have to admit I gave you a jolt.”

I didn't reply. I just kept glaring at him.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he said in a singsong voice.

“Get out,” I told him.

“Aw,” he said, “don't be like that. It was just a joke.”

“Lucas, did you notice I'm not laughing?” I snapped angrily.

He frowned, bit his lip. “Listen—seriously.” He leaned forward and put his hand on my shoulder again. I pulled away so hard I hit my head on the steering wheel.

“Keep your filthy hands off me!”

“Hey,” he said sharply, “what's the matter with you? You act like I have a disease or something!”

I couldn't believe it. What a sicko. He was acting hurt. As if
I
were the one who had just nearly gotten us both killed.

“Get out,” I repeated quietly.

Lucas's frown deepened. He wiped his face several times.

“Listen,” he said, “this is crazy. The reason I'm here is because I want to apologize for being such a creep, and—”

“Well, you picked a pretty bad way to go about it.”

“I know! I'm sorry,” he said again. “But I knew you wouldn't talk to me any other way.” He was giving me that serious, soulful look of his, but because of his close-set eyes the expression came out looking very scary.

“Listen,” he said again, “what I'm trying to say is . . .” He gave me a nervous little smirk. “I'd like to get to know you better.”

“Right.” I rolled my eyes.

“A lot better.”

“Forget it,” I snapped.

“Why? Lizzy—I really like you.”

I had heard enough—more than enough. I turned around in my seat, checked the mirror, and made a U-turn, heading back for school. I drove fast.