They All Fall Down (16 page)

Irving nods. “Take your time, Kenzie.”

“I wasn’t close friends with them,” I say under my breath, as though I need to offer him some relief. Or maybe that’s not what he’s worried about. Maybe he knows about the list and thinks I’ll be dead, too, and won’t get to State and pull Vienna High a first place.

“Everyone’s affected,” he says gently.

Everyone on that list
is what he means. I slip out into the hall with absolutely no intention of going to the office to have my grief counseled or to talk to the police—not until I know they won’t alert my mother. She’d die.

I’m just about to hide in the bathroom when I see the posse of police leave the office and step into the hall, with Principal Beckmeyer right in their midst. He looks a little redder than usual—and he’s always pink and sweaty—talking to one of the officers and pointing in the other direction. From the
office door, the dean steps toward them. I hang back, watching them, wondering what their plan is.

After a moment, they break into two groups, the dean taking two of the cops and two of the plainclothes guys one way, and Beckmeyer heading toward me with the rest.

On instinct, I slip into the bathroom, not willing to get my pass checked by the principal and some cops. The girls’ room is empty, and I wait behind the door long enough to hear them go by; then I step back out to see them head toward the atrium that feeds into the cafeteria and media center.

Staying back as far as I can, I follow them to the wide center hall, where giant skylights bathe everything in a natural light, making the atrium a cheery gathering place no matter the time of day. Rimmed by bright-blue lockers and peppered with long tables where kids can eat or study, this hall is the center of Vienna High. We have pep rallies and assemblies here when it’s too cold to go outside, and the place always echoes with laughter and talking and life.

Today it’s silent but for the heavy footsteps of the cop brigade. It’s early, but the smells of fries and pizza are starting to roll out of the cafeteria as we get closer to first lunch. There are a few kids in small study groups, but no one’s working. They’re whispering in hushed tones, and then everyone is silent as they stare at the arrivals.

The police and Principal Beckmeyer head toward the media center, and I can’t follow them without getting on their radar. I have a feeling I’ll be on it sooner or later anyway, when they get wind of the list. I drop onto one of the benches and let my backpack hit the floor with a thud.

I refuse to meet the eyes of the few kids in the atrium—I
don’t even know them except for one who was in driver’s ed with me last year—so I reach down and grab my phone from the side pocket of my backpack. What did people do before they could fake text to not look like an idiot?

One touch of my screen and I realize I don’t have to fake anything. I’ve missed three texts, the first from Josh.

Want to skip 4th per and take a ride? Need to talk.

I stare at the words for a second, trying to decide just how they make me feel. Good, I guess. I mean, Josh really seems to like me. I don’t know why that surprises me so much, but it does. Maybe because he’s been the object of my crush for so long that it just seemed incomprehensible that he’d ever notice me. I don’t want it to be because of the list, but hey, if that’s what put me on his radar, then fine.

But I can’t fight the facts anymore. I feel absolutely nothing for him. I mean, he’s cute, obviously. And he’s cool and popular and, oh my God, if his grandfather could really do something about a scholarship for me, then I ought to be nice to him, but shouldn’t I feel all buzzy inside? Shouldn’t I want to text Molly with a cyberscream? But all I do is click to the next text, from Dena Herbert.

Holy shit, are you scared?

Dena. Sixth on the list. If what we might be scared of had any merit, then I should be exponentially more terrified than Dena. After all, I’ll be dead before she is.

But I’m jumping to crazy conclusions too soon.

No one pushed Olivia off that cliff or held her underwater. The official word was that her foot got trapped between two
rocks and by the time they got to her, she was dead. And Chloe had a food allergy that could—and
did
—kill her. She shouldn’t have raided the fridge while watering her neighbor’s plants. The truck could turn out to belong to a next-door neighbor. We didn’t know everything yet, so that must be why the po—

“Hey.”

I jump a foot in the air as two girls sit down, one on either side, trapping me. I look from Amanda to Kylie and back again, feeling very much like I’m in the middle of a cheerleader sandwich.

“You scared the crap out of me,” I say, slamming my hand over my hammering heart.

“Then you’re as smart as they say you are.” On my left, Amanda turns to straddle the bench and face me. “We need to be scared.”

They look at each other and Kylie nods, giving permission to Amanda to speak.

“We need to have an emergency meeting of the Sisters of the List,” she whispers. “As soon as possible.”

Under any other circumstances—like, you know, if two people weren’t
dead
—I’d laugh in their pretty faces. The Sisters of the List business is too stupid for words.

“In secret,” Kylie adds.

I whip around to look at her, taking in her heavily made-up amber eyes and bright-green slut-liner, as Molly calls the inside-the-eye pencil. It doesn’t look slutty on Kylie, though; it looks stunning. And it does nothing to hide her abject fear.

Amanda grabs my arm and makes me turn to her. She doesn’t cake on the makeup, but she doesn’t have to. Blond, blue-eyed,
and blessed with every bone-structure gift, Amanda Wilson totally belongs on the Hottie List.

I’m ready to fire off a response when the media center doors open and Principal Beckmeyer steps out, a frown on his ruddy face. Behind him, the two uniformed cops come into sight, their arms posed as if they have someone between them, but Beckmeyer’s six-foot-two blimp-shaped body is blocking my view.

“What’s going on?” Amanda asks, repositioning herself to get a better view.

“Are they arresting someone?” a kid from another table asks.

Two more students stand up, cell phones already out to take pictures. The quiet of the atrium is replaced by the echo of rising voices.

When Beckmeyer steps aside, I hear the collective gasp, and only then see who is being escorted by the police.

My heart squeezes and nearly stops as I lock gazes with Levi Sterling.

He lifts his chin imperceptibly, a secret nod directed right at me, but then he’s hidden as they surround him and walk out. In my hand, my cell vibrates and I look down, remembering that I’d had three text messages and I’d only read two.

I ignore a new one from Molly and flip back to see what Levi sent to me while I was in Latin class.

Mack, I need your help.

CHAPTER XVII

T
he noise level rises in the atrium as some kids pour out of the media center and everyone naturally gathers around them to find out what happened. Of course, we join the fray to hear what we can.

“They totally surrounded him at a table.”

“Beckmeyer was about to explode.”

“They read him his rights.”

“They did not, dickhead. He wasn’t even cuffed.”

“Man, he didn’t flinch. Sterling is one tough dude.”

I try to block it all out, still processing what I know about Levi, when a new girl joins the conversation.

“He used to date Chloe,” she says, bringing the group to silence.
And he also used to date Olivia
, but I keep that to myself.

“Really?” Amanda says. “I never heard that rumor.”

“Well, they had a thing.”

“Define ‘thing,’ ” someone else challenges.

“Yeah, with Chloe a thing could be a hand job in the locker room,” one of the boys says, making them all snort. As soon as they see the vile looks they’re getting from the girls, they go silent.

“She’s dead,” Amanda says sternly, then turns to Kylie. “It’s time.”

They back away from the table and Amanda’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Let’s go,
sister
.”

I can feel everyone’s eyes on us, but no one says anything. I don’t want a scene, so I walk out with them, although I’d prefer to stay and hear more about what happened to Levi.

“This way,” Kylie says, indicating a stairwell that leads to the subfloor, which is what the basement of Vienna High has been called since the beginning of time.

“Down here?” I ask, hesitating.

No one goes into the subfloor, at least no one who isn’t a janitor or some other staff person. Years ago, it was part of the high school, but after a complete remodeling sometime in the 1990s, the subfloor was turned into storage and utility rooms, and the old labs were abandoned when the new science and technology wing was finished.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Kylie pushes a fire door into the hallway, which is so dark it takes a second for my eyes to adjust. With no natural light and cuts in every budget, which I assume includes the electricity bill, the corridor is airless and shadowed.

“Chem lab two,” Kylie says, pointing forward.

“Have you been down here before?”

They exchange a look. “The cheerleading initiation program includes a little, uh, scavenger hunt,” Kylie explains.

“Also known as hazing,” Amanda adds.

I can’t help but make a face. “Why? Why would anyone put themselves through that?”

“To prove your worth,” Kylie says.

“Doesn’t your ability to do a split and wear those inane ribbons in your hair prove your worth?”

Amanda shakes her head, giving me a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Some people just don’t get it.”

“Cheerleading?”

“Friendship. Connection. Forever sisterhood.”

“Oh, please,” I say, disgusted with this waste of time and still longing to know what is going on with Levi. “That just makes you a conformist, a joiner, and a person who needs a full support system.”

“So what do you belong to?” Kylie asks me.

Latin club
. I hesitate to fully announce my geekdom. But what the hell? It is who I am.

I’m saved by the sight of Dena Herbert and Candace Yardley rushing toward us. Dena’s in jeans and sneakers but Candace is in full-on designer wear, with a short black skirt and wedge heels that clack against the linoleum in an exaggerated beat.

Ashleigh, Bree, and Shannon are right behind, rushing to catch up.

“Did you guys hear about Levi Sterling?” Dena asks when they reach us.

“He must have killed them both,” Candace says without flinching, but then, I doubt she’s ever flinched in her life.

“But if I know Levi,” Dena adds, “he screwed them first.”

I blink at her, not sure I heard her right. “What?”

“Levi’s a ladies’ man,” she explains. “And maybe a ladykiller.”

The others throw her a look, but I slow my step and frown. “Do you have any idea how serious it is to say something like that?”

“Dena.” Kylie grabs her arm to tug her forward. “Nobody killed Chloe or Olivia.”

The words flood me with relief. Not just because there’s someone with a voice of reason, but because I want her to be right. She has to be right.

“And you know this how?” Dena challenges.

“Chloe told me.”

“From the grave?” one of the girls behind me asks with a snort.

“She told me the day Olivia died,” Kylie answers, holding up a hand to stop all eight of us.

“Why didn’t you tell us that?” Dena’s voice rises in frustration.

Kylie ignores the question. “In here.”

The words
Chemistry Two
are faded on the frosted-glass panel, the wood frame as old school as, well, this old school. Kylie opens the door and leads us into a very dimly lit lab, with empty cabinets against the wall and six large black-topped tables in the middle.

It smells faintly of dust and bleach, and a film of dirt covers almost everything.

When we file in, voices rise with comments and questions and extremely uncomfortable giggles, until Amanda locks the door and the click snaps us all into silence. We stand there for an awkward beat; then Kylie waves us into a small circle.

“Get in order,” Kylie says, gesturing at us. Like sheep, we comply, three through ten, but Dena and I share a look of amusement. Like me, she’s not a girl I’d have pegged for the Hottie List. She’s got a ’fro and isn’t bone skinny, but her smile is infectious and people really like her.

I’m glad she’s next to me.

“Sisters of the List,” Kylie says in a perfectly serious baritone. “The worst has happened.”

Sighing, Dena shifts her feet, her sneakers sticking to the old linoleum. “Seriously, Kylie?”

A rumble rolls through the girls, part laughter, part embarrassment, but Kylie hushes us with a look.

“I’m quite serious, and you would be, too, if you were third.” Her golden-brown eyes spark. “That is … next to die.”

Stone silence is the only answer, except for a pathetic whimper from Shannon. Next to her, Bree bites her lip to keep from laughing.

“You think it’s funny, Bree?” Amanda demands. “ ’Cause when Shannon’s dead, you won’t be laughing so hard, number eight.”

All the smiles are wiped away, especially mine. I look around and don’t see too many honors students in the group; Candace is in some of my classes and Ashleigh is pretty smart, but the rest? I might have to be the brains of the operation.

“You better tell us everything,” I say to Kylie. “It’s only fair that we know what you know so we can figure out what to do about it.”

“Thank you,” Dena exhales.

Kylie steps in a little closer and looks from side to side, like
one of the Vienna High janitors might be lurking in a corner and listening to eight crazy chicks in an abandoned basement lab.

“Chloe’s mom, as you know, is list legacy.”

Candace lets out a grunt. “Sorority talk makes me want to puke.”

Kylie ignores her. “She knows …” She drags out her dramatic pause long enough to irritate. “A lot.”

“A lot about what?” I ask.