Vengeance (11 page)

“Um, Reed? Hello?” Astrid said.

Lorna leaned across the table and pinched my arm.

“Ow!” I complained, rubbing the spot. “What?”

“What world are you in?” Astrid demanded, staring me down over her laptop screen. “Because I’d like to remember never to visit it.”

I sighed, slumping my shoulders forward. “I’m sorry, guys. I’m just really distracted tonight.”

“It’s okay,” Constance said, lifting her coffee to her lips with both
hands and blowing across the surface of the liquid. “Everyone’s a little stressed right now. Wanna vent?”

“A good venting always works for me,” Lorna added.

A heavy feeling flooded my chest, something like gratitude mixed with guilt. Here my friends were, trying to be friends, but I had no interest in telling them what was going on. Because I didn’t really understand yet what was going on.

“Thanks, guys, but I think I’m just going to go back to my room and try to get some work done,” I told them, getting up and shoving my books into my bag. “Maybe I’ll feel better if I can get through some of my to-do list.”

“Okay. Well, call us if you need us,” Astrid offered.

“I will.”

I turned around and started across the crowded, noisy room, leaving my iced tea and any chance I had at a helpful study group behind. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit there anymore and stare at my downward-spiraling boyfriend. And I knew that as hard as my friends might try to help me, that was all I’d be doing.

Then, halfway to the door, I paused. Why didn’t I just ask Josh what was going on? Ask him if he’d gone off his medication? He was my boyfriend. We were in love with each other. He’d understand that I was just concerned, right? I looked at him over my shoulder and bit my lip.

Or he’d tell me I was crazy, to mind my own freaking business, and bite my head off for basically accusing him of acting like a mental patient.

Screw it. I had to talk to him. I had to put all this uncertainty to rest. I’d taken one step toward him when my phone beeped. I paused with a frustrated groan and yanked it out of my bag.

The noise of the room suddenly quieted to a dull hum in my ears and I paused. The text was from MT.

GET 2 THE CONSTRUCTION SITE. NOW.

I whipped around, my phone clutched in my hand, searching the room. Of course, every other person there was typing on their phone. I tried to stay perfectly still—tried to focus. Suddenly the door near the counter marked
STAFF ONLY
swung shut. Someone slipped out of the solarium by the side door, which was hardly ever used, and let it slam. And then I saw something partially hidden behind the potted trees near the corner. I took a tentative step back to get a better angle, my pulse racing, expecting to catch a glimpse of blond hair, but it was just a mop and bucket left behind by the janitor. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down, scanning the room once more, but no one was watching me. They were all in their own little worlds. Just like I was in mine. Alone with my mystery texter.

I turned around and headed for the door. Out in the hallway I nearly slammed into Noelle and Ivy, who were locked in an argument.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” Ivy blurted.

Noelle shoved her hands into her hair. “Oh my God! You weren’t even there!”

“Guys?” I said approaching them.

“I didn’t need to be there to know what you were doing there!” Ivy replied.

“Guys!” I shouted.

They both clammed up and turned to me.

“What?” they snapped in unison, clearly annoyed at having their latest battle interrupted. But when they saw the look on my face their whole demeanor changed. Ivy’s eyes flicked to my phone, still clutched in my hand.

“Reed? What’s wrong?” Noelle asked, her brow creased.

Ivy took a step toward me. “Is it—?”

I nodded. “I need you both to come with me,” I told them firmly. “Now.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this!” Noelle said between gasps as the three of us rushed across campus. The sky above was dark as low clouds crowded out the moon and stars. A chilly wind whipped my hair back from my face.

I glared at her. “First of all, the last time I was getting mystery texts, you and your crazy grandmother were behind them, so—”

“Hey! That’s
our
crazy grandmother,” she replied, earning a wry laugh from Ivy, who was bringing up the rear. “And this is definitely not her.”

“Well, whatever. You’ve had enough to deal with in the past few months and I didn’t want to worry you,” I said as the shadowy construction site loomed into view. “Besides, nothing dangerous has happened.”

“Except for the whole cement truck thing,” Ivy reminded me.

“Yeah, but MT had nothing to do with that,” I retorted.

I slowed as the stage I’d stood on just two days ago to cut the ceremonial ribbon came into clearer focus. The chairs had been removed, but the podium was still there, and it looked as if someone had hung something across the front of the wide stage.

“So you think,” Noelle said.

Ivy stopped next to us and our ragged breath mingled in the night as we tried to make out exactly what we were seeing. Finally we were close enough to read the angry red message that had been hastily scrawled across the long, white banner.

“Oh my God,” I said breathlessly, my hands fluttering up to cover my mouth.

The banner read:
BILLINGS GIRLS ARE MURDERERS
! The words were painted in blood red, the drips and random swipes of the brush making them appear as if they’d been constructed by a madman. Printed on the banner next to the message were three larger-than-life color photos. The first was of Ariana Osgood. The next, Sabine DuLac, who’d killed Cheyenne Martin. And finally, Calista Ryan, Paige and Daniel’s mother.

Okay, so maybe Paige
wasn’t
behind all this.

“Those bastards,” Noelle said under her breath.

“Who?” Ivy asked. “Do you know who did this?”

“No! I just . . . I just meant whoever did this . . . they’re bastards,” Noelle explained hastily.

“Yeah, and they missed someone,” I added angrily. “Where’s Mrs. Kane?” I was surprised by the vehemence behind my words, the force of the fury rising up in my veins. My eyes blurred with hot tears as the
images from the night of my birthday came flooding back in stark relief. Mrs. Kane practically spitting as she threatened me and my friends. The hateful look in her eyes as the cops dragged her away. The knife flying through the air, straight for my heart. And Mr. Lange. Noelle’s father. My father . . . flinging himself in front of me, saving my life, sacrificing his own for mine. The images were so crisp and clear, it was as if the whole thing were happening all over again. I had tried so hard not to think about it for so long, but every last detail had just been percolating in the back of my mind, waiting to burst forth and torture me. “She was a Billings girl, wasn’t she? God! If you’re going to slander us, at least get all your facts straight!” I shouted, as if anyone near the quad could hear me, as if every one of them was responsible. Something inside of me had broken, and everything I’d been holding inside came gushing out uncontrollably.

“Reed? What’re you doing?” Ivy asked shakily as I stomped up the dozen steps to the stage.

“I’m taking it down!” I shouted back angrily. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

The floorboards creaked and bowed beneath my feet as I reached over and yanked at the twine that held the corner of the banner in place. It took a few good jerks, but it came free. Then I stomped over to the center of the banner, which had been secured to the podium. A loud crack sent my heart hurtling into my throat. The raised stage had been hastily constructed and apparently it couldn’t withstand my angry tromping. But I was almost done. I got the center of the banner down and moved on to the far side.

“Reed! Wait!” Noelle shouted.

“Get down from there!” Ivy cried.

“Just let me finish!” I yelled back.

I leaned into the railing and reached for the last piece of twine. But as soon as I shifted my weight, the floorboards seemed to fly out from beneath my feet, as if my toes had pushed them in the opposite direction. My stomach swooped end over end as I lost my footing and a loud, wailing groan filled the night air. Ivy screamed, the safety railing collapsed in front of me, and before I could even let out a surprised yelp, I was falling.

“Would you believe I’ve never broken a bone before?” I said, wincing as I opened and closed the fingers on my left hand. The cast was annoyingly pink and impossibly heavy. Ivy had already signed her name in big, elegant letters, and now Noelle was working on her own message. Her long hair grazed the bare part of my arm, just above my elbow, tickling my already itchy skin.

“Really?” she said, her eyebrows popping up. “I always imagined your childhood in West Nowhere, Pennsylvania, to be all swinging from trees and falling off barn roofs.”

“Okay, there were no barns in my town. And I wasn’t Huck Finn,” I told her with a forced laugh. “I was just a tomboy.”

“What kind of tomboy never breaks a bone?” Ivy said as she sat in the vinyl chair in the corner of the small, curtained cubicle where we awaited my release forms.

“A careful one, I guess,” I said.

“Done.” Noelle capped the Sharpie the nurse had left for us and tossed it on the bedside table. I glanced down at the message. It read,
Smooth move, Glass-Licker. xoxo Noelle.

“Thanks a lot,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“That’ll just remind you that next time I tell you to stop doing something, you should stop doing it,” Noelle warned, crossing her arms over her slim-cut black jacket.

“Noted,” I replied.

My phone rang and I glanced warily at my bag. Noelle dug through it until she found my cell and turned the screen in my direction. A picture of Josh smiled lazily out at me.

“Hit ignore,” I said without hesitation.

Noelle arched one eyebrow, but did as she was told. She tossed the phone back into my bag and snapped the clasp. “Why are we not telling
le
boyfriend we’re in the hospital, exactly?”

Before rushing me to the emergency room, Noelle had told Ivy to call Josh, but I’d shouted at them, through my excruciating, mind-bending pain, not to. Since we were, at the time, limping away from the wreckage of the stage, neither of them asked any questions, but now that I had my stitches—four in the temple, two along the jaw—and my cast, I supposed it was time to fess up.

I looked at my two best friends, the words right at the tip of my tongue. I wanted so badly to talk to someone about this, but I didn’t want either of them to be suspicious or scared or even wary of Josh. He was my boyfriend and I loved him. It didn’t seem fair to start spouting off about him before I knew what was really going on. I used my thumb
to fiddle with my promise ring and cast my eyes down at my lap.

“He’s just been really busy and stressed lately and I don’t want to make it worse,” I said.

“You do know he’s going to freak when he sees you and realizes you didn’t let him rush to your side all heroic,” Ivy said flatly.

I swallowed hard, suddenly recalling vividly how Josh had done just that for Ivy on the night she was shot.

“I know.” I picked at the thin bedspread underneath the dirt-stained leg of my jeans. “I’ll deal with it. But can we talk about what we really want to talk about here?”

Noelle and Ivy exchanged a knowing glance. “You mean why, exactly, did the stage collapse under you?” Noelle suggested.

“For starters,” I said, my pulse skipping ahead as I remembered the awful, swooping sensation of my fall. “Two days ago that thing stood up to the weight of more than a dozen people, but tonight it couldn’t handle just me?”

“Well, you
were
going Godzilla all over it,” Noelle reminded me, lifting her hair over her shoulder.

“But she does have a point,” Ivy said. She narrowed her eyes, leaning forward in her chair. “Did it seem at all unstable on Saturday?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I remember a couple of creaky boards, but that’s about it.”

“So the real question is . . . did someone tamper with it?” Noelle asked, sitting down on the edge of my bed, near my feet. “And if so, who?”

“And what about MT?” Ivy said.

“Exactly,” I said, turning up the palm on my good hand. “Did he send me there because he wanted me to find the banner and get rid of it before anyone else saw it, or because he knew the stage was going to cave in and he wanted me to fall?”

All three of us let the words hang in the air as we pondered the question. I felt sick to my stomach from all the uncertainty, all the not-knowing.

“MT . . . friend or foe?” Ivy said, adding a weak, sarcastic laugh.

I wanted to laugh too, but I couldn’t make myself do it. I had started to think I could maybe trust my mystery texter. They’d led me to Carolina. They’d let me know—too late, of course, but still—that my room had been violated. But now . . . now I didn’t know what to think. Had MT been trying to help me tonight? Or were they trying to kill me?

I stood outside the door to the Art Cemetery on Tuesday night and took a deep breath. Josh was inside, studying in seclusion, and I’d told him I might stop by for a quick break and snack. The moment he’d seen my cast and stitches that morning, he had, as predicted, basically freaked. He was my boyfriend. A girl was supposed to call her boyfriend when she was whisked off to the hospital. But I’d managed to calm him down, telling him I was embarrassed over putting myself in danger and that it wasn’t the biggest deal. He’d finally relented, and spent the rest of the day carrying my bag, running to get my food, and opening doors for me, even when it made him late for class.

Yes, he was the best boyfriend ever. And I felt like a disloyal jerk for ever thinking that he might have something to do with the Billings sabotage. Hopefully the chocolate donuts and super-caffeinated coffee would make up for that.

And then, once I had him lulled into a sugar coma, I’d tell him all
about MT and the weird stuff that had been going on. He had a right to know.