The Dead Girls Club - Damien Angelica Walters Page 0,12

never be able to get the keys again.”

“I doubt that, Georgina,” Becca said.

“Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.”

“But it is your name.”

“Fine, Rebecca,” Gia said.

“Hey, did you see Mrs. Talbot on the last day of school?” Rachel said.

“No, why?” I said, glad we wouldn’t have to listen to the same argument Becca and Gia’d had a thousand times.

“She had on this sweater so tight you could see her bra through it. I want those kind of boobs,” Rachel said.

Becca got up, palmed her flat chest, and arched her back. Swinging her hips, she paraded the room. Rachel cracked up, rolling on her back and kicking her heels.

“Becca, you’re obsessed,” I said.

“So what? I want big boobs, too. Don’t you? Big, massive boobs.”

“But everyone would stare at them all the time,” I said.

Gia crossed her arms over her chest super slow, and I wanted to take back what I’d said. She had real boobs, not just bumps, and the boys were always looking. She said she stayed in her room when her older brother Matt had friends over because they stared, too. She was also the only one who’d already turned thirteen. Rachel, Becca, and me all had late birthdays. Gia was the only one who was biracial, too. Her dad was white, her mom Chinese, and sometimes people asked what she was, but they were jerks.

I mouthed I’m sorry. “Are we going to start sometime tonight, or are you going to keep doing that?”

“I’m going to keep doing this.” She whirled around. “Or, I could go like this.” She dropped her shoulders to where they should be, lifted her chin, and took small steps. “Children, get in line. Come, come, come. Quiet little mice.” Becca might not have looked like our kindergarten teacher, but she sounded identical.

I giggled. Raised my arm. “Miss Langan, I have to go potty.”

“Me too,” Gia said, waving for attention.

We all loved Miss Langan, Becca most of all, because she’d never teased her about her invisible friend Sarah the way some of the kids had. Once Becca and I started to play together, she didn’t need to pretend to have a friend anymore. I didn’t think anyone else remembered Sarah, maybe not even Becca.

“Bec?” I said. “It’s going to get too late if we don’t start soon.”

“Fine,” she said, plopping down. The rest of us scooted in, making a small circle. With a clap, she said, “This meeting of the Dead Girls Club is now in order. So, have any of you heard of the Red Lady?”

I did a little up-and-down shoulder dance. The last story she’d told was about a guy who’d had a bad day at work. After his family went to bed, he stabbed them all—his wife, two sons, and baby daughter. She wasn’t even walking yet. For about a week, I kept watching my dad, wondering if he ever had a day bad enough to make him want to stab me and Mom. I decided not, but you never knew, Becca said. You never knew who was secretly a monster.

Gia and Rachel shook their heads, and Becca said, “I didn’t think so. Not many people have, and most who have are gone.”

“Gone?” Rachel said.

Becca slipped her finger slowly across her neck. “Gone.”

“Why’s she called the Red Lady?” Rachel said.

“Are you going to let me tell her story or not?”

“Okay,” Rachel said, pulling her legs to her chest.

“She lived a long time ago when women wore long dresses and had to cover their hair. When men made all the rules and women had to do whatever they said.”

I guess I made a face, because she fixed me with a glare. I didn’t mind when she told us about things from long ago. It had been cool when she’d told us about Jack the Ripper, but with the name Red Lady, I’d expected something else. Not boring history.

“Did she have a real name?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah, but nobody remembers it.”

“So how—”

“Rach! Let her tell the story,” I said.

“Just asking,” Rachel mumbled.

“The Red Lady lived in the woods near a village, and if you needed help, you could go to her. She could make someone fall in love with you or make your enemy have an accident or make your plants grow taller. She could do almost anything you wanted if you were willing to pay her price. And the more important or dangerous the spell, the more she asked for. Like she’d do a small spell for a chicken or some eggs,