The Dead Girls Club - Damien Angelica Walters Page 0,66

things right, and you’re talking about me? It’s better with me not here? I’m dumb? We’re supposed to be friends.”

Rachel put her head down, but I saw her smirking.

“If I didn’t want to hang out with you anymore, I’d tell you,” I said. “I wouldn’t be a chicken, sneaking around and acting like you didn’t exist. I wouldn’t walk past you on the playground and pretend I didn’t see you.” I looked straight at Becca. She didn’t turn away. Didn’t look embarrassed or guilty, either.

“You don’t care about the Red Lady. We do,” she said. “You don’t even think she’s real, so when we’re talking about her, you make faces and think we’re idiots for believing in her.”

“I do not.”

“Yes you do,” Gia said, bobbing her head with each word.

“It’s not our fault,” Becca said. “So stop acting like it is.”

“Then whose fault is it? Everything was fine until you started telling those stupid stories.” I flung out an arm.

“See?” Rachel said. “You think they’re stupid.”

“Why do you even care?” Gia said, pulling her chin down to her chest. “You should go home.”

“Yeah, go home,” Rachel said.

I waited, hoping Becca would tell them to shut up. She opened her mouth to speak, but coughed. Her eyes grew wide and she coughed again, pressing her forearm to her mouth. The back of my throat tickled, but I swallowed against it. Rachel’s and Gia’s mouths worked, too. Becca coughed a third time, thick and muffled, as though her mouth was full.

I felt dirt in my mouth and nose. I could taste it, dry and crumbling and mixing with my saliva into a thick paste, choking me, cutting off my air. I rolled onto my hands and knees, hanging my head low. Laughter filled my ears, a weight pressed on my chest, and that strange, sharp pain coiled in my side. I clawed at my face, trying to pull out something that wasn’t there. Rachel and Gia were doing the same. Becca was on her side, fingers curled at her throat.

My head went swimmy. The laugh grew louder, the pain sharper. Everything hurt and the weight pushed me down and down and down. Someone touched the back of my head and spoke against my ear, but I couldn’t hear through the choking. Then, in the span of a blink, the dirt was gone. I shoved two fingers past my teeth, sure I’d find dirt or a ragged stump where my tongue should be.

Gia tugged the ends of her hair. Rachel hugged her stomach. Becca was pale, with shadows under her eyes. Rachel started crying, softly at first, then harder, her shoulders shaking back and forth. “Was that her?” she said.

“I don’t know,” Becca said.

“Why would she do that to us?” Gia said. “Why would she hurt us?”

“It’s her fault,” Rachel said, pointing at me. “Everything was fine until she showed up.”

My gaze locked on Becca’s, and her lips curled, the same thing she did when she got away with telling her mom a lie. Something crumpled inside my chest like a paper cup beneath a sneaker sole. I wished she’d really choked to death. I wished they all had. If my skin were laced with poison, I’d touch them and leave them writhing on the floor.

I bounded to my feet, took the stairs two at a time. I didn’t shut the door, didn’t care if anyone saw me leaving, didn’t care about anything except getting away. I ran across the field, kicking up dirt, and my chest hurt by the time I turned onto my street. My parents’ car wasn’t there, so I raced into the house and flipped the lock.

In my room, I stood in front of the mirror, still shaking, and opened my mouth as wide as I could. My tongue was there and there was no dirt, but I could taste it. That wasn’t the worst part at all. Inside, I was scooped out and filled with lava.

I unhooked the half-heart and threw it in my trash can. “I hate you,” I said. “I hate you all.” After a couple minutes, I fished the necklace out and put it in my dresser drawer, underneath a bunch of old T-shirts.

“I thought you were my friend,” I said. The lava kept bubbling and burning, and I wanted to pour it all over the three of them until they were nothing but a pile of charred bones. I didn’t even feel bad for thinking that. Not even a little. I hated them more