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.