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.
Kylie and Amanda look at each other, silently communicating their agreement. Then, in perfect unison, they whisper, “The curse.”
There’s a second of quiet, then a chorus of female voices, high-pitched enough that I think the old glass door’s going to shatter. Kylie shushes them but not before a few