We all freeze for a second as Shannon slams a fist to her mouth. “Oh my God, I don’t want to die!”
“Then don’t.” I look around to find something to arm us, spying a faded, speckled mirror in a frame over the sofa. “Two of you, grab that mirror!”
Amanda and Kylie leap to action, kneeling on the sofa to work in tandem to take it down.
“Get behind the door so you can smash it on his head if he walks in. Turn the lights off!”
“What if he’s a ghost?” Shannon asks.
I don’t bother with a response to her shocking stupidity. “Are there knives here, Shannon? Anything in the kitchen?”
“I’ll look,” Dena says, darting into the galley kitchen and whipping open drawers and cabinets. “Coffee mugs,” she hollers.
“Give one to each of us,” I order. “We’ll throw them at him. No knives?”
Dena’s handing out mugs to Bree and Ashleigh, while Candace yanks open a cabinet and finds a cast-iron skillet just as someone kills the lights. “I’m good,” she says.
The slam of a car door freezes us all.
“Shit,” someone murmurs.
“Quiet!” I say in a hushed whisper. “Get into position to attack the minute the door opens.”
They scramble and I give Amanda and Kylie a push into the right place, near the door. Taking Candace’s hand, I pull her next to me.
“I’ll kill him,” she says under her breath.
“I have no doubt.”
We hear footsteps, light and fast. Inside we are totally silent and still, and I’m surprised I can’t hear eight thumping hearts. Someone breathes softly. Someone—Shannon, I think—whimpers a little. And we all jump when there’s a hard, sharp bang on the door.
He’s knocking?
No one moves, the air hot and thick and tense with our fear. Could he have a gun? A knife of his own? No way he’s armed with skillets and cups.
Very slowly, the handle moves. Candace takes a single step forward, raising the pan. Amanda and Kylie move, too, lifting the heavy mirror.
“Wait till he’s inside,” I whisper softly. “We have one chance.”
I brace myself as the latch clicks open, certain I’ll see the hooded man who drove the truck. I train my eyes at the six-foot height where his head will be. The wood snaps as the door creaks open. I grip my mug, ready to fling and smash and—
“Kenzie?”
What? “Don’t!” I scream as I see the mirror fall and Candace lunge. All I can do is leap forward without thinking, tackling Molly to the ground with a thud, covering her body with mine.
Chaos erupts and something hits my head as I roll us both out of the doorway, screaming, “Stop! Don’t hurt her!”
I’m aware of lights going on and Molly fighting with everything she’s got and another cup whizzing by my head.
“Stop, she’s my friend!” I holler again. “She’s okay! Don’t kill her!”
After a few heartbeats, we’re surrounded by girls yelling and questions flying, and finally I trust them enough to let Molly go.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, but I already know, remembering the close-together headlights behind Dena and me on our way here: Molly’s VW.
She’s barely able to make it to her knees, shaking as hard as I am, her gaze darting around the circle surrounding us. “What the hell’s going on here?”
After a beat, Dena steps forward, lifting her mug like a toast. “Private party,” she says coolly.
Molly’s eyes widen and shift to me. “Kenzie?” There’s nothing but disbelief in her voice. “Why did you attack me?”
“Molly, I—”
“Hazing ritual.” Amanda reaches to help Molly up. “And, sorry, chica, but you’re not in the group.”
Molly’s jaw drops. “What are you—”
Candace gets right in her face, lifting the skillet. “It’s time for you to leave.”
“You guys,” I say, getting next to Molly. “We can trust her. She’s my friend.”
Every one of them looks at me like they could kill me, too.
“We don’t trust anyone,” Kylie says.
Molly shudders and looks at me. “Is this what that list has turned you into?”
My shoulders sink. I feel sad for her gross misconception, but know that if I tell her anything, these girls will not react well. They’re scared, they’re dangerous, and Molly’s in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“You better leave, Molly,” I say simply.
The hurt in her eyes is ten times worse than it was when she left my bedroom. “Why are you doing this?” she whispers.
“You don’t understand,” I say, knowing it sounds lame. And so damn mean.
“Yeah.” She sniffs. “I do. That list changed you, and I