Prom Kings and Drama Queens (4 page)

It annoyed Lindsay when she saw people spend a lot 28

of money on stuff she thought was useless. Her parents were divorced, and her mother struggled to pay all the bills. Luckily Lindsay was on scholarship at Crestview.

I figured I’d better change the subject before she decided to be annoyed at Brian, too. In case my master plan worked and I lucked out in the crush department, I couldn’t have my best friend hating my boyfriend.

“Anyway,” I said, “something weird happened.”

“What?” Lindsay said. “Did they have a whole room for Precious Moments figures, too?”

“No,” I continued, ignoring her sarcasm. “Brian got a phone call while I was there. He went outside to talk, like he didn’t want anyone to hear.”

“Do you think it was Brandy?”

“It wasn’t that kind of whispering. It was more like secret-plan whispering.”

“What kind of plan?”

“Beats me,” I said. “All I know is that a bunch of kids are all meeting tonight at seven thirty in the parking lot by school.”

“How did you hear that part?”

“He said it right before he walked back into his grandmother’s cottage.”

“You mean they have a whole room for snow globes in that big house, but his grandmother has to live in a cottage?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think she likes it there.

29

Besides, I don’t think living with the Harringtons is any day at the spa. But that isn’t the point. The point is that Brian Harrington is up to something with someone and I want to know what it is.”

There was a pause on the other end. “You could follow him,” Lindsay said.

“And add stalking to my list of extracurriculars? No, thank you. I think I’ll stick to writing for the
Crestview
Courier
.”

“Think of it this way,” Lindsay said. “You’re an investigative reporter. You’ll be investigating a secret plan made by one of the most popular guys in school. It’s practically Pulitzer material.”

“Right,” I said. “What if they’re just getting together for dinner? ‘Girl reporter cracks fast-food-eating ring.’ ”

“Do you really think he’d keep it a secret if that’s all they were doing?” Lindsay said. “You’ve got to follow him. . . . You know you want to.”

Lindsay was right. As soon as I conjured that swoon-worthy smile and those eyes, I wanted to follow Brian Harrington anywhere.

But, hey, I wasn’t just a stalker. I was a journalist, too. And once I thought about it, Brian
had
ushered me out of the house awfully fast. Something was definitely going on. It might not be a prize-winning journalism piece, but, yeah, I wanted to know what Brian was up to. Maybe I
would
get a story out of it. “You want to 30

come with me?” I asked.

“Gotta practice,” Lindsay said.

I groaned. Lindsay’s practicing had interfered with a good 50 percent of our plans since we met. Her dili-gence made me a better student, though. I don’t think I’d have worked nearly as hard on the school paper if it hadn’t been for her example.

“You can go by yourself. It’s not like it’s midnight or anything,” Lindsay said.

“But what if I get kidnapped and put to work in a slave-wage factory making midriff shirts for the rich and famous?”

Lindsay laughed. “Send me a shirt.”

“No, really. You’ve gotta come with me. It’s not fair.

You’re the one who talked me into it. And, who knows, maybe it’ll be my chance to scoop Daniel Cummings. If I get a great story, I’ll have an edge on the editor position for next year.”

“And what do I get?”

“You get to be best friends with the editor of the school newspaper,” I said. “Think of the power.”

“Hmm,” Lindsay said. “Can I get on the front page?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Well, all right. But I’m mostly doing this to be a good friend. So you and Brian can get married and have babies together.”

“Whoa, stop planning the shower and get ready.” 31

I hung up the phone and darted down the stairs.

When I got to the kitchen my mom was still working on the poultry photo shoot.

She looked up at me and sighed. “This turkey is so unphotogenic.”

“Why don’t you take it to Glamour Shots?” I said, opening the refrigerator door.

She gave me one of her that-is-not-helpful looks.

Without really examining the refrigerator’s contents, I said, “Do you mind if I go out and get something to eat with Lindsay? Especially since you’re obviously preoccupied with the bird-beautification project.” A little guilt never hurt.

“Sure,” she said. She stuck a pin on the underside of a turkey leg. “We’re just getting pizza anyway. But do me a favor; pick up some more iodine on the way home.”

“Okay,” I said, “but I might be a little late. There’s a group studying together after dinner.”

“Just call if you’ll be later than eleven.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

“Good luck with the turkey makeover.” I grabbed my keys from the kitchen counter.

I slid behind the steering wheel. Technically, I hadn’t lied. I probably would get something to eat. And I was sure there was a group
somewhere
that was studying after dinner. I just wasn’t in it.

32

I looked at the Harrington house and then at my watch. Six thirty. I had enough time to pick up Lindsay
and
make myself an honest woman by grabbing dinner before Brian and whoever got to the meeting place. I figured we’d get sandwiches and spy from the sub shop next to the school parking lot.

Lindsay was waiting outside when I pulled up in front of her house.

“Got your spy camera?” I said.

“What?”

“Just kidding.”

“You better be. You know I’m only doing this so at least one of us has a date to the prom,” Lindsay said.

We rolled into the drive-thru line and ordered tuna subs with provolone and then pulled into a spot where we could get a good view of the rendezvous point. The parking lot was an unpaved piece of land outside the Crestview gates.

I took a bite of my sandwich and looked at Lindsay.

“So where’s this secret meeting?” she said.

I looked down at my reporter’s notebook and suddenly felt a pang. Did I honestly think there would be some front-page story potential here? Or was I just fruitlessly following Brian around?

Just when I was going to suggest we leave, we heard the crunch of tires. We slunk down in the seat—not that anyone Brian was friends with would even look over at 33

my Saturn. It wasn’t exactly the kind of car that cool kids covet.

A few minutes later another car drove in, then another. They were the same ones always parked in front of Brian’s house. Basketball players’ cars. Was it a practice? Why whisper about that? When Brian’s convertible finally rolled over the rocks and into a space, everyone got out of their cars and into a huddle. After a few minutes, they broke apart, got back into their cars, and started their engines in unison. Teamwork.

I swallowed my last bit of sub and watched as the first car, a red BMW, left the lot. “Last chance,” I said.

“Follow or bail?”

Lindsay crinkled her sub wrapper. “We’ve come this far.”

I started my engine and inched out of the parking lot. “Okay,” I said. “Remember, we’re following a black SUV with the license plate HOOP29.”

“Got it,” Lindsay said.

I was a reporter on a story.

A girl on a mission. Searching for truth.

Ahh. Who was I kidding?

I was a girl following the crush next door.

34

FIVE

Emily a Danger to Tall Trees?

“Faster,” Lindsay said. “You’re losing them.” I glanced to the side of the road for a speed limit posted. No sign. My chocolate Typhoon was dripping into the cup holder. I turned up the AC so it wouldn’t melt anymore.

“Pedal to the metal,” Lindsay shouted.

“Where’d you pick that one up?” I said. “During your many other car chases between piano lessons?” I took a deep breath and pressed my foot on the gas a little harder. The car smelled like onions. My heart rate climbed along with the speedometer, and my adrena-line revved. I was just beginning to picture myself as the heroine of an adventure movie when Lindsay 35

brought me back to reality.

“Light!” she screamed. “Yellow light! Up ahead. We could lose them.”

I watched the first car zoom through. Then the second and third. As the light was about to turn red, the SUV jammed on the brakes, causing me to do the same. Lindsay caught my Typhoon as it lurched out of the holder. “That was close,” she said, shoving the cup at me.

I slurped several times and then shoveled the rest of it into my mouth with the plastic spoon. The light turned green. “Ohhh, brain freeze, brain freeze!” I grabbed my forehead and hit the gas.

“Why does something so good have to hurt?” Lindsay said.

I shook my head and glued my eyes on the SUV in front of me. He didn’t speed up to catch the others.

Apparently, they all knew the meeting place. That was a relief. I didn’t know how I would explain getting a speeding ticket on a road that wasn’t on the way to Lindsay’s. “What road is this anyway?”

“It’s Dixie,” Lindsay said. “I take it to visit my dad.”

“So where do you think they’re going?”

“Probably not my dad’s.”

“Thanks for the tip.” I couldn’t help but wonder if the whole girl reporter-slash-detective thing was worth it. I had homework waiting for me. I was wasting gas.

36

And Brian’s car had been out of sight for about five minutes. Not that that was the reason I’d joined the car-avan.

No. I was still trying to convince myself I was following a lead. I didn’t know what it was yet. But wasn’t that how all good news stories started out?

At the next light, the car in front of me turned right onto a narrow two-lane street. “Where
are
we?” I said.

The darkened road wasn’t deserted—a few houses lined the street on either side. But it was definitely unfamiliar territory.

“Look,” Lindsay said, “they’re stopping. It looks like a field and some buildings.”

We got closer and I saw the huge sign: SAINT

BARTHOLOMEW’S CATHOLIC SCHOOL. “Aren’t they the ones that beat us in basketball every year?”

“It’s starting to make sense now,” Lindsay said. “Oh God, I hope it’s not a gang war.”

“Gang war? Do you honestly think those guys look the type? I mean, they’re not all hotties like Brian, but, c’mon, I don’t think any of them want their faces punched in—or even their clothes messed up.” I held back and pulled over in front of one of the houses. I rolled down the windows halfway and switched off the ignition. We watched as the four cars parked outside the gates near a massive tree.

Lindsay and I ducked down and peered over the 37

dashboard. The tallest guy on the team, Luis Rivera, got out first, and the rest gathered around the trunk of Luis’s car.

“What are they doing?” Lindsay whispered. “I’ve seen a lot of scary movies. Nothing good is ever in the trunk.”

I laughed, even though my heart was starting to pound a little. “Look who we’re talking about here.

They’re not criminals.”

“Oh really?” Lindsay said. “Aren’t these the same guys who have fake IDs and get drunk at parties?”

“Chill out,” I said. “Getting wasted at a party is not equivalent to body parts in a trunk.” Luis and a guy named Austin leaned forward as the others gave them some room.

Lindsay was tapping her fingers on the dashboard like it was a piano. I knew she was wishing I’d never talked her into this. Luis hoisted something out of the trunk. He faltered as he straightened up and stepped back.

Lindsay seemed to be tapping out a whole concerto on the dashboard. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “I knew it. Look how he lost his balance. It’s heavy. It’s dead. It’s a heavy dead thing in the trunk.”

“What heavy dead thing would have anything to do with Saint Bart’s?” I whispered.

“What’s their mascot?” Lindsay shot back.

38

“Bulldog,” I said.

Lindsay gasped. “That’s it. They killed a bulldog.

Like in
The Godfather
.”

“They killed a bulldog in
The Godfather
?” I’d seen all three movies with my parents during one of our video marathon weekends, but had fallen asleep during some of the parts. I imagined Al Pacino putting out a hit on a bulldog, but it definitely didn’t seem right.

“It was a horse head in a bed. To send a message,” Lindsay said. “Don’t you get it? A dead bulldog would send a message that we’re going to whip their basketball team this year.”

“Canine corpse equals county championship? I don’t think so. Besides, where would they get a dead bulldog, anyway?”

“Luis,” Lindsay said. “His father’s a veterinarian.” I groaned. “My uncle’s a doctor, but he doesn’t leave corpses around the house for my cousins to use for revenge schemes.”

“Shh, shh,”
Lindsay said. “They’re moving.” As Luis stepped away from the group, we saw it.

Even in the dark there was no mistaking what it was.

Lindsay gasped again. “It’s a—”

“
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
anyone?” We both stifled screams and spun toward the voice.