They All Fall Down (11 page)

“Well,” Dena says, dragging the word out. “I think it’s a little silly.”

“Thank you,” I whisper under my breath.

“Did you think it was
silly
when Olivia drowned after falling off that cliff?”

My head jerks around to see who posed the question. It’s Candace Yardley, number ten, who up to this point has been virtually silent. Once again, I take a second to admire her dark good looks; she is runway perfect. How I ever beat her on a list of hot girls is a question for the ages.

“Of course I don’t think Olivia’s …” Dena shakes her head, clearly unable or unwilling to say
death
. “I don’t think it’s funny. But that didn’t have anything to do with this list or some secret club.”

One of Candace’s perfectly waxed brows rises. And something in my chest slips.

“You think it does?” I ask quietly.

And no one says a word, the silence just long and heavy enough for me to feel the individual bumps rise on my skin. The weird, anonymous texts dance before my eyes. The feeling of the brakes giving way. The shock of smelling the gas leak. The truck that almost ran me down on the way to Molly’s house.

All after the list came out.

“You guys,” I whisper. “Are you saying that …”

“We’re not saying anything,” Chloe says sharply as she sticks the bottle in the middle of the circle. “We’re drinking vodka in the name of the Sisters of the List. If you don’t join, then …”

I wait, aware I’m holding my breath.

“Then what?” Dena asks, her voice rich with sarcasm. “We’re going off the cliff like Olivia?”

“I hope not.” Chloe closes her eyes, lifts the vodka, and takes a healthy sip. Then she hands the bottle to Kylie. “Three?”

Kylie does the same, wincing, her drink a little longer. She smiles at her best friend. “Four?”

Amanda drinks and hands the bottle to me. “Five?”

Part of me wants to run, part of me wants to giggle nervously—my first drink!—and part of me wants to tell them about the weird things that have been happening. But some other part of me decides to stay quiet. I take the bottle and let a few drops touch my lips, the flavor like bitter grape cough medicine.

I hand the bottle to Dena and hold her gaze. “Six?”

“You bitches
cray
.” She sings the last word on a laugh. “But I need to get fried.” She takes a long, deep drink, finishing off with a satisfied sigh before turning to Shannon Dill. “Seven?”

Shannon drinks, then gives the bottle to Bree Walker, who passes it to Ashleigh Cummings, who finally hands it to Candace. She flips some of that long black hair over her shoulder and raises the vodka like she’s going to make a toast.

“Here’s to you, Olivia. I hope to hell that really was an accident.”

CHAPTER XI

I
don’t drink any more, and in a few minutes, the group disperses and heads toward the party. Dena sidles right next to me as we walk to the house.

“So, sis,” she says, a little giggle in her voice. “What do you think about all this?”

I just roll my eyes.

“You think the list is stupid?”

“It’s not anything I ever wanted or thought I could be on.”

“I’ll admit, you were a dark horse for me.”

I shoot her a look. “Did you really, like, sit around and wonder who’d be voted in this year?”

“Of course. Didn’t you and your friends?”

I shake my head and squint toward the house. “Speaking of friends, I kind of ditched mine and I have to find her.”

Dena grabs my arm, stumbling on the grass. I catch her and look into her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Tipsy,” she admits, laughing. “But I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

Her amusement disappears. “I don’t know. Didn’t that conversation kind of freak you out? About Olivia’s accident?”

Should I trust her? Should I tell her about the texts and the weird things that have been happening to me? “Yeah, it kind of did. Makes you wonder, huh?”

“Like, did she get punished for being on the list or something?”

I consider that, and shake my head. “It just makes you realize how fragile life is,” I say. “Could be taken away any second.”

“No shit. Yesterday my hair dryer shorted out and I damn near burned down the whole house.”

“Seriously? What happened?”

“Hell if I know. My dad said our electrician effed something up in the outlet.”

“And weren’t you …”
Scared to death?
“Concerned?”

She shrugs and gives me a grin. “YOLO, baby girl. Which translates into ‘have some fun.’ ” She shoulders me into the house. “Like, now.”

Inside, the house is such a showplace it’s overwhelming and difficult to take in. Plus it’s packed with kids. So much for the somber little get-together of grieving teenagers.

I can smell beer, and the sound of rap is barely drowned out by loud boys and girls laughing. Really? On the night after the girl they all planned to vote for class president next year has died? They either don’t care or … they don’t understand death.

That’s how they can be so cavalier. They don’t know how permanent death is. But I do.

Shaking that thought, I peer past the bodies, trying to find Molly, when a hand snakes around my waist and pulls me into a big, strong, masculine chest.

“Hey, Fifth.” I can feel his mouth close to my ear. “Thought you’d never get here.”

Dena, next to me, observes the whole thing and gives me an amused look. “Like I said … YOLO.” She winks at me. “I’ll find your friend. I know who she is. You relax and have fun.”

She’s gone, and for a second I stand really still, my stomach tightening under Josh’s arm.

“That’s good advice, you know.” He slowly turns me around. “Relax and have fun.”

Holy cow, he looks good. His dark-golden hair is mussed and his eyes look smoky blue in this light, even more attractive now that they’re zeroed in on me with interest.

“Hey, Josh,” I say.

He gives me a slow smile. “Seventh grade, huh?”

I frown, trying really hard not to let my eyes drop to the way his plain white T-shirt fits his shoulders and hugs his biceps. “What about seventh grade?”

“The crush you’ve had on me since then.”

Oh, Molly. You traitor. I consider a fast and furious denial, but I can see the laughter in his eyes. And something else. Satisfaction.

“Shocking, isn’t it?” I try for a flirtatious tease.

“You know what I remember about you in middle school?”

My braces? My breastlessness? My inability to get a boy to notice me? The list is long. I shake my head, not sure I want to hear this but oddly excited by the conversation.

“You were hydrogen in our Dress Like an Element Day in science.”

Oh, God, I went to school dressed like a giant raindrop. “Probably not my finest middle school moment.”

“I thought you were cute.”

I look up at him, letting the compliment wash over me. “Then we’re even,” I say quietly, giving myself an inner high five for a banter win.

“Want a drink?” he asks, inching me away from the entry-way toward a lavish-looking living room.

“I thought this was supposed to be some kind of gathering to mourn Olivia.”

“She’d want us to be happy,” he replies. “Come and meet the king.”

“Who’s that?”

“My grandfather.”

“The king?” I laugh. “That’s what you call your grandfather? What happened to Poppa and Gramps?”

He rolls his eyes. “So not my grandfather. Anyway, his name is Rex. You’re the Latin expert. Come on, he lives to meet pretty girls.”

The way he says it makes me feel like I really am one of those pretty girls. As we walk through the house, I spy Molly in a game room with a bunch of kids surrounding a pool table. She’s laughing a little too loudly, her eyes bright with excitement, a red Solo cup inches from her mouth.

“Wait—I want to kill her, er, say hi.”

He laughs. “Don’t be mad at her. I made her tell me. And she’s deep into a beer pong match, so don’t bother her. Come this way.”

Taking my hand, he leads me to another part of the house, a two-story great room connected to a massive kitchen, also peppered with groups of kids, and I don’t think I know a single one.

“Isn’t this a Vienna High party?” I ask.

Josh nods a “ ’Sup?” to a few guys and stays ahead of me, our fingers locked as he tugs me along. “I know kids from everywhere because of sports. I play on two travel teams—hey, Ryan—and lots of these kids are from all over this side of the state.”

At my surprised look, he adds, “They all crash here tonight. We’ve got plenty of room, and tomorrow we’ll probably play touch football all day long.” He adds a slow smile and pulls me a little closer. “You should be here so I can tackle you.”

“I thought it was touch.”

Laughing, he closes the space between us. “It can get pretty dirty.”

I don’t have to answer because we stop and talk to a few kids I don’t know who are from a town on the other side of Pittsburgh. And I thought Molly had a fun house. This is a whole different world—weekend parties, kids from all over the place, and a grandfather who apparently doesn’t care if they play beer pong on his pool table.

“And who do we have here, Josh?”

I turn at the sound of a man’s voice, meeting eyes the same gorgeous blue as Josh’s, only icier and feathered with crow’s-feet.

“This is Kenzie Summerall.” The way he says it, I know they’ve already talked about me.

“Kenzie.” The older man nods in approval. “Of course.”
Flashing an easy, wide smile, he looks down—way down—at me. Instantly, I can see where Josh gets his gifts—his height, the build, the sort of raw masculinity mixed with charm that rolls off him. That’s hereditary, I suppose.

The older man puts a familiar hand on my shoulder, and I’m immediately at ease. Another gift. “Rex Collier,” he says, studying me like nothing could make him take his eyes off my face. It’s disconcerting, and flattering. “You were absolutely correct, Josh. She is a refreshing change.”

Josh just shakes his head, laughing. “And you thought you wanted to kill Molly?” he asks me. “How do you think I feel right now?”

Rex shoos his grandson’s comment. “Nothing wrong with honesty, young man. Haven’t I taught you anything?”

“You’ve taught me everything,” Josh says, a respectful note in his voice. “Including how to pick quality girls.”

“Indeed.” The older man gives me one more thorough inspection. “Quality, and an improvement.”

I feel my eyes widen. “Over what?”

That makes Rex laugh, wrinkling his face but not making him any less imposing or regal. “Over the ones that have their bosoms spilling out and wear makeup like Cleopatra.” He lifts a glass. No Solo cup for the king; he’s got a crystal water glass filled with something amber over ice. “I’m guessing you don’t drink beer,” he says.

“You’re guessing right.”

“Some wine? Champagne? I have a lovely port.”

I almost laugh comparing, once again, Josh’s home life with mine. “I don’t need anything,” I say. “I’m driving home.” At least, I am if that was beer in Molly’s Solo cup.

“Good call, Mackenzie,” Rex says, still smiling and somehow inching me away from Josh to a bar that takes up one whole corner of the family room.

I fleetingly wonder how Rex knows my full first name, but then he guides me to a barstool and sits in the one next to me. “My grandson likes you. He’s been talking about you for a while.”

The announcement surprises me on so many levels I don’t know where to start. So I just smile, perplexed that this old guy—I’m no judge of age, but he’s got to be well into his sixties—is even attending a high school party, let alone sharing secrets.

“Do you like him?” he asks.

I glance back to Josh, who’s already high-fiving and joking around with a few guys I don’t know.

“Yes, of course I like him.”

“Enough to go out with him?”

I laugh softly. “Are you asking for him?”

“He likes to have my blessing on these things. We’re close. You know, his parents are gone.”

“I’ve heard,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I consider adding that I know he saved Josh’s life, but I don’t want him to know I’ve been talking about the family.

He gives me a thoughtful, sad nod. “It was tragic, but I’m just glad that I am healthy and wealthy enough to make Josh comfortable and ensure that he has everything he needs.”

“Yeah, I see that he does.” I glance around, already a bit anxious to end the conversation. I can’t catch Josh’s eye and it would be rude to walk away. Plus, something tells me not much gets by Rex Collier.

“It’s not easy being an only child,” he says on a serious sigh.

“No, it isn’t.”

“You’re an only child.” He dips his head and adds, “Now.”

Oh, he knows. Not a surprise; Conner’s death was big news in Vienna, the loss of a local boy in a tragic, freak accident.

My heart stops and then breaks, as it always does. My throat starts to close in preparation for the fight against tears. Will this response ever go away? It’s been almost two years.

“Sadly, that’s true,” I say.

“How are your parents holding up?”

I appreciate the question because so few people ask about them, but I suppose adults see the loss from their own point of view. “They’re getting a divorce,” I say stiffly, surprised by my honesty.

“What’s the statistic about parents of a dead child? Close to ninety percent divorce?”

I shrug. “It would be nice to beat the odds, though.”

He pats my hand and shifts in his seat. “Let’s change the subject. I understand you’re on that list that does nothing but objectify lovely teenage girls.”

I’m grateful for the change of subject and even more so for someone who shares my disdain for the list. “Josh has really told you everything, hasn’t he?”

“We’re close,” he says again. “What number?”

Why dodge it? “Fifth.”

“Ah, excellent. High enough to be respectable, low enough not to piss off too many people.”

I can’t help but laugh at his dead-on assessment. “True.”

“You must be thrilled.”

Not so dead-on. “I don’t think it’s such a big deal.”

“I hear that it is.” And judging from this conversation, he hears everything.