“Were you there when Emma died?” Chelsea asked, her gaze glued to me. Watching closely for my reaction.
“Yeah. A bunch of us were. We took the day off for my birthday.” The tears in my eyes were real—I was lying, but the truth was no less traumatic. “We were just goofing off on the swings. At the lake. But Em went too high.” I sniffled. “She was showing off. Then she let go and just... She just fell out of the swing. She landed on her back, but she must have hit her head first, and...”
I stopped there, with another sob. A real one. Picturing Em’s actual death helped. Seeing Belphegore’s hand on her neck. Hearing the gruesome crack. Seeing Emma crumple to the ground.
In my memory, it all happened in some kind of horrible slow motion. That was the only way I’d gotten through the police interview, and I’d seen no sign that they doubted any of my story.
Their suspicion had come later, when they started calculating the death toll.
“It must have been horrible,” Chelsea said, and I realized that my tears were like a shield between us. A line of defense she wouldn’t cross. At least, not now. Not at sixteen. Though I had no doubt she’d someday dial up the pressure on some poor lying politician, unfazed by tears.
“It was.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She stood, stuffing her notebook and pen into the front pocket of her scuffed denim backpack. “Kaylee, I just want you to know that...we stopped the presses on the yearbooks. They’d already started printing them, but when we told them about Brant, and Jayson, and Emma, they agreed to reprint at no additional charge. So...the yearbooks will be late, but she’ll have a memorial page. They all will.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.” I hadn’t even known Chelsea was on the yearbook staff.
The lunch bell rang as she walked away, looking more frustrated and confused than she had before she sat down. I knew exactly how that felt.
Two minutes later, Sophie appeared in front of me and slapped a newspaper down on the picnic table. “Have you seen the headline? I would have missed it if my dad didn’t still read the news in print.”
Luca set his tray down and sat across from me, but Sophie was obviously too riled up to relax. She hadn’t bought a lunch, either.
“Headline?” I glanced at the paper and had to read it upside down. “‘Eastlake High Named Most Dangerous School of Its Size in the Country.’”
Sophie nodded, eyes wide, brows furrowed.
“Wow.”
“Look at the picture,” Luca said, his burger halfway to his mouth. So I looked.
Beneath the headline was a black-and-white shot of...us. Me, Nash, Sabine, and Emma, in Lydia’s body. It was taken at her funeral. The caption read, “Teens Mourn Yet another Lost Classmate.”
I mentally crossed my fingers and hoped that Lydia’s parents wouldn’t see that photo.
“Do you see that?” Sophie demanded, like I was refusing to look. “We’re the most dangerous school in the country.”
“Of our size,” Luca added, looking up at her. “Don’t you want something to eat?”
“How could I possibly digest anything with that staring back at me?” She waved one hand at the paper still lying on the table.
“What’s wrong?” Nash asked as he and Sabine settled onto the bench next to Luca.
“What’s wrong? We’ve just surpassed inner-city alternative schools all over the country as the most dangerous school in the U.S.”
“Of our size,” Luca added again. “I’m sure there are way more dangerous schools out there with several thousand students.”
Nash laughed, and Sophie turned on him. “This isn’t funny! All the other schools on this list are plagued by gang violence and organized crime.” She lowered her voice and leaned over the table. “We’re the only one overrun with demons.”
“How do you know?” Sabine plucked a fry from Nash’s tray.
“What?” My cousin finally sank onto the bench.
“How do you know those other schools aren’t also infested by hellions? I mean, the paper doesn’t say that’s what’s wrong with our school, does it?” she asked, and Sophie shook her head reluctantly. “Then it may not say what’s really wrong with those schools, either. For all we know, their ‘gang violence’ could really be roving bands of gremlins, shaking down students for their lunch money and handheld technology.”
“When something’s funny, you should let yourself laugh,” Nash added. “Otherwise, you’ll just stay mad or scared, and those little frown lines in your forehead will become permanent.”
Sophie’s eyes widened, and Sabine laughed out loud.
“Hey, Sophie!” Someone called from across the quad, and we all looked up to see Jennifer Lamb crossing the grass toward us, holding a chemistry textbook. “Can you give this to your cousin? She left it in class.”
“My cousin?” Sophie stood to take the book and glanced at me in confusion, but before I could tell her it wasn’t my book, Jennifer elaborated.
“Emily, right? She’s my new lab partner. Is she always so...grumpy?”
Sophie’s hand clenched around the thick textbook. “She’s Kaylee’s cousin. On a completely different side of the family.”
Jennifer frowned. “But her last name is Cavanaugh.”
Sophie turned to glare at me. “Great. You made her my cousin, too.”
I tried to hide a laugh while Jennifer backed away from us in confusion.
Emma finally showed up nearly halfway into the lunch period, about thirty seconds before I would have gone to look for her. “Today sucks!” She dropped her bag on the table, and Luca had to snatch his tray out of the way before his burger got smashed. “My new math teacher made me take some kind of placement test, which made me late for English, so now my English teacher hates me. My new lab partner is an idiot, and I spent half of lunch looking for my damn chemistry book. And I hate cafeteria hamburgers.” She collapsed onto the bench in a huff and leaned forward to put her forehead on the table.
We stared at her in surprise. I think we all expected her to sit up with a smile and jokingly demand a do-over day. When that didn’t happen, I put one hand on her shoulder. “Em.”
“What?” She didn’t even look up.
Nash took her text from Sophie. “Your idiot lab partner brought your chemistry book.”
Em sat up and snatched the book from him. “She probably stole it. Sabotage. I had no idea we went to school with so many stuck-up little bitches.”
A sick feeling swelled in the pit of my stomach. Something was wrong. Something beyond the obvious.
Sophie’s brows rose. “As one of those stuck-up bitches, I have to say, I’m a little offended.”
“Sometimes the truth hurts.”
I gaped at Em. She was going through something really difficult—we all knew that—but she was still Emma. She was still loyal to her friends and relatively calm, unless she was defending one of them, and generally a pleasant person to be around.
“Em, is something wrong?”
She turned on me, anger flashing in her eyes. “Weren’t you paying attention? Everything is wrong. I’m too short to see the whiteboard from the back of the class, and no one’s even said ‘hi’ to me all day. And it’s your fault, Kaylee. You stuck me in this stupid twig body, and no one notices twigs. When was the last time you saw a guy hit on a girl shaped like a chopstick?” She frowned, then rolled her eyes. “I guess I’m asking the wrong person, huh? Obviously the Hudsons like girls who look like little boys. That androgynous thing might work for you, but for me, it’s a definite step down.”