Lost Girls(20)

“Is this a test?” she whimpered. “Because I don’t want to get kicked out! I promised I’d never talk and I won’t. Not to anyone, not our parents or the cops or the principal. I swear!” Her last words were barely comprehensible, more of a moan without syllables.

I let her go and she quickly moved away from me, a frightened look in her eyes.

“You’ve—you’ve never done anything like that to me before,” she said. “We’ve always been on the same side. Us against the world, always and forever. Remember?” She pulled back her collar and lifted her hair to show me a script tattoo, exactly like the one I wore on my wrist. “I’m on your side, Rach. I’ve got your back, just like you asked. But please, don’t get me kicked out! Your memory’s going to come back, I know it will. It has to.”

There was a bad taste in my mouth, like I’d swallowed something bitter. The expression in her eyes was causing two conflicting emotions—guilt and excitement—and I didn’t like either one.

“I’m sorry,” I said, the words burning my lips because they weren’t true. I was only sorry that she wouldn’t tell me what I wanted to know. She gave me a hesitant grin, despite the fact that the fear in her eyes hadn’t faded. Had fear been there all along and had I only noticed it now? If so, what kind of person scares one of her friends?

“It’s okay,” she said with an awkward shrug, her words coming out like an apology, like she was the one who had messed up. “I gotta go.” She took a cautious step away from me, then another, her eyes on me the entire time. “I have a nurse’s note to miss first period, but I can’t miss second, too. Can’t let everybody know Lincoln High’s Sweetheart has been smoking dope.” She grimaced as if she secretly hated being the poster girl for perfection, then paused to straighten her skirt and top. “Do I look okay? You know, not like I’ve been out smoking?”

“You look fine.” But she didn’t really. Her eyes were bloodshot and she had a sheepish grin on her face like a dog that had been kicked. Neither one of us was addressing the fact that she’d refused to tell me about Phase Two or that I’d turned Ninja Monster on her. What felt even worse was the fact that she’d accepted it when I turned into an alpha bitch.

“See you at lunch!” she said, a forced cheeriness in her voice.

Then the bell ending first period rang and she turned and dashed toward the school building, leaving me with a dark hole in my gut.

Who was I? And why was I acting like this?

...

I fumbled with that piece of paper as I walked through the halls, folding it, unfolding it, then folding it again, hand tucked inside my jacket pocket, head down. I knew now that the list of names was a catalyst, forcing me to move forward, ignoring the burning buildings and scorched bodies I would leave behind. People were going to get hurt along the way. I knew that, but still I couldn’t stop.

Whoever was taking these girls was worse than me.

I toyed with that slip of paper until it felt like fabric between my fingers, soft and pliant, names stitched with razor-sharp needles and sinew for thread. This paper was my secret history, it was the map that was going to lead me into my own personal cave of secrets. I might go in and never come out; my search could cause me to get captured again; the next ditch could be stained with my own blood. Agent Bennet’s fancy little tracking device might let him know where I was, but it wouldn’t protect me if somebody came at me with a knife.

I could be on a collision course with my own death.

What secret could Lauren be hiding that was more important than me finding out who had kidnapped me?

Everybody else sat in U.S. History taking notes because we had a test next week. Twenty-four other students sat curved over spiral notebooks and laptops and tablets, listening to Mr. Garcia drone on, none of them lifting their heads. The sound of keyboards clacking and pens scratching against paper filled the room, occasionally accompanied by a harried whisper, what did he say? or a hand shooting up followed by, will this be on the test? Like me, three other girls were pretending to pay attention, but they were secretly texting each other, stifling giggles and rolling their eyes. All three of them sported purple dragon tattoos that snaked down their right arms, curving from their shoulders to their wrists.

I couldn’t remember their names, but just looking at them put me on edge. Every now and then one of them would glance at me with a sly grin.

Tacky bitches.

I wasn’t myself today. A dark cloud had drifted over me. Some switch had flipped on when Agent Bennet followed me—when I thought Kyle might be in danger—and I hadn’t been able to turn it off. The back of my head ached and I was subconsciously rubbing my fingers over the track marks on my left arm when one of those tatted girls looked at me.

She laughed—a short ha, almost like an exclamation—then she quickly texted something to her friends. I soon heard muffled giggles and the other two girls turned around to look at me.

I gave them all the finger, then lifted my eyebrows and thumbed toward the hallway.

Wanna take this outside?

What the heck was I doing? Did I just challenge three girls to a fight?

Two of the girls instantly looked at their spiral notebooks, their shoulders hunched, their heads down. The third one gave me a wide grin, revealing silver grillwork on her upper teeth. Her eyes remained fixed upon mine, lids narrowing, until finally my expression forced her to shift in her seat, turning her focus back on the teacher.