Take the Fall(20)

“It’s everyone’s business if you’re walking the halls.”

Marcus is silent.

Kip steps closer. “No one wants you here, killer.”

Marcus raises his head and stares him straight in the face. “It must’ve hurt, Gretchen rejecting you over and over like bad meat. But trust me, you were better off for it.”

Kip has never been a very big guy. He might be five foot five, 150 pounds with his shaggy hair soaking wet. If he were bigger, the look in his eye right now might be terrifying, but I don’t think Marcus even sees it. He pulls his cap down and tries to brush past him, and just as I realize what’s about to happen, Kip’s fist flies into Marcus’s face.

There’s a crunch.

The bell rings.

I step forward, one hand over my mouth. Marcus is on his hands and knees, blood dripping out of his nose. Kip lunges toward him again just as Marcus tries to get off the floor. I can’t watch this happen—I throw myself in his path. He slams into me hard, knocking the wind out of me, setting my healing ribs on fire. I have to grab on to him to avoid landing on top of Marcus. Kip yanks at my arms, eyes blazing until I barely recognize him and I’m afraid of what I’ve done. But I don’t let go. The hall spins with his movement and I don’t have to see straight to register everyone gaping around us.

Principal Bova appears with Deputy Brennan, the school resource officer, and pulls us apart.

“Oh my God, Sonia,” someone says.

“He had it coming!” Kip cries.

I stand wide-eyed and paralyzed, trying to catch my breath. What did I just do?

“Why don’t we go talk about this in my office?” Ms. Bova says, calmly squeezing my arm.

Mr. Kendrick, the senior English teacher, helps collect Marcus off the floor.

Kip yanks out of the deputy’s grip. “I can’t believe you’re letting a murderer roam the halls with us.”

“We can discuss this now, Kip, or after school with your parents,” our principal says.

He glares at me one last time, then spits on the floor in front of Marcus. Deputy Brennan escorts him down the hall.

I follow, passing in front of Marcus. He stares at me, surprised, falling in beside me without a word. He cups his hands to his face, his fingers stained with blood.





NINE


I MAKE IT BACK TO my locker about fifteen minutes into second period. After a stern lecture from the principal and Deputy Brennan, Marcus and Kip were both sent home; I was given a warning for getting involved. I’m slightly more at ease knowing neither of them is in the building. Kip is clearly more upset about Gretchen than I realized. And though I’m not sorry I ended up shielding Marcus, after the way he cornered me I have no reason to think his opinion of me has improved. Now I just need to figure out how to approach him. If I can get him to think I want to help, maybe I can catch him in a lie, or look for a flaw in his alibi. Some reason the sheriff might reconsider him as a suspect so I won’t have to hand over Gretchen’s SD card.

Someone put up prom posters last week and there’s one right next to my locker. The student council voted on a masquerade theme months ago and the poster is decorated with a mask of purple and gold feathers. When I see it, my throat closes up. Gretchen was going to wear the most exquisite flowing purple gown—it never felt right just calling it a prom dress. Once she slipped into it, everything about it was her. She’d custom-ordered a mask to go with it and made appointments for both of us to get our hair and nails done, something I normally hated. But the poster becomes a bright purple-and-gold blur now when I think about the ridiculous primping and fussing we’ll never do. I wonder stupidly if someone canceled those appointments, or if I ought to call. I’m so distracted by this thought that at first I’m not surprised to see her face grinning at me from the inside of my locker.

I blink, skimming over my otherwise-bare locker door, but there she is, stuck over my mirror in the very middle, her auburn hair piled up, messy tendrils framing her startling smile. It’s not a photo I recognize, but at the same time, something about it seems familiar. Gretchen looks vivacious, her head tipped back, frozen in one of her great peals of laughter. She’s sitting on a couch, her arms wrapped around another girl, whose face has been disturbingly scratched out of the picture. I narrow my eyes, my muddled brain trying to puzzle out why someone would have scratched this girl out. But then I notice the big black boots crossed in front of her, the bracelet clasped on her wrist, and I recognize the rest of the outfit I wore to Brianne’s party that night.

My stomach clenches.

I’m the girl with her face scratched out of existence.





TEN


MY BREATHING GOES RAGGED. I look up and down the hallway, trying to figure out if this is some kind of sick joke, but there’s no one left to see it besides a teacher working on a bulletin board and a couple of freshmen whose names I don’t know. I grip the cold steel of the locker door and try to collect myself, stay calm. I don’t even remember the picture being taken. There were so many people at that party, one of them had to have done this.

It could’ve been anyone. It could’ve been—

Marcus.

My hands curl into fists. I think of him lurking in the woods, sneaking into the diner. And this morning, right here by my locker.

I trace my finger over the rough part of the photo where my face used to be and my chest tightens.