Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(16)

I felt them closing on the dorms. The sensation of being uncloaked shocked my system. My throat squeezed in protest as I watched my window of opportunity shrink from small to nonexistent. And when the girl’s fingers untangled themselves from California’s and she forked off in a separate direction, I experienced the moment missed like it was a cold, dead spirit moving through my body.

The girl looked casually over her shoulder. Her perfectly waxed brow furrowed and she cocked her head at me. “Can I help you?” she asked.

And then there were mere seconds between me and the moment the boys might look back, out of curiosity, and notice me. I flipped my hood up, sank my chin to my chest, and was already moving away, back into the shadows, back into the darkness, back home.





SEVEN

Cassidy

I lifted the whistle hanging on a hook outside of Coach Carlson’s door and looped the string over my head so that it hung around my neck. The metal whistle bounced off my practice uniform—a black sports bra and stretchy yoga pants that hugged my waist. I caught my reflection in the glass of Coach’s office window and noticed myself appraising what I saw there, the same way the old Cassidy would have. I’d lost some of my muscle tone since autumn and my ribs showed too prominently when I breathed. Both of these things would have to be remedied with extra conditioning. I was doing better, though. Feeling stronger, more me.

I’d taken a quiz in English and I was pretty sure I’d get an A+. My GPA could still be saved this semester. I’d even passed Ava a note in class on which I’d drawn some stupid cartoon of Ms. Minter that made her laugh. Perfect friend Cassidy to the rescue.

My hair was pulled neatly up into a high ponytail and I’d selected a peachy shade of lipstick that I’d actually remembered to apply throughout the day. As I pulled my captain’s clipboard out of its slot on the locker room door, I felt in control for the first time in weeks.

In the gym, the basketball team was running suicide drills. They had made the play-offs and in less than a week’s time, they’d begin their first tournament round for the state title. Still, maybe I’d make the girls do twice as many suicides at the end of practice today. Show the basketball players who the real athletes on campus were. This was my first semester as cheer captain and during an important time, too, what with the chase for the title and Hollow Pines’s best chance at a varsity championship in twenty-odd years. My parents had been so proud when I’d been elected on the heels of being named Homecoming queen. At one point, it had seemed impossible for my life to get any shinier. Even then, though, the threads had started to unravel, only I couldn’t have predicted, in just a few short months, how little I’d have left.

I took a deep breath and remembered who I was. I was Cassidy Hyde. And surely it wasn’t too late to catch on to the ends of those threads and sew my life back together stitch by stitch … was it?

I lifted my chin and walked briskly over toward where the other fifteen girls were stretching. When Liam reached the baseline, his eyebrows lifted at the sight of me. A bead of sweat trickled off a tuft of his sandy blond hair. I gave him a broad smile and a flirtatious wave. Okay, so it wouldn’t hurt to let the other girls think I had the eye of Hollow Pines High’s starting forward, especially not when he looked like that.

As a former chubby mathlete I knew success in high school was a matter of both real and projected image. I had been a master sculptor, chiseling the rock underneath with long runs, restrictive diets, careful wardrobe selection, and a winning personality that was one part girl next door and one part flirtatious minx until what showed through on the outside was the type of girl that could hold a town like Hollow Pines in the palm of her hand. Not too shabby, I reminded myself. Now, all I needed was a few touch-ups to the Cassidy Hyde brand before the whole sculpture crumbled.

As I approached the girls, I placed the whistle between my lips and gave it two short blows. “Gather up,” I said, putting my hands on my hips.

A few girls—Molly, Liz, and Kylie Beth—who were nearest to me stopped their stretching and looked up without moving. Paisley had been using Ava’s shoulder for balance while she held on to her shoelaces with one hand to stretch her hamstrings. She let her fingers slide from Ava’s shoulders and the two shared a look that I couldn’t read. Nobody was budging.

“Hello, lazybones.” I clapped. “Where’s your hustle? Let’s get practice started. I don’t want to be here all night.”

Erica moved to Paisley’s other side and cast nervous sideways glances. I suddenly had the feeling that I was standing on the wrong side of an electrical fence. A queasy uneasiness spread in my gut, like that time I ate movie theater nachos.

“Okay.” I folded my arms across my chest while attempting to hide the ricocheting of my heart against my ribs. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Ava, who had added rhinestones to calf-high tube socks and to a bow in her hair, cleared her throat but looked down at her sneakers.

“Paize?” I said.

Paisley’s blue eyes flitted to the ceiling for a split second, then she took a small step forward. “Fine, whatever, I volunteer as tribute.” Her fingernails were painted a frosty pink and she curled them around her narrow waist. “Look, I don’t want you to make a big deal of this or anything, but some of us have been talking.”