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

In case anyone was wondering, it wasn’t kosher to mention the words death, funeral, dead, dying, or kill in front of me. Not after my boyfriend, Adam, accidentally killed Paisley’s on-again, off-again romance, Knox, just as I was being crowned Homecoming queen. Or after Adam had likely suffered a similarly gruesome fate at the hands of Hollow Pines’s resident serial killer. Of course, all of this occurred once Adam had very publicly cheated on me with a high school nobody, so perhaps even the word “boyfriend” was generous.

Not that this wouldn’t be enough to make anyone’s greatest hits album for Worst Year Ever, but those parts of the story that people knew, the ones that made them whisper and look at me funny and apologize for making a stupid offhand comment that even I knew they didn’t mean, those parts didn’t amount to half of it.

I had a gaping hole in my chest so wide I found it shocking that the whole world couldn’t see right through it. And the stone-cold truth was that Adam wasn’t the one who put it there.

I caught myself staring off into space. Or rather, I caught my reflection in the dark circles of Ava’s eyes, which were busy searching my face for signs of life. Sorry, no signs here, I wanted to tell her, only it felt like it’d take an exorbitant amount of effort, so I didn’t bother.

I was actually relieved when Ashley bounced away from the game of flip cup to join us. Her cheeks were flushed with an early buzz. I remembered the feeling I got after the first few drinks, when my blood felt warm and gooey in my veins, every muscle in me relaxed and I loved everyone that I met. Especially the boys that I met. Those were the days when I didn’t see any harm in a little kissing. But I knew now that the warm, gooey feeling was the same one that left girls with gaping holes in their chests.

“The Billys are on their way with wine coolers,” Ashley said, referring to the guys on the football team, William, Billy Ray, and just Billy. I’d kissed William twice and Billy Ray once last year. Paisley had made fun of me for being easy, but in my personal canon of ethics I wasn’t easy as long as I kept all contact above the waistline.

Still, I wished I could take it all back now.

Ava leaned closer to Ashley. “Paisley showed me those pictures of that sophomore, by the way. I’m actually mortified for her. First, she was stupid enough to send pictures to William in her underwear and, second, she wears cotton instead of lace.”

With Ava and Ashley occupied, I took my opportunity to leave. I shrugged and pointed over my shoulder in a vague direction that could have meant I was getting a drink or going to the restroom. Ashley gave a quick smile and waved her fingers.

The restroom. Now there was an idea. I could kill at least fifteen minutes in a bathroom. Completely alone. I’d committed to an hour at the party. Enough to make the skinny jeans worthwhile.

I trudged along a carpeted hallway that looked as if it should lead to a bathroom and quickly ran up against the back of the line. Even better. I could probably kill twenty minutes now.

I waited, taking dutiful steps forward every time someone else shut the door behind them. I thought coming to a party would help, but looking back, I wasn’t sure what. My mood? My outlook on life? My solitude? The invisible gaping wound festering in my chest? Those felt like lofty goals for a house party.

It’ll be good for you, I replayed my friends’ words in my head and sighed. Give it a chance.

I was finally the next person in line. No one had tried to talk to me the whole time I’d been standing here. A small part of me was put out by this. The old me would have chatted to people in line. Actually, the old me would have never ventured to the bathroom alone. Paisley and I would have gone into the bathroom arm in arm and taken turns fixing our hair while the other one peed.

The door opened and a skinny boy wearing a starched fishing shirt and holding a red plastic cup exited. I slipped in and closed the door shut behind me. Someone had left the hand towel off its hook and a bottle of shower gel had been knocked off the edge of the tub, but other than that, the bathroom looked relatively clean for mid-party.

I turned and pushed the button on the lock. It didn’t stick. I tried again, only to find that the door didn’t lock at all. Great. I blew hair from my eyes. Well, at least there was a line. People had seen me walk in, so I should have a modicum of privacy.

Moving away from the door, I decided to kill time by snooping through the owners’ belongings. I still had no idea whose home we were destroying. I slid open the first row of drawers beneath the countertop. Blue goo oozed from a toothpaste bottle onto a dirty hand mirror. This bathroom must belong to a boy.

I found an electric razor resting in the second drawer and eyed it with interest. I turned it over, testing the weight in my palm. I’d never used one before. I eyed my long brown hair. The old me would never have left the house without styling it into loose curls to frame my face. Now, it was plastered on either side of my head. I leaned toward the mirror and swept a handful of hair away from my ear to see where I’d begin shaving. If I did begin shaving, that was. Which I wouldn’t because that was crazy. Wasn’t it?

My fingers felt twitchy, trigger-happy.

I hadn’t been completely honest. Yes, there was the old me, the one with the wavy curls and miniskirts, the toned abs and the long list of doting boys. But then there was the old-old me. That version was a chubby girl who was good at math. That version had been invisible. Nobody even knew her name.