Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(24)

I couldn’t bear the disappointment.

“Cassidy says she’s not going to school today.” Honor tossed her long hair behind one shoulder. I forced myself to remember that Honor knew nothing. This new mood of hers was probably just about those stupid pictures I deleted from her phone. I supposed I should be happy that my sister didn’t know what real problems were.

Mom stopped digging to look at me. A crease formed between her eyebrows and I recognized the return of the worried look, the one that held the smallest bit of mistrust and an even larger dose of frustration. “What’s wrong?” Finding her car keys, she dropped them on the counter. “Are you sick? Because you know if you can just wait it out there’s a three-day weekend coming up. Maybe you can catch up on your rest then.”

I pulled the sleeves of my shirt down over my hands. They were shaking even harder now. I hugged myself. “I think I’m coming down with something. Really, I just don’t think I should go today. Is that all right?”

All the while I kept replaying one sentence: There’s a dead body in the yard, there’s a dead body in the yard, there’s a dead body in the yard.

“I hate you missing more school, Cassidy.” The corners of her mouth turned down. I saw her shoulders sag with them. “I already agreed to volunteer for Junior League today. But…” She dug for her cell phone. “I suppose I can cancel. Just let me call Mary Beth and—”

Too far, I thought. If I overplayed the illness, I risked getting stuck with Mom guarding my bed and a never-ending supply of chili while she tried to get me to sweat whatever “it” was out of me. “Stop, Mom. It’s okay. I’m seventeen. I don’t need you to cancel your plans for me.” I sucked in a deep breath and channeled the old Cassidy, the one that she trusted. “Actually, I wouldn’t even be missing school at all.” I rested my elbows on the kitchen island casually. “But we have that big game with Lamar on Friday and I absolutely can’t be sick then. The girls have been working really hard.”

There was a spark of appreciation in her eyes. “Maybe a little too hard,” she said with a knowing tilt of her head. But I could tell how secretly pleased she was. Oilerettes. Big game. Working hard. When it came to the daughter who cared, these signs were the trifecta. She immediately began to buzz around the kitchen, morphing into a mom who was concerned for all the normal reasons instead of a mom whose daughter was spiraling into a bottomless pit of depression. “You’ll be missing practice then,” she said as she pulled out a bottle of vitamins from a cabinet. It wasn’t a question. With a pang, I remembered the almost-coup waiting for me at practice and wanted to argue.

Instead I gave her a weak smile and held up my hand while she poured two chewable vitamins into my palm. “The girls will be fine without me. Who knows, maybe I’ll even give them the day off. I’ll catch up on my work Monday when we have off school. Promise.”

Mom leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “Fine, you girls all take the day off then. That’d be nice of you. Now go back to bed.” She pointed a finger at me and lightly touched my nose. My insides throbbed.

I climbed the stairs, dreading being closed up in a room that now felt like a crime scene, even if it was just for a short time. At a glance, nothing in my room looked out of place. The ceiling fan whirred overhead. Light spilled in through the shutters and bounced off the glass of my vanity.

But when I pulled back the sheet, the smears of blood jumped out. Sharp red and unmistakable. My vision swam. In the daytime, the stains were more visible. It now looked as if I’d spent the night rolling around in a slaughterhouse.

There was a light knock on the door. I covered the gore with my duvet and spun to face the entry. A creak and then Honor’s face poked through.

She had her backpack slung over one shoulder. Her long hair fell in angelic curtains around her face. “Sorry you’re sick,” she said. “Text me if you want me to bring you anything on the way home. Assuming you manage to dodge Mom’s chili.”

And just like that, my kid sister was back. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll text you.”

“Oh, and you better not let her catch you out of bed,” Honor called as she pulled the door shut again.

I stared down at the comforter. I did not want to crawl into a mess of someone else’s blood, but she was right. If Mom caught me out of bed, there would be the inevitable tucking in and taking of temperature, all with the distinct possibility of chili.

I held my breath and shimmied between the covers. “Oh god.” I stifled a gag. This should so not be happening.

For fifteen minutes I stewed in someone else’s spilled vital fluids until at last my mom came upstairs to tell me she was headed out for the day. I nodded and tried to strike a balance between pathetic and capable. She blew me an air kiss after which it took another five minutes before I heard the garage door screech open and her car start.

I kicked the soiled sheets down to my feet and leaped out of bed. The next four hours, I spent washing and drying the sheets, spraying the lawn down with a power hose, running the dishwasher, and wiping the house clean of any stray drops. At the end, I collapsed onto the couch and lost myself in back-to-back episodes of whatever sitcoms were playing on syndication, too lazy and spent to change the channel.

I jumped to a sitting position when I heard the doorbell ring. My mom never rang the doorbell. My first thought was: cops? Bleary-eyed, I looked up to realize it was evening and I must have been sleeping. I peeked out the back door and saw that Mom’s car was back in the garage. She must have snuck in and let me sleep. I should have been figuring out what to do next, formulating some kind of plan. But what kinds of plans were available to someone who may or may not have killed someone in her backyard?