Teen Hyde (High School Horror Story #2)(39)

“Cass, it’s really important.” Paisley stamped her foot. “People will expect you to be there. We’re a duo, remember?” She pouted. I couldn’t help but be a bit touched. And if I knew my best friend, she wasn’t going to let up.

“Okay,” I said, cutting her off before she could freak out. “I’ll think about it. Think is the operative word.”

Her heart-shaped lips curled to the side in a triumphant smirk. “I’ll see you tonight.”

I shook my head, but didn’t protest any further. I could deal with her later.

The drive home was short. I listened to commercials telling me how to get liposuction without any surgery. I ate dinner with my family. Mom asked me if we were prepared for tomorrow’s game and if she needed to get me anything for it. Dad asked if I’d signed up for the SAT yet and even though he’d been asking me the same thing for a few weeks straight, this time I actually made a mental note to do it.

When I dragged my feet up the stairs carting a pile of textbooks and making a plan to finish a set of math problems in bed, I wanted nothing more than to curl up in my pajamas and fall fast asleep. But as I crawled onto my mattress, I remembered my promise to Paisley to think about coming tonight.

The whole team would be together. The old me would have gone in a heartbeat. My parents would have encouraged it, even on a school night.

It was then that I felt the pull of the Sunshine stashed in the music box on my nightstand. One teeny tiny pill and I could go and be the life of the party. I could be fun, beautiful, all the things that I wanted to be.

I took a deep breath and opened the lid. The yellow pills looked like candy drops, ready for the taking. I swallowed. My fingers pinched the plastic bag and retrieved it from the box. I unzipped the top, shook the remaining pills into my hand. So tempting. I stared at them, my mouth watering.

Then, I went to the bathroom, dropped them in the toilet, and flushed. There. I dusted my palms off.

I tried to ignore the deep groan of my psyche. I had to stay on track. No slipups. I needed something else to keep me grounded. So I scoured the medicine cabinet until I found a half-full bottle of nighttime cough syrup. I brought it to my nightstand. I dug my keys out of my gym bag, looked around for a place to hide them, and wound up throwing them under the bed. Finally, I took duct tape that I had left over from sticking up Homecoming posters and taped three long strips along the crack of my door from as high as I could reach all the way to the floor.

I tucked myself under the sheets and pulled my computer into my lap. I clicked through my e-mail until I found Paisley’s message.

Put on your rally caps and get ready to rumble. Gathering at my house Thursday to pregame before the Big Game. 1130 San Alamo Way. Be there, bitches.

I smiled. Even though she drove me crazy, I still missed Paisley. I felt bad that I was skipping out, but someday maybe she’d understand it was for the best. Someday maybe I’d even tell her about Dearborn.

But for tonight, I typed out a quick message apologizing for not being able to make it, citing a history test that I forgot about as the reason. I pushed the laptop to the side, opened the cap on the cough syrup.

I sniffed the contents—grape—swirled the liquid around, held it up to my lips. Try getting up after this. “Bottoms up,” I said, and took a long, hard swig.





FOURTEEN

Marcy

Every night I woke up in a room filled with things I’d never choose. Girly, frilly things that made me recoil like a vampire in sunlight.

I’d become aware of her right away. I saw her—my—face planted on the dresser in picture frames, cheeks squeezed against those of friends I’d never have. Would never want to have.

We seemed to move in parallel, her and I. I could never quite reach out and wrap my fingers around that life. Then again, I’d never really tried.

Tonight was different, though.

I woke up with a dull headache thudding at the base of my skull. My arms felt heavy and when I looked to my right, I noticed a half-empty bottle of cough syrup PM open on the nightstand. I didn’t feel sick. I felt groggy. I resisted the urge to lie back and fade into unconsciousness and instead lowered my feet to the floor and cracked my neck.

That was when I saw the door. Three strips of silver duct tape covered the seam, sealing me inside.

The possibility that the cough syrup had been a coincidence—an attempt at curing an illness—now felt slimmer. I narrowed my eyes. Who—or what—did she think she was dealing with? A child?

I crossed the room to study her handiwork. I tested the edges with my fingernails. The tape was stuck tight. No matter. I went to the dresser to retrieve the keys to the car.

Only they weren’t there.

I searched the nightstand, a gym bag nearby, blankets bunched on top of the mattress. Nowhere in sight.

I was beginning to get anxious. I felt cooped up. Trapped. I always got out of this place, her place, as soon as possible. Where were they?

I began to seethe. I went into the closet and began tearing clothes off the hangers, rummaging through the pockets. All of them were empty. In a fit, I emptied the contents of all the bedroom drawers. I didn’t find the keys. I tore through every purse she owned without hearing the jangle of metal.

As a last resort I dropped to my knees and peered under the bed. There, I found the clump of keys hidden farther under the four-poster frame than I could reach. It was a spot they couldn’t have fallen accidentally.