The Cheerleaders(34)

“Okay. Her name is Carly Amato. She was a senior.”

Carly Amato. I turn the name over in my head, disappointed. I was hoping to recognize the girl’s name—for some long-forgotten piece of information to click into place. “I’ve never heard of her.”

“I looked her up already,” Ginny says. She sounds embarrassed. “I found a Facebook page for a girl who looks like her. She has dark hair now. And her tan is…less fake.”

“Hold on.” I click my laptop awake and do a Facebook search for Carly Amato. The top result is the girl Ginny described.

According to her posts, Carly Amato is a nursing student at Orange County Community College. The majority of her posts are about how many exams she has and photos of a Yorkie named Peanut whom she refers to as “her baby.”

I keep clicking until I get to her oldest photos and watch her transform in reverse until she’s blond and pierced. My heartbeat picks up. “This is definitely the same girl.”

“What are you going to say to her?”

“I don’t know. What should I say?”

Ginny pauses. “Maybe just tell her the real reason you want to talk to her.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

She makes me promise I’ll update her if Carly responds, and we end the call. Ginny makes the idea of telling the truth sound so easy. Just tell her the real reason.

I think of the reactions Rachel and Tom had to my questioning the deaths. For a few moments, I stare at the empty Facebook message draft addressed to Carly before I start to type.





I slip my thumbnail between my teeth, reading the last sentence over and over. Such a brazen lie could backfire. Everyone who went to Sunnybrook High knows Mrs. Coughlin is a demon; my mentioning her name might make Carly send my message straight to the trash.

I delete the last line, replacing it with just I was wondering if you and I could talk.



* * *



—

When I wake up, I check my inbox. It’s empty; but there’s a check mark next to my message to Carly Amato.

She read it six hours ago.



* * *



—

Tom doesn’t have Saturday off, and my mother has to work at the playhouse, so I’m watching Petey, noise-canceling headphones on to drown out the sounds of him practicing his trumpet in the living room.

I’m slathering peanut butter on a slice of toast for his lunch when my phone starts shimmying across the counter, Ginny’s name lighting up the screen. I tug my headphones off and accept the call.

“Hey.” I try and fail not to sound too eager. But something about Ginny’s investment in all this has reinvigorated me, given me purpose. Not only have I told someone everything, but she believes me too.

Ginny’s response is drowned out by the sound of “La Cucaracha.”

“Hold on a sec,” I tell her. I duck out the door connecting the kitchen to the garage, shutting myself in. “Okay. What’s up?”

“I’ve been watching Carly’s Facebook page.” Ginny’s voice is barely a murmur, as if there’s someone near her, listening in. “She just checked into the library at Orange County Community College.”

I stand up straighter, my back against the door. “How far is Orange County Community College?”

“Twenty minutes.” A pause. “My mom doesn’t need the car until seven.”

“You have your license?” I ask. “I didn’t even know you were seventeen already.”

“Since last Monday.” Ginny almost sounds embarrassed.

Monday was the day I met her in the yearbook office to look at the pictures. We talked for over an hour and Ginny never mentioned it was her birthday. Sadness slices through me; I wonder how many other things I don’t know about Ginny just because I never bothered to ask. She speaks before I can work out what to say next.

“We don’t have to go if you don’t want. I just thought since Carly’s there, and she hasn’t responded to you…”

My mom isn’t going to be back from the playhouse for another couple of hours, and I can’t leave Petey here alone. Carly will probably have left the library by the time my mom gets home. “I’m stuck watching my brother.”

A faint tapping, as if Ginny’s drumming her fingers against her phone. “Can you bring him?”

I hadn’t thought of that, but…“It’ll take some bargaining. Can you be here in fifteen minutes?”

“See you then,” Ginny chirps.

I end the call and let myself back into the kitchen. In the living room, Petey has given up on “La Cucaracha” and splayed himself out on the sectional. I come up behind him and rest my hands on the back of the couch.

“I have to go somewhere quick,” I say, treading carefully. “I need you to come with me.”

Petey turns his head up at me. Blinks. “Why can’t I stay here?”

“Because Mom will kill me. You can wait in the car.”

“What car?” Petey says. “You can’t drive.”

“My friend is coming to get me.”

Petey’s eyes light up. “Rachel?”

“No,” I say. “But this friend is nice too.”