The Cheerleaders(66)

Ethan tugged at his headphones, as if he’d forgotten they were there. “Books.”

“Can I listen with you?” Jen asked.

Ethan’s voice was soft. “I don’t know if the headphones will reach you.”

Jen stared back at him. The look on his face made her flush. He inched closer to her, until they were only half a foot apart.

“I’m contagious,” she whispered.

“I don’t care.” Ethan lowered himself so he was lying down facing her. He reached over and brushed her hair aside, slipping one of the earbuds into her ear.

The narrator’s voice was gentle. Jen had no idea what the story was about, but she could have listened for hours.

When she woke up several hours later, the space on the bed next to her was empty. She felt around, desperate for some sign she hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

On the pillow next to her, something crinkled. She came away with an orange Post-it note stuck to her hand.

You fell asleep around chapter three.

Maybe we can find out what happens together.





I spend the walk to class trying to rationalize Carly’s reason for blocking me. Maybe I’ve been a little aggressive, trying to get her to talk to me. Any reasonable person would be creeped out.

But there’s little evidence to indicate that Carly Amato is, in fact, a reasonable person. She lied about being friends with Juliana. She said she barely knew her, which just isn’t the truth.

I force Carly out of my mind when I get to first period. I can’t afford to bomb another AP chem quiz; there’s time in the quarter to pull my average up, but Mr. Franken will call my mother if I get lower than a 70 today.

Coefficients. Add the coefficients first.

Why would Carly lie?

I shake my head and add an O2 to the equation. Next to me, I catch Dave Camarco stealing glances at my paper. If I wasn’t so sure Mr. Franken would accuse me of cheating, I’d lean over and hiss Good luck with that at Dave.

I’m the second-to-last person to finish the quiz. After I turn it in and get back to my desk, I sneak my phone out of my backpack’s side pocket while Mr. Franken is distracted stapling the test Scantrons to the long answer sheets.

“Monica.”

I wince at my name, closing my eyes. When I open them, Mr. Franken is staring at me. He beckons me to come up to the front of the room.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper when I reach his desk. “I just had to look something up real quick.”

He silently picks up the wire basket where he puts confiscated phones. I drop my phone in and Mr. Franken tells me I can pick it up at the end of the day. I want to cry as I do a walk of shame back to my desk.

I’m so eager to talk to Ginny about Carly blocking me that I’m about to explode. Without my phone, the minutes to lunch creep by more slowly than they usually do. When the bell rings after fifth period, I bolt for the stairwell.

When I get downstairs to Mrs. Goldberg’s room, the lights are off and the door is locked. I knock three times, but no one comes. I have to fight off tears as the bell rings.

I turn to stalk off to the cafeteria, nearly colliding with Ginny.

“Sorry,” she says breathlessly. “I texted you that I’d be a little late.”

“Mr. Franken took my phone away.”

A man’s voice booms down the hall—a security guard, doing his post-bell sweep to make sure no one is lingering. Ginny slips a key into Mrs. Goldberg’s door and herds me inside the room, locking it behind her.

I follow her into the back office, where she sets her lunch bag on the round table in the corner. Below is a mini-fridge. Ginny grabs a yogurt from inside; she offers me one, but I shake my head.

She plops into one of the chairs at the table. “What’s going on?” she asks.

“Saturday night, I went through the files again. I found one from a woman on Norwood Drive who said Jack Canning broke into her backyard—she said the Berrys put up a privacy fence because of him. I didn’t remember at the time, but it’s true. They had a really high fence around their backyard.”

Ginny cocks her head a bit, as if she’s not sure where I’m going with this.

“Ethan couldn’t have seen anything in the Berrys’ backyard from the woods,” I say. “I met him at Osprey Lake this morning to ask why he lied.”

Ginny freezes, her fingers on the foil seal of her yogurt. “Wait. You met up with him alone?”

“A ton of people were around.” I try to ignore how unsettled Ginny looks. “Anyway, he told me the real story. He was in Jen’s room that night and saw the argument from the garage roof when he snuck out.”

“You believe him?”

“He described Jen’s room,” I say. “And there’s more. Jen told Ethan she felt like she was losing her friends, and he thinks it’s because Juliana was spending all her time with Carly Amato.”

“But Carly said she barely knew Juliana.” Ginny drums her fingers against the side of her yogurt. She stands, abandoning her lunch on the table. “I need to show you something.”

I follow her to Mrs. Goldberg’s computer and stand behind her, watching as she enters the URL for the proxy we all use to get around the school’s blocked websites.

Ginny opens up Facebook and enters login information. The page loads, displaying the news feed of someone named Elizabeth Lewis. She’s a round-faced blond woman. Late twenties, maybe.