One of Us Is Next
Karen M. McManus
Friday, March 6
REPORTER (standing at the edge of a winding street with a large white stucco building behind her): Good morning. This is Liz Rosen with Channel Seven News, reporting live from Bayview High, where students are reeling from the loss of one of their classmates yesterday. It’s the second tragic teenage death in the past eighteen months for this small town, and the mood outside the school is one of shocked déjà vu.
(Cut to two girls, one wiping tears, the other stone-faced.)
CRYING GIRL: It’s just…it’s just really sad. Like, sometimes it feels as though Bayview is cursed, you know? First Simon, and now this.
STOIC GIRL: This isn’t anything like what happened with Simon.
REPORTER (angling her microphone toward the crying girl): Were you and the deceased student close?
CRYING GIRL: Not like, close close. Or at all close. I mean, I’m just a freshman.
REPORTER (turning toward the other girl): And how about you?
STOIC GIRL: I don’t think we’re supposed to be talking to you.
Ten Weeks Earlier
Reddit, Vengeance Is Mine subforum
Thread started by Bayview2020
Hey.
Is this the same group Simon Kelleher used to post with?—Bayview2020
Greetings.
One and the same.—Darkestmind
Why’d you move? And why are there hardly any posts?—Bayview2020
Too many gawkers and reporters on the old site.
And we have new security measures. Lesson learned from our friend Simon.
Who I’m guessing you know, based on your user name?—Darkestmind Everyone knows Simon. Well. Knew him.
It’s not like we were friends, though.—Bayview2020
Okay. So what brings you here?—Darkestmind I don’t know. Just stumbled across it.—Bayview2020
Bullshit. This is a forum dedicated to revenge, and it’s not easy to find.
You’re here for a reason.
What is it? Or should I say who?—Darkestmind Who.
Somebody did something horrible.
It wrecked my life and so many others.
Meanwhile NOTHING happened to them.
And I can’t do anything about it.—Bayview2020
Same, same.
We have a lot in common.
It sucks when the person who ruined your life gets to walk around like always.
As if what they did doesn’t matter.
I beg to disagree with your conclusion, though.
There’s always something you can do.—Darkestmind
CHAPTER ONE
Maeve
Monday, February 17
My sister thinks I’m a slacker. She’s not coming right out and saying it—or texting it, technically—but it’s heavily implied:
Did you check out that list of colleges I sent?
Winter of your junior year isn’t too early to start looking. It’s actually kind of late.
We could visit some places when I’m home for Ashton’s bachelorette party if you want.
You should apply somewhere totally out of your comfort zone, too.
What about the University of Hawaii?
I look up from the texts flashing across my phone to meet Knox Myers’s questioning gaze. “Bronwyn thinks I should go to college at the University of Hawaii,” I report, and he almost chokes on his mouthful of empanada.
“She does realize that’s on an island, right?” he asks, reaching for a glass of ice water and draining half of it in one gulp. The empanadas at Café Contigo are legendary in Bayview but they’re a lot to take if you’re not used to spicy food. Knox, who moved here from Kansas in middle school and still counts mushroom-soup-based casseroles among his favorite meals, most definitely is not. “Has she already forgotten that you’re vehemently anti-beach?”
“I’m not anti-beach,” I protest. “I’m just not a proponent of sand. Or too much sun. Or undertow. Or sea creatures.” Knox’s eyebrows climb higher with every sentence. “Look, you’re the one who made me watch Monsters of the Deep,” I remind him. “My ocean phobia is mostly your fault.” Knox was my first-ever boyfriend last summer, both of us too inexperienced to realize we weren’t actually attracted to one another. We spent most of our relationship watching the Science Channel, which should have clued us in quicker that we were better off as friends.
“You’ve convinced me,” Knox says drily. “This is the school for you. I look forward to reading what will undoubtedly be a heartfelt application essay when it’s due.” He leans forward and raises his voice for emphasis. “Next year.”
I sigh, drumming my fingers on the brightly tiled table. Café Contigo is an Argentinean café with deep blue walls and a tin ceiling, the air a fragrant mix of sweet and savory scents. It’s less than a mile from my house and became my favorite place to do homework once Bronwyn left for Yale and my room was suddenly much too quiet. I like the friendly bustle of the café and the fact that nobody minds if I spend three hours here and only order coffee. “Bronwyn thinks I’m behind schedule,” I tell Knox.