Bad Girls Don't Die

“We don’t stock those books anymore,” she said. “Ever heard of the CPA? Concerned Parents Association? They deemed those subjects inappropriate for children.”

“So you threw them all away?”

“No, we didn’t throw them away,” she said, sounding exasperated.

“Then can you tell me where they are?”

“No.”

I guess she expected me to give up, so when I stood there and waited for an explanation, she sighed.

“Look, I don’t want the CPA breathing down my neck again. They sent a mole in here last year begging to look at a book about witchcraft. Ten minutes later I’m in the principal’s office….Why don’t you try Harry Potter?”

“Please,” I said. “I’m a special needs case.”

“You think so?” she asked, sounding kind of amused. She set her romance novel down and looked at me. So I was more interesting than a book called Home Is Where the Heart Is: A Darcy Shane Mystery.

I knew she’d never believe me, and that, coupled with a mixture of exhaustion and exasperation, made me bold. I pulled up my sleeve to reveal the burn marks on my arm. “My little sister came into my locked bedroom last night and did this to me. And she showed up here this morning and did this.” I showed her the back of my hand, the crisscross of razor-fine cuts, amazed at how matter-of-fact my voice sounded. “I personally think she’s just crazy, but Megan Wiley? The cheerleader? She thinks Kasey’s possessed by the devil. Or possibly just a demon.”

The librarian sighed and opened her desk drawer and pulled out a book, plopping it on the counter. “How about this one?”

I looked at the title: Cutting Through the Pain: Helping Teens Who Harm Themselves.

“I’m sure this is a very good book for someone who has different problems than I do,” I said, pushing it back to her. Then I left the library.

When the bell rang and kids began streaming through the courtyard, I looked around for Carter. I felt a flutter in my stomach thinking about yesterday at the park. The heart is an amazing thing. Even on the verge of my entire life completely falling apart, I couldn’t make myself stop thinking about how blue Carter’s eyes were, how blond his hair was, how much he knew about architecture….

After a minute or so, I gave up and started down the hallway toward my locker to pick up my Spanish book.

Megan Wiley was waiting for me.

And not ten feet away was a whole horde of cheerleaders.

Great. Where were the police when you needed them? I would have handcuffed myself and jumped into the cruiser.

I slowed down, hoping they would move on, but Megan just stood there. I decided that I’d rather brave Senora Gregory’s fury by showing up without my book than talk to Megan in the middle of the hallway.

But when Megan realized I wasn’t pla

“What did you mean when you said you won’t let her hurt me?” she asked.

“Megan, with all due respect, butt out.”

“You’re fooling yourself if you think things aren’t going to get worse,” she said.

I glanced at the cheermongers, who were practically drooling as they strained to hear what she was saying.

“Why are you so desperate to interfere with my life?” I asked.

But the thing was…secretly, I kind of knew I owed Megan an explanation. If she was in danger, didn’t she deserve to know what was going on? But I was like a freight train barreling toward the end of the tracks—no turning back.

And everything she said scared me more.

“I’m only trying to help you,” she said. She was indignant, not angry.

“Let me be clear. I don’t want your help,” I said.

Our audience had grown. The between-class crowds had stopped to eavesdrop.

“If you would just talk to me for a minute—”

“Talk to you?” I repeated. “Oh yeah, because we have such a wonderful, open relationship. I should pour my heart out to you.”

Anyone else would have walked away.

But Megan didn’t. She gritted her teeth and seemed to brace herself. “Okay, Alexis. I’m sorry we’re not better friends, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand what you’re going through.”

“Understand?” I asked.

I heard a murmur pass over the crowd, and I knew that this was a confrontation that some people in the school had been hoping to see for a long time.

I barreled ahead. “Sorry, this is a little more complex than spelling out words with your arms or getting your nails done. I somehow doubt that you comprehend the problems real people have.”

For the first time Megan noticed the gathered crowd. She lowered her voice even further and sounded genuinely confused. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

The thing was, just like with Carter and the architecture thing, I really did want to hear what she had to say. I just didn’t want to hear it from her.

Alexis’s universe, Megan’s universe. One is over here, and the other one is waaaaaay over there. Completely separate. And that’s how I liked them. But now Megan was stirring the pot.

I’d seen firsthand the damage her clique could do. No way was I going to let them loose on Kasey.

Crazy or not.

“You guys already messed with my best friend,” I said. “Now you’re coming after my little sister?”

And then I thought of the perfect thing to say, the thing that would put Megan in her place, hopefully make her go away. For good.

I took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be your next victim. I know you think because your mom is dead that you have the right to say whatever you want. But please. Leave me out of this. Leave my family out of this.”

Boom.

Silence.

Megan stepped backward and knocked into one of the kids who’d been watching us.

“Leave her alone,” someone said, and I assumed they were talking to me.

A tall, lanky guy, the star of the basketball team and arguably the single most popular boy in the entire school, took a step toward Megan. “Lay off her, Wiley.” He looked at all of the cheerleaders and shook his head, disgusted. “What’s wrong with you? Could you guys just try to be human for once?”

Megan looked at him in disbelief. Then she looked at me.

I hated myself.

She still didn’t look angry—just hurt and confused, which only made me hate myself more.

“I just wanted…to help….” she said.

Then she walked off, a line of girls trailing after her in defeat.

The basketball player patted me on the back.

“Take it easy, Pink,” he said, and walked away. The crowd in the hall hovered for a moment, taking everything in, and then dispersed.

I stood alone in the hallway as the bell rang, feeling totally numb. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Mrs. Ames.

She looked down at me, a deep frown on her face. “I need to see you in my office.”

16

MRS. AMES USHERED ME BACK TO HER OFFICE.

“You have a telephone call,” she said, waving me to her desk chair. The receiver sat off the cradle.

My father is dead. My mother is dead. Kasey is dead.

“Hello?” I said, surprised that I could formulate a proper word.

“Alexis, it’s Mom.”

“What happened?” I braced myself for the worst. “What? Nothing. What do you mean?” “Dad’s okay?”

“Oh…yes, sorry,” she said, sounding only a fraction as apologetic as she should have, for giving me such a scare.

I sighed out the huge breath I’d been holding. “I talked to the police,” she said. “They made a mistake. The brakes weren’t tampered with.” “They weren’t?”

“Yes, they went over the car just now—”

“They’re positive?”

“Yes, they’re definitely sure,” she said. She drew in a slow breath. “Alexis, I’m sorry about…the way it looked last night….”

I had two options: one, tell her what Kasey did and try to explain the whole sordid mess, with Mrs. Ames breathing down my neck; or two, let it slide for now and explain later.