Feral (12 page)

“Whatever,” Chas said. “You know what I mean.” He rolled his eyes.

“What about you?” Chas said, nodding once at Owen. “You're not going to defend me here? Going to let your girlfriend skewer me here, like I'm some horrible person, just because I didn't want to date her stupid friend?”

“Chas—” Owen sighed. His face was turning gray. “Not—now.”

“Why
not
now?” Chas bellowed. “What is
with
you? What's with everybody? Why should it matter—
damn
,” he swore, tossing his phone onto the table. “I don't care
what's
going on with Serena. It doesn't magically change the way things really were. We
didn't want to be together. I didn't want to be with her. Get it through your skull, Becca.
”

“If you didn't want to be together, you should have said so,” Becca said. She pointed at Ruthie, saying, “It didn't give
you
two the right to . . .”

Ruthie tucked her long dark hair behind her ears, leaned forward, and started, “Listen, Becca—” But she didn't have the time to get it all out before Rich interrupted her.

“Come on, Becca,” Rich moaned. “We're trying to help here. I know everybody's frazzled—the storm—not knowing where she is . . . We all want to find Serena. It's finally clear enough—safe enough—for us all to get out.”

Becca shook her head. “No,” she grumbled repeatedly. “No.”

Claire tilted her head at the girl, confused by her response. “Don't you want a search party?” she asked quietly. Because the first thing she and her father had done when the power had gotten back up was turn on their TV. She'd heard the entire story, finally—the missing girl. The ice storm.
Fear the worst
—that was the phrase they'd used.

Claire knew all about the worst. She'd looked it square in the eye. Didn't Becca want to save Serena from it?

“Do I
want
a search party?” Becca repeated, her mouth dangling open. “Haven't you ever had a best friend?” she blurted, staring at Claire.

Claire drew her arms in toward her body, unable to answer.

“You don't even know what we're looking for,” Becca told Rich, shaking her head. “My father told me, though.”

“What?” Claire finally asked Becca. “What are they looking for?”

“A body,” Becca said. “My dad said they're looking for a body. And what did
we
do that first day of the ice storm?” she asked, looking straight at Owen. “We went home.”

Owen pushed his tray away from him, without touching so much as a single bite, obviously feeling guilty about the way he'd dismissed Becca's concerns at 'Bout Out.

“We got off the road to save our precious cars, and our precious selves,” Becca went on, “while
Serena
—” She shook her head, tossed her napkin onto her tray.

“Whatever,” Chas mumbled. He grabbed his own tray and his phone, stood, and stormed out of the lunchroom.

“Becca,” Rich said, leaning across the table. There was just something about him, Claire noted—he was as comforting as a cool rag on a fever. She wondered if he hadn't picked that ability up from his father, the preacher. “Everybody's worried, okay?” he said evenly. “It's making us all crazy. But there's going to be a search party, and I'm going to be there. And I hope you will be, too.”

She nodded. “Thanks, Rich,” she croaked, taking hold of her tray and standing.

“You can come out with us, too, Claire,” Rich said.

“I can't,” Claire muttered, “I just—can't.” She grabbed her own tray and hurried away, before she had to explain that the word
body
was still ringing through her head—along with the knowledge that she had only barely escaped being a body, too.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

O
ne more hour
, Claire chanted to herself that afternoon, ducking her head into her chest as she attempted to navigate the dark hallways of Peculiar High.
One more hour, and this nightmare of a day will finally be over.

Checking her schedule for the fifth time, Claire turned into her history classroom only to find Ms. Isles, the lunch monitor, sitting behind the large desk at the front of the room and Becca Holman sitting at a desk beside the window. As Claire stood, dumbly, in the doorway, Becca lifted her head and offered a weary smile and half a wave. She tried to usher her toward the empty seat beside her.

But Claire sidestepped Becca's offer, lunging straight for a seat in the back. She didn't mean to be rude, but she was exhausted and she didn't have the energy for another encounter like she'd had at lunch.
Haven't you ever had a best friend?
The words had settled into her skin like bruises.

She hid her face behind her hand while Becca tried to get her attention, whispering her name all through seventh period history.

Not that Ms. Isles noticed. At least, she didn't act as though she did—she didn't snap at Becca, not like any other teacher would have, calling her out by name and embarrassing her into silence.

When the final bell rang, Claire bent forward to scoop up her backpack, the old cameo bouncing once against her chin and then falling back into her blouse, adhering to her sticky, nervous skin as she bolted from the classroom.

“Claire,” Becca hissed.

Claire didn't answer. She raced into the hallway, which echoed now with the thudding of metal locker doors. All those combination locks, spinning open. Claire remembered the last time she'd visited her locker at the end of a school day. She remembered that when she'd slammed the metal door, Rachelle had been standing right there, leaning against the wall.
Haven't you ever had a best friend?
The question lingered in Claire's mind as she remembered the plans she and Rachelle had made. The library.
I'll meet you there
, Rachelle had said casually.

It was too much, all of it. Remembering Rachelle and feeling lonely and being in Peculiar during an ice storm and knowing a girl had disappeared and being surrounded by a sea of school uniforms—it made her feel as though danger had perched on her shoulder. And even though she tried not to, she still missed her best friend. She had never had another person in her life who fit beside her like Rachelle had. Being alone in a new school and apart from Rachelle made Claire feel like half a sentence missing its ending. She tried to remind herself that Rachelle had changed after the accident. That she had treated Claire like a damaged thing. She tried to remind herself how much she'd hated it. Still, she missed the old Rachelle so much, the ache nearly crushed her chest.

Claire darted into a bathroom, where she lurched into a back stall, slammed a silver slide lock into the door.

She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool stall door. She gritted her teeth, heart beating inside her like a club.

Her shoulders heaved with raw emotion as she cried silently. She cried for her friend and because she was lonely and because she already hated this place—this rotten, old, scary place. She cried because she was in a uniform and a guard was outside and her escape—Peculiar—felt exactly like Chicago, the very place she'd wanted to escape from. She cried because a semester felt like the longest stretch of time in the world. She cried because all she wanted to do was run away. She cried until the stalls around her emptied and voices tapered off.

Claire wiped her face with the back of her hand, slid the lock free, and cracked the door of her stall. She splashed some cold water on her face and hurried to her locker, where she quickly shrugged herself into her coat.

The hallway echoed as she raced through the vacant corridors and down the stairwell, branded with a giant black panther—the Peculiar High mascot that stared at her, its fangs exposed as if it, too, were feral, and coming after her. She could almost hear it snarling.

She sucked in a breath at the base of the stairs, and pushed through the back door, into the frosty late-afternoon air. The ice-coated snow crunched and gave beneath Claire's shoes as she cut across a patch of grass and hurried toward the parking lot out front. In the stillness of the deserted school grounds, each step Claire took echoed inside her, the same way granola cereal echoed inside her ears as she chewed.

She stepped onto the gray sidewalk. Chunks of rock salt popped under her soles as she hunkered down inside her coat.

With an abrupt burst, a streetlight came to life above her. Claire flinched, staring straight up into the orange light glowing against the darkening overcast sky. Her mouth ran dry as she remembered the streetlights coming to life the last time she'd walked home alone, from her father's library. With her eyes tilted upward, her foot struck a patch of ice, and she skidded. She threw her arms out, saving herself from a fall. But she slammed headfirst into another awful sense of déjà vu.

She shook it off, shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her coat, and pressed forward. As she neared the corner, the doors opened on an old white Honda parked against the curb. Claire slowed, watching Becca step from the car, along with Owen and Chas.

Claire shivered as she glanced toward the school parking lot, finding that even the spaces reserved for faculty had emptied. Rich's truck was gone. No one was left—except for Rhine, who paced beside the front door in his big black uniform, thumbs hooked stupidly in his belt.

Rhine stopped pacing to eye Claire, at the same moment that the front passenger door of the Honda swung shut.

“Hey,” Becca said, leaning against the front fender. “I'd started to think we'd missed you.”

“Missed me?” Claire repeated.

“I thought if your dad's working, you'd probably like a ride. It's
freezing
out here.” She shuddered to emphasize her point, but didn't need to. Beneath her short black parka, her bare knees were already beginning to turn a pinkish-coral hue in the cold.

Claire nodded in agreement to Becca's observation on the cold, ducking down deeper inside her own coat.

“Great,” Becca said, taking Claire's nod as an agreement to let them drive her home. “Come on—if you want, we can drive you to 'Bout Out, too. So we can all go to the search party. I've got to get some jeans before I head out. We can wait while you change, too.”

“Don't know how you girls can stand those schoolgirl uniforms in the winter,” Chas said, eyeing Becca's pink knees.

Claire instantly felt all the blood pour straight down to pool at her ankles. The hair on her arms stood up like porcupine quills inside her coat.
Schoolgirl.
The word echoed inside her skull. The same word that had tipped her off, in the alley. That had first made her think those boys were following her.

Right then, she didn't want to go anywhere with anyone. She just wanted to be
home.

“It's not that bad,” Claire answered. “This coat is like wearing a brick house. Honestly. I'm going to walk.”

“Walk?” Becca asked. “Don't be silly. We live on the same road. I'd feel weird leaving you out here.”

“I appreciate it,” Claire said. “I just really would like some time—to myself.” To prove it, she turned and hurried down the sidewalk, in the direction of her house.

“Must be my winning personality,” Chas snickered. He slipped into the backseat.

Claire relaxed a little as car doors slammed shut behind her. They would drive away now, she told herself.
It's okay
, she tried to assure her racing heart.
Uniforms, the ice, streetlights. A word. So what? It's coincidence. It doesn't mean anything. You know that. “Schoolgirl.” Really. You're going to let some harmless word scare you? Please. Be logical.

The car started just behind Claire's shoulder. But instead of the engine growing quieter and farther away, it grew louder.

“Claire!” Becca shouted, making Claire flinch. “Come on! This is silly.”

Claire turned, frowning, toward the street. Instead of leaving, the Honda was crawling along beside her. The passenger side windows were rolled down. From the backseat, Chas stuck his head out to call, “Hey there, new girl. Do me a favor and get in this car. Becca won't let us leave until she gets you in this car. Pretty please?”

“Nah, it's okay.” Claire
could not
do it. Because when she looked at that car, she only saw a dead end. Just like the one she'd raced into in that Chicago parking lot.

“Come on,” Owen's voice called from the front seat. When Claire looked, she saw him nearly lying in Becca's lap, looking out the open passenger window. “Becca's right. You shouldn't be out here on your own like this. Come on. If you don't want to sit with Chas, you can have the front seat.”

“No,” she said, her voice stronger, final this time. “I'm walking. Thank you.”

“Hey, pretty girl,” Chas called.

Claire's frown deepened and she hurried forward.

“Don't pay attention to him,” Becca moaned, jabbing her thumb behind her shoulder, toward Chas. “He's an idiot. Come on.”

“Pretty schoolgirl,” Chas called, singsong. The word—
schoolgirl
—was like a hand grabbing her.

“
Buzz off
,” Claire shouted viciously.

Becca's head jutted backward in shock.

Claire picked up the pace, hurrying down the sidewalk, past Rhine, who still stood at the school's door.

The Honda's engine roared. She turned to find the grille sneering at her, inching closer. Claire shoved her hands back in her pockets and quickened her pace again. Her breath came faster, harder, turning the air around her head into a cloud.

“Is something wrong?” Becca shouted. “Come on. Don't be like this. Let us take you home.”