The Good Girls (14 page)

THE REST OF THE SCHOOL
day was a blur as Caitlin tried—and failed—to focus on classes and soccer practice. In chemistry, she kept watching the door, sure someone was going to burst in and announce that Ashley Ferguson was dead. At soccer, she kept her phone on her—much to Coach Leah's chagrin—waiting for a call that the police wanted to see her again. Or, even worse, a text that said that someone else on their list was dead. She kept one eye on Ursula Winters, too, wondering if Ursula was behind all this. She
was
in their film studies class. Had she heard their conversation that day? Was that why Ursula was snickering as she took a long pull from her Gatorade bottle? Were those scratches on Ursula's arms from a struggle with Ashley Ferguson in her house?

But
why?

Caitlin avoided her new friends, too, freaked out by the conversation with Ava and Mac that morning. Not that they wanted to talk to her anyway. When Ava saw her at the end of the hall between fourth and fifth periods, she turned and walked in the opposite direction. When she and Mac were next to each other in the cafeteria line, Mac shifted to the salad line to avoid speaking with her. And on top of everything, Jeremy was also avoiding her. Although maybe she was avoiding him, too. They'd had a few stilted conversations after their botched date on Satuday, but Caitlin could tell he was still upset . . . and maybe she was still upset, too. She'd left him message after message the night of the concert, trying to apologize and reason with him. He was seeing this as so black and white.

On top of all that, her appointment with Dr. Rose was this afternoon. She walked into the police station so on edge that she felt like even her eyelids were trembling. She felt guilty—for
everything.
Which didn't even make sense. Just because she'd been part of a conversation where a bunch of girls named people they wouldn't mind seeing dead—and said enemies then
died
—didn't make her a murderer. It wasn't like her words were magic or they were God. But what
was
happening? Who was doing this?

Could it be one of them?

“Sit down, Caitlin,” Dr. Rose said, gesturing to a chair across from her. Caitlin sat stiffly, her hands in her lap.
The clock ticked noisily in the corner. Caitlin stared at the spines on the books in the corner. They were all technical psychological journals that would probably put her to sleep.

“So.” Dr. Rose tapped her nails on her clipboard. “I heard a girl went missing at school today.”

Caitlin's head whipped up. She hadn't expected Dr. Rose to talk about
that.
“Uh, yeah,” she said as casually as she could. “Ashley Ferguson.”

“Do you know her?”

Caitlin shook her head. “Not really. She was in a few of my classes, that's all.”

“Film studies, right?”

A chill went up Caitlin's spine. What did Dr. Rose know? “Uh, yeah,” she said vaguely.

“The man who taught that class recently died, didn't he?”

Her heard pounded fast. “Yeah.”

Dr. Rose made a note. Caitlin was almost positive it had something to do with the Granger–breaking into his house–film studies–Ashley connection.
God,
this all looked so bad for her. “So did Ashley ever give you any trouble? I heard she was a bit of a bully.”

Caitlin shook her head with an honest no. “I barely knew her.”

“But she
was
giving someone trouble, wasn't she? Someone you know?”

Caitlin felt a pull in her chest. “Well, maybe,” she said in a small voice.

“You can tell me who it is.” Dr. Rose leaned forward. “Everything you tell me here is confidential.”

It was weird: At school when they were talking, Caitlin had felt like she couldn't trust the other girls anymore, that it was every man for himself at this point. But now, faced with a cop—well, kind of a cop, anyway—she couldn't bring herself to tell on Julie. It felt like a huge betrayal. Julie was nice and sweet. She didn't deserve the way Ashley had treated her, and she couldn't be capable of murder.

“Ashley sent that email to the whole school about Julie's mom being a hoarder, didn't she?” Dr. Rose said smoothly.

Caitlin blinked. So Dr. Rose already knew. “Something like that.”

“Then she put kitty litter in Julie's locker, and she posted a picture on Instagram. Is that right?”

Caitlin lowered her eyes. The cops were checking
Instagram
now?

“Did Julie seem upset by what Ashley was doing to her?” Dr. Rose asked.

Something in Caitlin broke loose. “Of course she did,” she blurted. “Anyone would be. Ashley was so,
so
mean—and Julie had done nothing to deserve it. Julie's
a good person. She would never hurt anybody, not even a bully.”

“There was a situation in your life where someone you loved was bullied, right?”

Caitlin froze. “Well, yes,” she said in a muffled voice. “My brother, Taylor. Nolan Hotchkiss picked on him. And then he killed himself.”

“So you're a little sensitive about bullies, aren't you?”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

Dr. Rose wrote something on her notepad. Caitlin wished she could see what it was. Did it say Caitlin had extra motive to hurt Nolan?

“I didn't do anything,” she said suddenly.

“I'm not saying you did,” Dr. Rose replied pleasantly.

Afterward, in her car, Caitlin almost ran two red lights and crashed into an oncoming school bus, she was so distracted. It was so hard to read what Dr. Rose had thought of her. Did she suspect Caitlin now? Did she suspect Julie? Or was she just good at asking annoying questions?

She drove without knowing where she was going, finding herself at Jeremy's house even though she hadn't called to say she was coming. She stopped at the curb, grabbed her keys, and let herself in—something she'd been doing for years. This was the first time she'd done it for Jeremy, though, not Josh, and that felt a little weird.

She found Jeremy in the den, watching a black-and-white zombie movie that she vaguely remembered Taylor watching once. The memory made her smile a little. “Hey,” she said quietly.

Jeremy didn't look up. “Hey.”

Caitlin's stomach swooped. She needed him now.
Badly.
She walked over and sat next to him, trying to lean into his side, but his shoulder was stiff. Finally he put a hand on her knee, gave it a squeeze, then took it off again. At least it was something . . . but it wasn't enough.

“How was your day?” she asked, turning to look at him. But he kept his eyes on the screen, where a zombie was tearing into a cow.

“Pretty good.”

No question about how
her
day was. No details about the zombie movie they were watching. No comment even about the freaking
weather
—she'd take anything at this point.

“So you're still mad at me?” she finally asked.

Jeremy looked down at the floor for a moment. “I'm trying. I really am. It might just take me a little while longer to get past it.”

“Okay.” At least he was being honest about his feelings. She took his hand. “Well, will you let me know when you're totally past it so we can make out again?”

Jeremy couldn't help but chuckle. “Okay.”

Before Caitlin could say anything else, she heard an awkward clomping and shuffling sound, and Josh appeared in the doorway. His face was red from exertion, and he leaned heavily on his crutches. His left foot and lower leg were completely swallowed up by an enormous cast. Only his toes peeked out. When he saw Caitlin and Jeremy, his face clouded a little. Caitlin felt Jeremy's body tense up next to her on the couch.

Caitlin dropped Jeremy's hand and shifted forward. “That thing's massive,” she said, pointing at the cast. She couldn't just pretend Josh wasn't here.

“Yeah.” Josh started clomping toward the laundry room.

“How bad is your break?” she asked.

He paused in front of the TV. “Pretty bad. I may not be able to start next year.”

Caitlin widened her eyes. “Holy crap. I'm sorry.” Once again, she couldn't help but think it had been
her
fault.

Josh just shrugged. “I mean, what can I do? I'll hit physical therapy hard. I'll try my best, but if I can't start, I can't start. The UDub coach has promised I'll still have the scholarship.”

Caitlin was stunned by his calm demeanor. She would have guessed Josh would be a hostile mess. If he was in a bad mood, he usually went outside and kicked the ball around for a while. He never seemed as relaxed or happy as he did after a long practice. But here he was, totally
sidelined—with even his college career in jeopardy—and he seemed . . . okay.

“Uh, can you move?” Jeremy broke the silence. “I can't see.”

Josh looked at his brother for a beat, then shrugged and passed by, making his slow, painful progress across the room again. Caitlin watched him recede, noting that he hadn't said anything nasty to Jeremy about his choice in movies, or made Caitlin feel awkward at all for being here with his brother. When had Josh become so mature? Had breaking up with her done that?

Then she turned and looked at Jeremy, surprised at his nastiness. Jeremy met her gaze for a moment, his eyes narrowed, his features sharp and on alert. He looked like he was about to defend himself . . . or maybe bite her head off. On instinct, Caitlin flashed him a reassuring smile.
I'm with you,
she hoped her look told him as she pushed thoughts of Josh out of her head.
There's no need to be jealous.

It seemed to defuse the tension. Jeremy's face relaxed into an almost sheepish expression. “Uh, thanks!” he yelled toward Josh, and though it was totally fake, Caitlin appreciated the effort.

“So, where were we?” she asked teasingly, sliding closer to him. “Oh, that's right—we were scheduling our next make-out session.”

Jeremy put his arm around her. Still mystified by the confused thoughts she'd had about Josh, Caitlin leaned into Jeremy and felt his body soften as she curled into him, pressing close together, forming a perfect curve.

PARKER SHOT UP STRAIGHT. WHERE
was she? She knew she'd been sleeping—and it felt like it had been for a long time. She looked around, taking in the familiar sights. A square room with a makeshift window. A musty smell in the air. Outside, she caught a glimpse of the side of a white stuccoed house far in the distance. Wait a minute. She
knew
that house.

She jumped up, quickly pulling up her hoodie and locating her kicked-off shoes across the space. She was in the woods behind Nolan Hotchkiss's house. Long ago, someone had built a hunting cabin here. No one used it anymore but, for whatever reason, it had never been torn down. Parker and Nolan hung out there a lot when they were friends—they used to call it their clubhouse—and when things were really shitty at home, she sometimes
crashed here. She'd brought Julie here a few times, too, though Julie said the place freaked her out.

“Jesus Christ,” she said aloud. What had possessed her to come
here
? Was she insane? They were already suspects in Nolan's murder—the last thing she needed to do was get caught skulking around near his property. She'd really lost it.

When she pushed out the door, the woods were quiet. She walked toward his house and through his backyard. Police tape no longer surrounded the property; it was back to looking perfect and pristine, as though no crime had ever happened. Heart pounding, Parker padded across the dewy grass, toward the bus stop a few avenues over. She didn't see anyone on the way, no 6
AM
runners or dads walking dogs. Had she honestly gotten away with sleeping here?

But it didn't surprise her, in a way. As usual, it felt like she wasn't even there.

That afternoon, Parker pushed open the heavy door to CoffeeWorks, the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop she'd been frequenting lately. It wasn't Café Mud, the steel-and-reclaimed-wood mother ship of cool where most Beacon High students hung out during free periods. But the dim lighting and strong coffee was exactly what Parker needed right now. Something rattled against her cheeks, and she
put up her hands to see what it was.
Julie's earrings.
The silver wire chandeliers with the pretty beads. She'd forgotten she'd borrowed them. She was forgetting more and more every day. In fact, when had she last
spoken
to Julie? She vaguely remembered sitting on a bluff all alone last night, drinking from a six-pack of beer, talking to Julie on the phone. Julie had been in one of her hysterical moods. Julie had started by saying something about how Mac had stopped by and had told Julie all these terrible things about Claire—apparently she'd practically annihilated Mac's chances at Juilliard. Then Julie had moved on to Parker. She'd asked where Parker was and when was she coming back to Julie's. She'd badgered Parker, telling Parker it felt like she was keeping secrets.
You can tell me,
Julie had urged.
You need to tell me.
But Parker had groaned, rolling her eyes.
I'm not keeping
secrets, she'd said. But, in fact, she was keeping one big secret: She had started seeing Fielder again.

As Julie continued to pester her, Parker had felt crowded, and then things had devolved into a fight again . . . and Parker couldn't remember the rest of the call.

Which is probably why she'd woken up where she did that morning.

Parker rubbed her face with her hands, feeling the nubby scars under her palms. She really needed to get it together. She needed to talk more to Elliot—er, Fielder—about
focusing. Maybe he could give her more visualization techniques. She shut her eyes and tried to hear his calming voice. It immediately soothed her. The sessions she'd had with him so far must be working.

Then she took stock of the room. The espresso machine whirred and chugged, a barista banged wet grounds into the garbage, and the door opened and closed behind her, sending a cool draft of air washing over her legs.

“Can I help the next customer?” the pierced and tatted gender-neutral cashier called out.

Parker stepped up to the counter and ordered a triple latte. Just as she dumped a few bucks on the counter, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“So this is where you come instead of school, huh?”

Parker spun around. It was Ava, her long silken hair framing her face, her almond eyes perfectly outlined with plum liner. Her tone was friendly, and she was smiling.

“Hey,” Parker said. She shrugged sheepishly, realizing that it was after noon—and she
wasn't
in school. Then again, neither was Ava. “You playing hooky, too?”

“Oh, I just needed some caffeine. I'll probably go back for seventh period.” Ava gestured to a table near the window. “Want to sit?”

Parker shrugged. “Okay.”

They got their drinks and went to a table in the back, near an old-timey Pac-Man arcade that Parker had always
thought was a nice touch. Ava stared into her cappuccino. Parker realized she'd never actually spoken to Ava—or any of the others—without Julie there. She wondered how Ava thought of her. As a Julie hanger-on? A freak, after all that stuff with her dad?

Stop shortchanging yourself,
Fielder had told her in their last session.
People don't automatically look at you and see a freak. Smile every once in a while. You'll be surprised who smiles back.
Okay, it was a little Walt Disney–It's-a-Small-World happy, but maybe she should try it.

She smiled carefully at Ava. “How are you holding up?”

And just like that, like Fielder said, Ava gave her a smile in return. “Okay, I guess. But I'm freaked out because of the cops. Aren't you?”

“Yeah, totally.” Parker stirred sugar into her latte with a splintering wooden stick. “It's pretty scary.” Scary couldn't even begin to describe it.

The police will figure out the real truth, don't worry,
Fielder had said to her, when she'd blurted it out to him in a session yesterday—after which he'd gotten her coffee, saying that caffeine might help her headaches. Parker hoped he was right, about the caffeine and the police. She hated that they were suspects again.

“How are you feeling about Ashley?”

Parker cupped her hands around her cup of coffee. “You mean the cat litter and the Instagram? Not great, honestly.”
An image of her friend's pained and humiliated face in the hallway the other day flashed through Parker's mind. And Parker couldn't fathom what Julie's homelife must be like right now without those cats as a buffer. Maybe
that
was why she'd stayed away from Julie's the past two days.

Ava frowned. A tiny wrinkle formed between her eyes. “No . . . I mean that Ashley's been missing since Tuesday.”

Parker froze, her mind shifting gears. “She's
what
?”

“Her parents can't find her. The police are looking everywhere.” Ava's expression was strange. “You haven't heard?”

Parker felt her lips start to tremble. Something prodded at her memory, but she couldn't quite figure out what. “That's terrible,” she said, staring off into the distance. On the other hand, it was wonderful Ashley was gone. She wouldn't torment Julie anymore.

“But we shouldn't worry about it, right?” she said. “I mean, that's where you're going with this, aren't you? Just because we rattled off some names doesn't mean we have any control over them dying or going missing or whatever.”

“Maybe,” Ava said distantly. She started to tear her napkin into tiny shreds.

Parker swallowed hard. Was Ava worried that someone
was
killing off the people on their list?

“Well, at least Alex is cleared,” Parker piped up, changing the subject. “Everything cool with you guys?”

Ava stirred her coffee. “Um, yeah,” she answered, still distracted. “I think we're going to be okay.”

Parker nodded, happy for Ava. “I'm really glad it worked out. If only getting
him
cleared didn't get us back in trouble.”

“Yeah.” Ava stared at the floor. Then she peeked at Parker. It looked like she wanted to say something, but then she looked down and clamped her mouth shut.

“What?” Parker asked.

Ava's eyes darted back and forth. Once again she seemed to be mustering up courage, but then the light in her eyes dimmed. “Oh, nothing. Hey, I heard Nyssa Frankel is still having a party on Friday, despite everything.”

Parker shrugged. “Nyssa never cancels her parties.” Back when they were friends, Parker used to say that Nyssa could be in traction from two broken legs and she'd still hold her annual Halloween celebration. “I probably won't go, though.”

“Really?” Ava touched her arm. “Maybe we all should. It would make us seem normal, you know?”

“Maybe,” Parker said absently, though she doubted it.

A few droplets of coffee dribbled from Ava's cup onto the table. She wiped them up with a napkin, clearing her throat awkwardly. “I love this place. I came here after our meeting with the cops the other day, actually. I was so freaked, I just wanted the biggest frappé I could buy. That was really stressful, don't you think?”

Parker squinted, trying to recall what she'd done after the police station. She'd blown off Julie, she remembered, not waiting to meet up with her after Julie's interview with the psychological profiler. She'd felt bad about that later—she remembered bringing it up to Fielder yesterday.
Julie probably wanted me to stick around and see how it had gone,
she'd said.
But I just
. . .
couldn't.
Fielder had asked Parker why, and she'd told him she'd felt compelled to bolt.
Because of something that happened?
Fielder had asked, but Parker said she wasn't sure.
Maybe it was because the idea of someone prying into people's psyches scares you,
Fielder pointed out.
You have trust issues. Am I getting somewhere?

Parker realized suddenly that Dr. Rose hadn't yet contacted her for her own interview. Then again, that was probably good: She already had a psychologist. She didn't need another one.

She looked up and noticed Ava wasn't listening anymore. She had spotted something by the front door and frozen in her seat. “Uh oh,” she whispered.

Parker spun around to see a blond, bedazzled, heavily tanned blur barreling straight for Ava. “What the—” She watched in confusion as a middle-aged woman in a gray silk dress grabbed Ava by her arm. After a beat, Parker recognized her from Ava's house the other day. It was Ava's stepmom.

“I knew I'd find you in this shithole!” the woman spat, smelling heavily like booze and perfume.

“Hi, Leslie,” Ava said through clenched teeth. She turned toward Parker. “I'm sure you remember my friend—”

Leslie cut her off. “I come all the way down to school to sign you out so you can help me set up for my mother's arrival tonight, and they can't even
find
you, you ungrateful bitch.” Leslie yanked Ava to her feet roughly, pelting her with questions. “Do you skip school often? What do you think your father would think about that? And how dare you not be there for me?”

“I'm sorry,” Ava said. She pulled away from Leslie and straightened her clothes. “I—I forgot. And didn't think you wanted me involved.” Her voice was strong but guarded. Parker recognized the tone—she'd used the same one with her dad plenty of times. It was her
don't wake the bear
voice. Don't say anything to piss him off. Though, inevitably, Parker always had.

Leslie tossed her head. “Oh, I
don't
want you involved. In fact, it would be best if you were absent the entire weekend. Your father agrees.”

Ava gasped. She glanced around the coffeehouse. Patrons were staring. “He would never say that,” she whispered.

Leslie tittered. “Just ask him. He'll tell you. He wants
you out of our lives completely, Ava dear. And you know what? All those things you're accused of? He thinks you're guilty.”

Ava's eyes flashed. “You're a liar.”

Leslie rolled her eyes. “Takes one to know one.”

Ava's bottom lip trembled. “I should tell him all the things you say to me. How much you drink. I think he deserves to know the real you—don't you?”

Leslie's mouth dropped open. With frightening speed, her talon-like fingers flicked out and wrapped around Ava's wrist again. “How
dare
you.”

Ava winced in pain. Parker stared at Leslie's nails. They were digging so deeply into Ava's skin that little flecks of blood began to appear. All at once, Parker was awash in a flood of similar memories about her father. She felt the cuts in Ava's skin as acutely as if they were on her own arm.

Parker shot to her feet. “Hey,” she started, reaching toward Ava to pull her back.

But Leslie had released Ava's arm as though nothing were amiss. She turned to Parker, looking at her for the first time. At first, there was a hint of a sweet smile on her face, but then her eyes narrowed, and her look turned dismissive. She turned back to Ava. “You're following me.
Now
.”

With that, she spun on her absurdly high heels and marched back to her car. Tears streaming down her face,
Ava grabbed her purse, leaving her coffee on the table, and with one heartbreaking sob, she headed out the front door, too.

“Ava!” Parker followed fast on her heels. “Ava! Wait!”

But Ava jumped into her car and slammed the door before Parker could get to her. She revved her engine, backed roughly out of her parking space, and was gone.

Parker stood alone in the parking lot.
Poor Ava.
Why hadn't anyone stood up for her? Why hadn't she, just now? A crashing barrage of memories flooded Parker's mind: of her father hitting her, her mother standing by watching. Of the sound of her father's voice when she came home high on Oxy . . .
that
night. Of her mother saying “Oh, Parker, how could you?” as if it were all Parker's fault. Her stomach roiled, and her head continued to spin. Her hands trembled, and her breath came in ragged bursts as she tried, desperately, to get herself under control.