I’m cold and sticky, despite the warmth of the house. My body comes to a sudden stop when I bump into a firm, lean, muscular body.
“Lacey?” Sam’s familiar voice pulls me from my spiral but his voice causes me to crack. I sob so hard my chest starts to hurt.
In between labored breaths, I scream,“Call the cops! Oh my god.” Sobbing now. “Nicole. She’s dead.”
Sam looks at me as if I’ve lost my damn mind. Confusion written all over his beautiful face. “I just saw her.” He tries to relax me. But I pull away, running towards the speaker playing music and tuggingon the cable.
The music comes to an abrupt stop. “Nicole. Call the cops!”
People gather around us, some head outside muttering a bunch of nonsense. No one seems to care until a scream comes from outside. That’s when the confusion and panic erupts throughout the house.
“What the fuck is going on?” Stacey snaps, pushing her way through the crowd. Irritation is etched across her perfect face as she looks directly at her twin. “Is she serious right now?”
“Nicole is dead!” I scream at her. “She’s dead.” Pointing at the window, my body shaking with fear. “Someone is out there. Someone is hunting us.”
JESSICA
Runaway by Bon Jovi
“It is with heavy hearts that we come together today as a school to say goodbye to our beloved classmate,” Principal Matthews says from the podium at the front of the auditorium.
He’s gotten rid of his ridiculous bow tie today, instead opting for a simple black tie. “Nicole was a shining star here at Sunnyvale—cheer squad member, excellent student, prom queen candidate.”
“They’re acting like she died in a tragic accident,” Trish snarks from beside me. “Why the fuck are we not talking about the murderer on the loose?”
She’s right. It is fucking weird. Where’s the news crews, the panic, the fear permeating the air of the town.
“You think it’s the same one who killed Courtney?” I ask.
Trish and I haven’t talked a lot since we hooked up, but the thought of being around Stacey and her crowd of cronies while they all give bullshit soap opera worthy performances of fake grief makes me feel sick. I’ve dealt with enough fake bullshit for a lifetime.
“Dude, I don’t know,” she continues to whisper in my ear as the principal continues to drone on. Students around us sob and hug each other. “Nothing like this happens in Sunnyvale. Like, never. So, hard to believe it’s a coincidence, right?”
The truth is that it is too big of a coincidence. Towns don’t go from safe and sound to full of murderers overnight. And then realization hits me. Unease twists in my chest as I stare down at Stacey sitting below, her shimmering black hair perfectly styled, her baby pink dress tightly hugging her curves.
“They were both prom queen candidates, right?” I ask Trish.
She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. We know that they both were. But could someone really be out here killing off potential prom queens?
Stacey turns her head, her emerald eyes clashing with my own. She doesn’t look sad, not like everyone else here. She looks murderous.
“Something’s off about her,” Trish whispers in my ear when she follows my gaze. “She and her brother are… too close. You know what I mean? They’re bad news. I told you.”
Stacey and Sam are close. Closer than siblings usually are, even for twins. But it’s not like they’re fucking each other on the corpsesof their dead classmates, right?
“You’re right,” I nod to acknowledge Trish but never let my eyes leave Stacey’s. Sam has his arm slung over her shoulder and is wrapping her silky raven hair around his finger. “Something is very off with those two.”
***
“Jessica!” someone calls from behind me as I make my way down the hall. Students keep moving on either side of me, backpacks and bags knocking into me as I turn to look. “Jessica, wait up!”
Lacey is running down the hallway after me. People don’t seem to push and shove her, like they do me. They move out of her way and allow her to shimmy down the hallway in her heels. The beauty of being blonde I guess. Her blonde hair is teased and poofed up in the back to create volume, and she’s wearing a teal and purple dress that’s tight on the top but with a flowing skirt that ends mid thigh. She has huge hoops in her ears that sway with every step.
“Thanks for waiting for me, girl,” she says as she catches up to me. “These heels are hard to run in.” She nods down at her pumps which look so pretty and polished next to my worn down Chucks.
“Sure,” I tell her as we head down the hall towards the cafeteria.
My classes were extra shitty this morning. I figured they’d give us a break since we’re second semester seniors, most of us legal adultswho are about to go out into the world in a matter of weeks, plus a girl just fucking died and shit—but no, fucking teachers still expected us to do math and give a shit about Charles Dickens. What kind of garbage is that?
