Chapter
Four
The call comes during sixth period when I’m in American Government. We’re all quietly reading a chapter while our teacher tries to take a nap, which is typical. Mr. Gonzales answers the phone sitting on his desk, listens for a moment, and then slams the receiver down, glaring at all of us like we interrupted his siesta.
“Penelope Malone,” he barks. “Go to the main office.”
I frown. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” he snaps. “Just go. They’re waiting for you.”
Shoving my stuff into my backpack, I stand and glare at Mr. Gonzales as I exit the classroom to catcalls and those low ooohs boys like to make when they think someone’s in trouble.
There’s no way I’m in trouble. And who could be waiting for me? It’s such a strange thing for Mr. Gonzales to say.
When I enter the main office a few minutes later, the secretary Mrs. Boyer takes one look at me from behind her desk and says, “Hi Penelope. You’re wanted in Mrs. Adney’s office.”
Dread fills me. I’ve never been called to the vice principal’s office before. Ever. Not in all my many years of attending school. What could this be about? What did I do? More like, what is someone saying I did?
I may never get in trouble, but I definitely have enemies. We all do.
The office door is partially open, and when I peek in, the dread leaves me. It’s not anything I’ve done. It’s all about Gretchen.
Those cops I saw in the gym earlier are standing in Mrs. Adney’s cramped office, and she’s sitting behind her desk, chatting with them in low murmurs. I’m guessing they want to talk to me. One is staring at his phone—the younger one—and the older one has a small notepad, his pen scratching across the paper so hard I can actually hear it from where I’m standing.
I clear my throat to warn of my existence and then knock on the door, flashing Mrs. Adney a bright smile when her gaze meets mine. “You wanted to see me?” My tone is pleasant. Like it’s any other day.
Mrs. Adney scowls because it is most certainly not like any other day. “Detectives Spalding and Hughes would like to speak with you, Penelope—” she starts to say, but the older detective interrupts her, which makes her scowl deepen.
“We won’t take up too much of your time.” His voice is gentle and he steps forward, indicating the empty chair in front of me with a casual wave of his hand. “If you don’t mind having a seat, Miss Malone?”
I sit, smoothing my blue-and-white plaid skirt down around my thighs, making sure I’m covered. My hands are shaky and I hope they don’t notice. “I’m not sure if I can help,” I say with a small smile.
The older detective sits next to me, but the younger one remains standing. “I’m Detective Spalding,” the older one offers. “And that’s Detective Hughes. We’re here to ask you a few questions about your friend Gretchen Nelson.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, resting my hands in my lap.
“When was the last time you saw Miss Nelson?”
“Um, yesterday afternoon while I was at cheer practice.”
Hughes frowns. “She’s not a cheerleader any longer. Why was she at cheer practice?”
“She wasn’t. But I saw her here on campus when I was at cheer. Gretchen plays volleyball and they practice in the gym,” I explain. Then correct myself. I blink hard at the sudden wave of emotion that washes out of me and I choke out, “Played, I suppose I should say.”
The room is silent for too long and I drop my head, staring at my clutched hands. I still can’t believe she’s gone. That Gretchen is…dead. It doesn’t feel real, like this is some sort of awful nightmare I’m going to wake up from at any moment.
But I don’t wake up. I’m still sitting in Mrs. Adney’s office, and when I lift my head, I swear it looks like she’s going to cry. If she starts, I’m going to start, too.
“So you saw Gretchen here yesterday after school,” Spalding reiterates. “Do you remember the approximate time?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug and frown, trying to think. “Around four thirty, I guess? Practice was almost over but I think hers already ended.”
“Good, good.” Spalding scribbles on his notepad while Hughes taps away on his phone. “Did you talk to her?”
I think of Gretchen yesterday. Wearing blue Nike shorts and a Bonita Academy T-shirt, the late afternoon sunlight catching on her vibrant auburn-colored hair and making it shine extra bright. I waved at her, and she looked irritated when she first saw me.
“Briefly,” I tell them with a slight frown.
“What about?” This came from Detective Hughes.
“Our Larks meeting this morning. I called her over and reminded her about it, and she whined because it was going to be held before school started, and none of the girls like an early morning meeting. But I’m just too busy and can’t really schedule it any other time, you know?”
“What exactly is a Larks meeting?” Hughes asks.
I lean forward, my gaze locking with Detective Hughes’s. “The Larks is a student-led organization that provides various charitable services within the community.” I sound like I’m reading from a brochure, but I can’t help it. “It was formed to help build character and create leaders among the girls at Cape Bonita.”
“And what exactly do the Larks do?” Hughes asks.
“Oh, we put together all sorts of fund-raisers, we volunteer at the local children’s hospital and many of the retirement homes in the area as well.” If there’s one thing I love to talk about, it’s the Larks. Some people probably make fun of me behind my back for my enthusiasm, but I don’t really care. I’m proud to be a Lark. It’s a family tradition.
“Penelope is the Larks’ president,” Mrs. Adney chimes in.
“You are?” Detective Hughes’s eyebrow lifts.
I nod. “Just following in my sister’s footsteps.” More like I worked hard and earned that position. No one handed it to me because of Peyton, that’s for damn sure. “Not that I didn’t earn the position fair and square.”
Okay, now I sound like a rambling, nervous idiot. I need to shut up.
“Her older sister, Peyton, was president of the Larks when she was a senior here as well,” Mrs. Adney says.
Hughes looks like he wants to laugh as he turns his focus on me. “So your sister’s name is Peyton? And you’re Penelope?”
I smile demurely, though deep down I’m irritated. This guy is kind of rude. “I guess my parents like the letter P.”
“Their brother’s name is Peter.” This again comes from Mrs. Adney. I sort of wish she would stop talking.
I can tell it takes everything within Detective Hughes not to do a massive eye roll. “Cute.”
“Is this all you wanted to question me about?” My voice is pleasant, but I am thoroughly confused. Why are we talking about my family and their love of the letter P when we should be discussing what happened to Gretchen? A girl I know is gone, yet we’re talking about miscellaneous stuff. It makes no sense.
“So after you talked to Gretchen, where did she go?” Spalding asks.
Okay, maybe that was just a minor blip, their getting sidetracked. “I’m not sure. I still had to finish practice, so I didn’t notice her again. I assume she went to the girls’ locker room, grabbed her stuff, and left,” I say.
“How many members are in your Larks group?” Detective Hughes suddenly asks.
I glance up at him. “Ten. It’s always ten. Well.” I hesitate, my chest getting tight. “Now we’re only nine.” I look to Mrs. Adney, who offers me a sympathetic smile. My chin wobbles and I’m terrified I’ll start crying. That’s the last thing I want to do. Showing emotion is a sign of weakness. “Can I go now?”
She nods. “Will that be all, gentlemen?”
Hughes looks put out, but the older detective just smiles.
“Thank you for your time, Penelope.” Detective Spalding stands and I do the same. “We might have some more questions for you, though, over the next few days. Just to warn you.”
“That’s not a problem.” I flash them a polite smile and then hurriedly make my escape.
I pass through the main office when I see him sitting there—the boy from my physics class. The boy who stared at me at the end of the assembly.
Cass Vincenti.
He’s slouching in one of the four hard chairs that line the wall. Usually that’s the spot where students wait to see the principal.
I’m frowning as I study him and he’s frowning in return. Is he in trouble? Or is he going to talk to the detectives, too?
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me.
He arches a brow. “Wow. The queen actually speaks.” He rests his hand against his chest, like he’s shocked.
I roll my eyes. “We’ve talked before.”
“Not really.” He drops his hand.
His answer makes me hesitate. “Sure we have.”
“Name five times.”
“Uhh…”
Cass smiles, and it transforms his entire face. His dark brown eyes crinkle at the corners and his smile is…nice. He’s actually really good looking. Not that I thought he was a hideous troll, but still. He’s not someone I’ve paid much attention to before. More like he always blends into the background. I think he prefers it that way.
“I’m just giving you a hard time,” he murmurs, his smile dimming. “Did you talk to the cops about Gretchen?”
“Are you talking to the cops about Gretchen?”
“I asked you first.”
“What are we, twelve?”
“Maybe.” He flicks his chin at me. “So. Did you?”
“Um, yes. I did. We were friends.” And I don’t think they were. I glance around, thankful Mrs. Boyer isn’t at her desk. “Why do they want to talk to you?”
“I don’t know. They called me down here a few minutes ago.” He shrugs, drawing my attention to his broad shoulders.
They’re very nice, capable-looking shoulders.
Ugh. Stop thinking like that. Your friend just died. And they’re possibly questioning this guy about her murder. What if they believe he—
“I didn’t kill Gretchen, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says, interrupting my thoughts.
I frown. What is he, a mind reader? “I never said that.”’
“But you were thinking it.”
“You’re putting words in my mouth.” If he were any other boy I’ve dealt with at this school, he would’ve jumped on that opportunity. He would’ve said, “I’d like to put something in your mouth,” before laughing his ass off with all his crude friends.
But Cass is alone. There are no friends around for him to impress. And I guess Cass doesn’t have that type of sense of humor. Though there’s something about him—like this underlying anger, that’s just bubbling beneath the surface.
Despite the smile and the joking attitude, he seems mad.
He slouches in the chair, kicking out his long legs. He’s wearing the uniform khakis and they’re kind of wrinkled. Like they sat in the dryer for a few days before he finally pulled them out. Beat-up, faded black Converse cover his feet, and he crosses them at the ankles. I have to take a step back to get out of his way. “I can practically read your mind,” he says, his gaze locked on his feet. “You’re all the same.”
“Who are all the same?”
“All of your group. Your girls. Your squad.” He says the last word with contempt as he looks at me, his mouth tipped up on one side. “There’s not a single thing that’s different about any of you. You’re all cut from the same cloth.”
I glare at him, insulted by his assumption. “You don’t know me.”
“Ah, but I do.” His smile fades. “You just don’t realize it yet.”
My heart racing, I hurry out of the office before Cass Vincenti can say anything else to upset me.