Jessie Humphries - Killing Ruby Rose

I wanted to slap her right then. For how many reasons, I wasn’t sure.

Groggy didn’t cover it. And third-period History wasn’t helping.

To keep my head from collapsing on my desk, I supported my chin in my hands and propped open my eyes. Even then, the dim lights and gentle hum of the projector were luring me to sleep.

The long day and the late night with Liam had left me drained. Finding Sammy proved far more challenging than just calling Star Magazine and being connected to the desk of Sam Carmichael, who was credited with the “Hollywood Belles in Bikinis” pictures this week. We left a few messages and wrote a few e-mails before being forced into patiently waiting for a reply.

The endless early morning hours had left me exhausted—tossing and turning in bed with memories of blood and gunshots. And the warm room and Mrs. Monotone Voice weren’t helping.

The only thing that kept me going was a steady intake of a very caffeinated soda in my thermos, and the invigorating memory of Liam’s lips on mine.

Finally, the lunch bell rang and I hurried to meet Alana at her locker, just as I’d done every other school day for the last five years. As I approached, I noticed she wore long sleeves—despite the warm day. She was hiding the bruising from the ties.

“Hey, Alana,” I said in my best lighthearted, glad-you’re-alive tone, as I slid up to the locker next to her. She jumped at the sound of my voice.

“Hey,” she said without looking in my direction. Instead, she kept her focus on switching the books from her backpack to her locker.

“Why haven’t you returned my calls? I’ve been really worried—”

“Please, Ruby.”

“Please, Ruby, what?” I asked.

“I gave you space when you needed it—now it’s time to return the favor.” Surely she was speaking to her textbooks, not to me.

“Uh…no, if you recall, you never gave me the space I wanted. And I understand why. You were only being a good friend.” I put my hand on her shoulder.

She jerked away and turned to face me. “I was wrong. I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve understood. Now I’m asking you—”

“To what? Abandon you when you need me the most?”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ruby. I really don’t need you.” She shut her locker with force. The crash of metal against metal was jarring.

“I get why you’d feel that way right now. But you have to understand that I never meant for you to get hurt.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened or why. I just know I don’t want any part of it. Can you understand that ?” She hurriedly zipped up her backpack.

“I do. But…you’re my best friend.” I looked down, searching for the words to convince her to forgive and forget. But mostly to forget.

“Consider this my best-friend breakup speech then,” she said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. I almost laughed. She’d threatened to “break up” with me many times over the years.

“Alana, you’re being silly,” I said, reaching out to her again.

She pulled away and took a few steps backward, shaking her head. “You know, all these years I thought the guns and the training were just more of your weird… quirks . Just a strange way to spite your overbearing mom, or a bizarre way to bond with your dysfunctional dad.”

Hey! I thought she loved my dad. He’d taught her to shoot, too!

“Alana, don’t…” I didn’t need to finish that sentence. She knew my dad was out of bounds.

“But now I’m not sure what to think anymore. I’ve always given you the benefit of the doubt. Even when you killed that LeMarq dude and your mom took care of it. But the problem is”—she paused, with a look of sadness that turned to blame—“I know you too well, Ruby Rose. You’ve always been the one looking for the fight.”

I ground my teeth in a flash of anger. OK, I got it—she was pissed. I almost got her killed and then tried to pretend nothing had happened. But attacking my family? Not cool. What was next? Burning my favorite pair of UGGs?

At the same time, though, she was right about one thing. Alana had known me too well, and for a long time. Of course, she didn’t know the details—that I was stalking LeMarq and The Stick—but she knew I was more involved than I was letting on.

I closed my eyes, calling on my problem-solving skills to give me the words I needed to persuade her to freaking relax.

“You’re overreacting, Alana,” I said, opening my eyes to find her walking away. “Would you just wait? We need to talk about this.”

“I’m sorry, Rue,” she said, clearly not sorry at all. “But I’m sure Liam would just love to ‘talk.’ You two can share your secrets.”

“What? Liam?” I looked behind me. Liam was at his locker, trying to pretend he wasn’t listening. He gave me a sheepish smile, and I smiled back weakly.

When I turned back to Alana, she was already disappearing around the corner.

“She’ll come around.” Liam’s gentle voice softened the blow. “As soon as we figure all this out, she’ll understand.”

“There’s that we again,” I said, backing up against the locker, still shaken from Alana’s cutting words. “You sure you don’t want out yet? A good night’s sleep didn’t give you more sense?”

He put his hand on the locker next to me and leaned in. “Not after the way you kissed me last night,” he whispered.

The heat blossomed in my cheeks. Surely he wasn’t considering kissing me right here in the hall? That would be highly inappropriate and at the same time freaking amazing.

“Any news on that schmucky Sammy dude?” he asked.

“Ha, no.” I smiled. “He hasn’t returned any of my e-mails or phone messages. You?”

“Nah, but he’ll call. Don’t worry.” Liam gently touched my face. I really hoped no one was watching me melt right now. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”

Every day Liam and I ate lunch at school (enduring Alana’s spectrum of looks from disdain to disappointment), and every night we patrolled the Hollywood hotspots looking for Sammy and his missile-sized camera. But the schmuck was good at what he did. He was a ghost—just like Mr. D. S., the even bigger schmuck behind all this madness. And I was the haunted.

I didn’t like being on the defensive all the time. I had to find a way to regain control of my life. Except I couldn’t figure out how.

Until nearly two weeks later on Halloween, when the ghost finally called.

The Pier was crowded for a Friday afternoon in late October. Unseasonably warm weather and the Halloween spirit buzzed in the air.

As I people watched, ghouls and phantoms roamed the beach. Some dude wearing nothing but skate shoes, board shorts, and a Captain Jack Sparrow wig played Bob Marley tunes on his guitar below me. Another kid, wearing one of those white masks from the movie Scream , casually rode his beach cruiser down the boardwalk. The souvenir shop in the middle of the Pier even had a huge grim reaper–shaped kite flapping around in the breeze.

The real ghost—schmucky Sammy—could be anywhere, watching me, taking aim to shoot me from afar. He had a camera lens for all occasions. Sammy had said to come alone, so I made sure I scheduled our little rendezvous for when Liam had a football game an hour away and would be gone all afternoon and night.

Liam and I had been together every other possible minute of the day for two weeks. I tried to act like it wasn’t necessary, but he stuck by my side—which may or may not have had something to do with all the kissing. It seemed like whenever we had the chance, we’d lose ourselves in each other: at the beach, in my room, at the back of the library.