Gemma Halliday - Social Suicide

Only I didn’t get to give it.

Instead of walking toward our table and giving me the leave-this-to-the-real-cops lecture I was so familiar with, Raley looked right past me, his eyes lighting up, his mouth curving into a grin that created little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Then he made a beeline…

… straight toward Mom’s table.

Dude! Detective Raley was my mom’s date?

I FELT SICK AS I WATCHED RALEY LEAN DOWN AND GIVE Mom a peck on the cheek. This was the guy she’d been IM’ing with last night? Giggling, grinning, acting like a fool over? Ugh. Suddenly Mr. Candlelit Dinners didn’t sound so bad after all.

“Whoa. Isn’t that Detective Raley kissing your mom?” Sam asked.

I had to get out of there before I lost my latte. I grabbed Sam by the arm and made for the door, purposely not looking in Mom’s direction again.

I spent the rest of the afternoon with that same ball of nausea in my stomach, torn between the urge to shake some sense into Mom or stick my head in the sand ostrich-style until she came to her senses. Considering Raley had a gun and I was just the teeniest bit scared of him, I went for option number two. Denial, ostrich-style.

Which worked fabulously until I spied Mom’s minivan parked at the curb after school. The second I slipped into the passenger seat, Mom turned to me.

“Hartley, I think we should talk about me starting to date again.”

“I really think we shouldn’t.”

“I know this is new. And I can see that it’s upsetting to you.”

“Totally not upset at all,” I lied, holding on to denial with all my might. “I’m cool with it.”

“Detective Raley and I got to talking the other day when he brought you home, and we realized we had a lot in common.”

“You don’t need to explain, Mom. I’m fine.”

“I know you just see me as ‘Mom,’ Hartley, but I’m a woman, too.”

“Mom, really. We can totally not discuss this.”

“Women have certain feelings. Emotional needs. Other needs.”

“Know what? Let’s listen to some Steven Tyler. Really loudly, ’kay?” I begged, reaching for her radio.

Mom sighed. “Okay. But I just want you to know we can talk about this. When you’re ready.”

I heaved a sigh of relief as embarrassing classic rock filled the car. Discussing Mom’s needs being fulfilled by Raley was enough to make me throw myself into a pool with a charging laptop.

Thankfully, I was able to avoid Mom the rest of the afternoon, hiding out in my room as I did my homework. I even got her to agree to lift the lockdown enough to let me go to the football game the following night with Sam and Kyle by (A) pointing out that there would be plenty of teachers around and (B) telling her that I had a need to socialize with people my own age, too. (Not to mention a need to be as far away from my mom’s nightly, giggling IM sessions as possible.)

So the next day after Sam and I took our dreaded American Government midterm, I went home with her to rummage in her closet for the perfect game-day outfits. Of course, Sam had to call Kyle no less than four times to make sure their outfits coordinated. I wasn’t sure if it was cute or weird, but I decided to stay out of it, borrowing a hot pink sweater and a pair of black leggings that looked great with Sam’s suede calf boots with the fur lining. Sam ended up in a pair of skinny jeans, her I Like Boys shirt, and a red Stanford jacket (one of several her father had purchased for her).

Kyle met up with us at the hot dog cart, where we found him wearing his Boy shirt, per Sam’s orders, and shoving half a wiener in his mouth. “Hey!” He waved, wiping a glob of yellow mustard from the corner of his mouth.

“Hey,” I greeted him back. Sam gave him a kiss on the cheek (the one without mustard).

“Have you seen Connor Crane?” I asked, standing on tiptoe to see over the heads of our classmates crowding into the stadium.

Kyle shook his head. “I’m sure he’s here, though. He’s the starting QB. Why?” he asked.

“I have a few questions for him,” I answered.

With all the not thinking about Mom I’d been doing, I’d had ample time to think about our list of suspects. And I kept coming back to Connor. He’d been the closest to Sydney, and if I’d learned anything from watching cop shows on TV, it was that the boyfriend was always the prime suspect. Was Connor experiencing survivor’s guilt, as Jenni had suggested? Or was it something more sinister… like killer’s guilt?

I told Kyle and Sam my suspicions as Kyle wolfed down the rest of his hot dog. When I was done, Sam nodded.

“I agree,” she said. “He’s got the shakiest alibi and the biggest motive. Love makes you do crazy things sometimes.”

Then, as if to illustrate her point, Sam reached up and wiped another glob of mustard from Kyle’s cheek. He grinned, leaning down to kiss her.

“Ohmigod, you guys are so cute!” Ashley Stannic said, jumping in line behind us to grab a hot dog. “I’m totally writing about those shirts in my column tonight.”

“Thanks!” Sam said, beaming.

“Have you seen Connor Crane?” I asked Ashley.

She nodded, her bangs bobbing up and down. “Over by the locker room. He was signing autographs for freshmen.”

I thanked her and left Sam and Kyle to find us seats inside while I tracked down the quarterback.

As I slowly made my way through the crowd, I spied Chase sipping a Pepsi near the entrance to the stadium. I almost called out to him to enlist his help in interrogating Connor, but I paused. Chase was not alone. Someone was with him.

A girl someone.

An odd sensation fluttered in my belly as I took in his companion. She was tall, almost as tall as Chase, with dark hair that hung in long, loose waves like in a Pantene commercial. She was showing off her slim figure in a pair of tight, layered gray T-shirts and super skinny jeans that instantly made me aware of how bright and bulky my sweater was. I didn’t recognize her from school, and she looked older… maybe college age? Which shouldn’t have been that surprising, I guess, since Chase was a senior. It made sense he’d go for someone who was more mature.

Miss Perfect leaned in close to Chase, grabbing his arm and whispering something in his ear. Chase grinned, bursting into laughter at their inside joke.

That fluttering settled into a brick in the pit of my stomach, weighing me down so badly I couldn’t raise my arm to wave at him.

Chase had a girlfriend. I felt colossally stupid for ever thinking that our mutual investigating had anything to do with going out together. Clearly Chase was already going out… with someone else.

I shook my head, telling myself I didn’t care. Chase and I were not an item; we were nothing. We were one kiss, one time. I had no reason to feel jealous. I didn’t feel jealous. I was fine. Totally fine with Chase being fine with his fine college girlfriend.

I quickly turned around and all but sprinted in the opposite direction before Chase could see me and my fineness.

So quickly that I almost knocked into Connor as he exited the locker room in front of me.

“Whoa. Dude,” he said, his helmet dangling from his hand.

“Sorry.”

“Ashley texted that you were looking for me?” he asked.

I was? I paused, willing my heart to slow down. Right. I was.

“Right. I was.” I cleared my throat, willing my head to focus on anything but the image of Chase’s beautiful accessory. “I talked to Jenni today,” I finally managed.

He gave me a frown. “Why?”

If that was a subtle jab at my social standing, I decided to ignore it. (I was getting to be an expert at this ostrich thing.)

“She told me you’ve been studying with Val Michaels,” I said instead.