Gemma Halliday - Social Suicide

Chase looked from me to the car. “What?”

“We’re going in that?” Why had I not taken Mom up on that limo thing?

“Yep.” Chase beamed.

“No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’d like to arrive at homecoming in one piece.”

Chase rolled his eyes. “You have two choices here, Hart-my car or walking.”

I bit my lip, tasting lipstick. I looked down at my heels. Up at his car. Back at the heels.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking!”

Chase rolled his eyes again, then walked around to the driver’s side.

Without much choice, I hopped in.

On the upside, if I died on the way, at least I’d make a sparkly corpse.

The HHH cafeteria was totally transformed. Gone were the rows of Formica-topped tables, and in their place was a dance floor complete with a shimmering disco ball.

The dance’s theme was Tropical Oasis, meaning potted palms were stuck in every corner, paper fish adorned the walls, and the tables lining the sides of the room were piled high with fruit and nuts, with one serving as a bar, where Pineapple Pleasure and Mango Madness were being served in small glasses complete with little umbrellas.

Several teachers were in attendance as chaperones, as well as some parents. I spotted both Sam’s mom and dad taking spots near the dance floor, keeping a keen eye on Kyle. Luckily, I’d been able to “lose” the email calling for parent volunteers before my mom had read it.

The DJ fired up a Pink song, and we all jumped onto the dance floor. (Kyle made sure he kept at least an arm’s length away from Sam.) I had to admit, it was kinda fun. Okay, a lot of fun. The energy was high, the music was loud, and laughter echoed off the beige walls as we all made fun of one another’s dance moves.

Five songs into it, I could feel my mascara starting to sweat away, and I needed a breather.

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” I said.

“What?” Chase yelled.

“I’m gonna go get a drink!”

“Huh?”

“DRINK!”

Chase nodded. “Right. Cool.”

I threaded my way through the crowd, Chase a step behind me, taking his role as bodyguard seriously as we pushed through the people to the Mango Madness station. I downed my cup in almost a single gulp before getting back in line for seconds.

“Chase?”

I turned to see Chris Fret and the new guy, Michael, hailing him from across the room. “Come check this out.”

Chase shook his head. “Gotta stay with my date.”

“Go. I’m fine,” I said, shooing him.

“No way. I’m sticking to you like glue tonight. That was the deal.”

“Look around, Chase. We’re surrounded by teachers. Nothing’s going to happen to me at the Mango Madness table. I’ll stay right here. I’m fine. Go.”

Chase paused, letting the logic of that sink in. He glanced to our right. Mr. Tipkins was chatting with Ashley Stannic under a plastic palm. To our left, the Kramers were still eyeing the dance floor. Behind us, three more parents mingled with the vice principal. If the killer was going to strike, this was so the wrong moment.

“Okay,” Chase finally said. “But stay here. I’ll be right back. Five minutes.”

I nodded. “Scout’s honor.”

I watched Chase jog toward Chris and Michael, then do some sort of complicated handshake thing, all three of them making fun of one another’s tuxes.

I grabbed another drink, then sat in one of the chairs along the wall. I slipped a heel off, my foot immediately sighing in relief. They were hot shoes, but they were not made for dancing. Or walking. Or standing. Or anything that required my feet to be smashed into them.

I took a moment to look around as I rubbed the bottom of my foot. If I had had to guess, I’d have said at least 70 percent of the school was in attendance. I spotted Connor hanging out under a school of paper fish near the stage. Val Michaels was at his side, though I noticed his eyes were on Jenni, who was dancing with one of the football players. Apparently she’d made good on her promise to ditch Connor and had moved on already.

Just to my right were Drea and her cheerleader friends. They had a Flip cam and were shooting a video of the dance floor. I could hear her narrating the vids for Nicky.

Surprisingly, even Quinn was there, seemingly having gotten a reprieve from her grounding. She was with some guy from the water polo team, dancing near Sam and Kyle.

All our suspects were in one place. Sydney’s killer had to be in this room. The thought gave me chills despite the heat still coursing through me from the aerobic dance workout.

“Hartley,” Mr. Tipkins said, coming up beside me. He’d thrown a sports jacket over his usual dumpy uniform, the elbows accented with plaid patches.

I cleared my throat. “Hi.”

“How is your story coming along for the paper?”

I nodded. “Fine. Good.”

“Ashley tells me she got a text saying that you know who killed Sydney.”

“We’re getting very close,” I hedged. Which, if tonight was successful, was the truth.

He frowned. “So does that mean you also know how my test answers got out?”

I bit my lip. “Not yet, but we’re almost there.” Another stretch, but if the two went hand in hand like we thought they did, it was possible I might have an answer by the end of the night.

“I have a bad feeling someone may have tried to get to my tests a couple nights ago,” he said.

I froze. “Uh, you do?” I asked, my voice going an octave higher than usual.

He nodded, a grave look on his face. “The door to my classroom was unlocked. As was my file cabinet.”

“Really?” Minnie Mouse squeaked out.

“Really. You don’t happen to have an idea who might have done that, do you?”

“Me?”

“Your voice okay?”

I cleared my throat.

“I mean, why do you think I might?” I asked, feeling a guilty blush creep up my neck.

He shrugged. “You’re investigating the whole thing. I thought you might have turned up some information.”

I shook my head so hard I felt my tiara go crooked. “Nope. Not me. Sorry. No idea about how that might have happened. A couple nights ago, you say? I was home. Yep, at home. Nope. Sorry.”

He gave me a funny look, but nodded again. “Okay. Well, please let me know as soon as you learn anything new.”

I nodded, feeling that tiara slip again.

“Yep. I totally will,” I promised.

Which was almost true. If tonight went well, I’d be letting everyone know who Sydney’s killer was.

THE REST OF THE EVENING MOVED BY IN FAST-FORWARD. WE danced some more, ate some more, then danced again, all the while keeping our eyes peeled for anyone with murderous intentions. (At one point Kyle swore Sam’s dad was going to kill him for kissing her on the cheek, but that didn’t really count.) Halfway through the night, the music finally stopped and Mrs. Bailey’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to announce this year’s Herbert Hoover High homecoming court!”

A roar went up from the crowd, everyone immediately pushing toward the front of the room.

“Before we begin,” Mrs. Bailey said, hovering near a microphone center stage, “I want to take a moment to remember a former Herbert Hoover High student, Sydney Sanders.”

A hush went over the crowd, instantly dropping the party level in the room about fifty notches.

“Sydney may not always have been a model student,” Mrs. Bailey went on, alluding to her cheating, “but she was an enthusiastic participant in so many after-school activities, and never lacked in school spirit. So I’d like us all to take a brief moment of silence for Sydney.”

She bowed her head and the audience did the same, the only sound in the echoing cafeteria the rustle of taffeta. In the silence I could almost feel the weight of finding Sydney’s killer pressing down on me. He, or she, was somewhere in this room. I was sure of it.