Gemma Halliday - Social Suicide

I’ll admit, with his arms around me, some warmth started to return to my system.

“God, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said when he finally pulled away. “As soon as I saw you were gone, I texted everyone to see if they’d seen you. Ashley said she thought she saw you heading toward the quad, Chris said he thought you went out to the parking lot, Jenni said to try the football field. I’ve been all over the school looking.” He ran a hand through his hair, and I could tell by the way his spikes stood up in messy tufts that it hadn’t been the first time he’d done it that evening. His face was pale in the moonlight, his mouth drawn in a tight line. He really did look like he’d been worried.

More of that welcome warmth pooled in my stomach at the thought.

“I’m okay,” I reassured him. Though “okay” was kind of a relative term at the moment. But I was alive, and that was a lot more than I might have hoped for earlier.

I quickly told him everything, from being hit on the head to being rescued by Drea and company. I was just finishing when I saw another familiar face push through the crowd. Freckled, slightly wrinkled, and topped with red hair.

Raley.

And behind him trailed Mom, pushing her way toward me.

“Oh, Hartley,” she said, grabbing me around the middle.

I hugged her back. After the night I’d had, I could use all the hugs I could get.

When she finally pulled away, I noticed for the first time what she was wearing. And it was not the yoga pants and T-shirt I’d left her in earlier that evening.

It was a black sleeveless dress that ended well above her knee, paired with heels that were higher than mine.

“Why are you all dressed up?” I asked.

She looked down. “Well, David and I were at dinner when he got the call about you.”

I cocked my head to the side. “David?”

She blushed. “Detective Raley.”

Mental face palm.

My gaze shifted to Raley and I noticed he was also a notch up from his usual schlumpy fare, wearing a pair of dark slacks with a shirt that actually looked cleaned and ironed.

That’s it. This was getting out of hand.

“This is the third date in as many days, Mom.”

“I know.” She beamed. “Well, technically, it might be the fourth, since David was at our house so late last night-”

“Oh God, Mom. Please stop talking now.”

She shot me a look but, considering my near-death experience, was thankfully compassionate enough to comply.

After giving another quick version of events to Raley (no way was I ever going to think of him as “David”), he told Mom she could take me home and he’d come over tomorrow to take down an official statement.

Then Mom bundled me into her minivan, cranked the heat to full blast, and took me home, where I took the longest, hottest shower on record. (But not a bath. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go near standing water ever again.)

Afterward, I slipped into a pair of long johns, a pair of sweats, two pairs of socks, and fluffy pink slippers, and I was almost warm again.

Mom made me a cup of hot cocoa (with soy milk and organic fructose), though I was so tired, I could hardly hold my head up to sip at it before I fell into bed, my eyes closing almost before I even hit the pillows.

HERBERT HOOVER HIGH TEACHER ARRESTED FOR MURDER

Long known as one of the toughest teachers on campus, Mr. Tipkins was arrested Saturday evening for the murder of HHH student Sydney Sanders, as well as the attempted murders of both Nicky Williams and yours truly, Hartley Grace Featherstone. Mr. Tipkins has pled not guilty but, due to an inability to post bail, was remanded to the county detention facility, pending trial.

The arrest was on the heels of a video of Mr. Tipkins confessing to his crimes that circulated on YouTube. Incidentally the video received 550,000 hits in the first weekend, making it YouTube’s top video of the week.

I looked down at my article. I had to admit, it wasn’t bad. Unfortunately, the major media outlets had gotten hold of the story before I’d had a chance to break the news in the Homepage , but I had the most unique angle there was-from a survivor of Mr. Tipkins’s attack. Which included both my perspective on the matter and a whole host of juicy inside facts. And, as Chase had wanted, this was definitely an angle no one else had heard on the story of Sydney’s death.

Which, after viewing Tipkins’s confession, Raley had reopened the case files on, changing the official ruling from suicide to homicide. (Sam and I couldn’t quite convince him to put “Twittercide” in the official report.) He and his police force had found Mr. Tipkins at home, where he’d been packing his bags for Mexico. Into the trunk of his Toyota. Which gave Raley enough probable cause to charge him with not one but two attempts on my life.

And while the extra paperwork had tied Raley up for the day, he’d still found time to go out with my mom again the following evening. I was seriously working on a plan to stop this before it got out of hand. As if living with the SMother wasn’t enough, now a cop was invading my life, too. Not cool. Way not cool.

As for our suspects… Nicky was released from the hospital the day after homecoming, but after Tipkins’s cheating scheme was exposed, the administration had no choice but to suspend Nicky for his part in it. Since Nicky currently had a 4.0 GPA, rumor had it he wasn’t really worried about the blemish on his record. And Drea had promised to shoot videos for him of everything he missed at school.

The person who had taken news of Sydney’s death most definitely not being a suicide the hardest was Connor. The fact that no one actually thought him worth killing themselves over had been a blow I wasn’t sure his ego would ever recover from. Well, at least not until the winter formal.

Jenni, on the other hand, was already working on a nomination for homecoming queen next year. According to Ashley Stannic’s gossip column, Jenni was back together with Ben Fisher, and the two of them were seen wearing matching his and hers shirts to the mall last weekend.

Quinn Leslie had been allowed back on the lacrosse team, pending academic probation. Incidentally, she was the only one still wearing a black mourning armband for her best friend. She’d even tried to get a scholarship fund going in Sydney’s name.

And, as a minor last note, I’m proud to say that both Sam and I did pass our American Government midterm. Sam even got the highest grade in the class, completely ruining the grading curve for everyone else. Without cheating. Poor Chris Fret got a 65, but Sam gave him the name of her tutor, so I’m sure he’ll be bringing up his grades soon.

“You got that article, Featherstone?” Chase asked, coming up behind me in the workroom.

I nodded. “Yep. Just emailed it to you.”

“Cool,” he said. But instead of walking away, he sat down at the desk beside me.

“Um, did you want to read it right now?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s fine. I’ll read it later.”

I waited a beat, but he just sat there.

“Was there something else?” I asked, starting to feel a little self-conscious.

He cleared his throat, his fingers picking at a piece of lint on his black hoodie. “Actually, yeah. I, uh, I wanted to apologize.”

I cocked my head at him. “For?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “For leaving you alone at the dance. For letting Tipkins attack you like that.”

I shook my head. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“I was supposed to be watching you.”

“Watching me pee? Come on. You couldn’t follow me everywhere.”

He shrugged. “I should have stayed closer.”

“It wasn’t your fault. And I totally don’t blame you.”