Alice in Wonderland High (27 page)

A few nights later, I lay in bed wide-awake despite the clock ticking away the hours. I heard a car pull up outside, and feet shuffle out of it. I didn't think anything of it, until the hushed whispers grew louder and I could decipher actual words.

“Look out! You're splashing paint all over me,” a girl's voice said. It sounded so close, right under my window.

“I can't help it,” another one said. This voice I recognized: Di's. Which meant the other voice could only be one person. “Stop bumping into my elbow.”

I popped out of bed, ripping the covers off. I parted the curtains and peeked outside to see Di glancing around nervously. She clutched a paintbrush in her hand that dripped red paint on the grass.

Dru bent and dipped her paintbrush into a silver bucket on the ground. “You have to move over then.” She pushed Di with her butt, rattling my poor rosebush, the one my mom had helped me plant. The plants Whitney had doctored were all thriving now.

“Shut up. Do you want to get kicked out? Because that's what Quinn's threatening if we don't get this done.” Di slathered a glob of red paint over one of the roses.

My mom's roses!

Breathing hard, I backed away from the window and tiptoed out of my room in my bare feet. Once outside, I shivered in the frigid air, regretting that I'd worn one of my dad's oversized T-shirts without pajama bottoms.

“What are you doing?” I whisper-yelled, stepping onto the cold grass. I hopped up and down to keep warm. “You're killing the roses!”

The girls froze, eyes wide. Flowers sagged from the heavy weight of the paint. The floral scent I'd loved was replaced by musty chemical fumes. I bit the inside of my cheek to prevent tears. I couldn't let them see they were getting to me.

Dru dropped her paintbrush into the bucket, and a red splash splattered the side of the house.

Di stepped forward, hiding her paintbrush behind her back. “I'm sorry, Alice. I tried to protest, but—”

“We had no choice. No how. If she didn't . . . off with her head.” Dru drew her finger across her neck.

“What does that mean?”

Di and Dru exchanged glances. Red paint dripped from the tip of a rose like a crime scene.

A car pulled up, window rolled down. A face poked out, framed in red hair, eyes aimed at Dru and the rosebush a few feet away from me. “You guys are still only here? You're never going to finish every—what?” She turned to the person in the passenger seat next to her. One guess who that might be. Quinn's head slowly swiveled back to us, her face grave. “Alice . . . ?”

I stalked toward the car. “Why are they painting my roses red?”

“They're trying to break free, but you're not letting them. You tied them down.” Kingston swiveled in the car to face me. “Kind of naughty of you.”

“Yes, yes, it's practically bondage. Now why are you doing this?”

“What's that phrase again? Trick or treat?” Kingston said, laughing. “Seems we're each getting one tonight. Nice nightie.” He grinned. “You know it's see-through with the headlights?”

“It's not a nightie. It's a T-shirt!” I crossed my arms over my chest even though part of me—a very tiny part, and I didn't mean my boobs—felt a little sexy. It wasn't an everyday occurrence that a guy found something worth looking at. Still, I knew my cheeks were as red as my poor, vandalized roses.

“Quick, let me see your camera. This is gold!” Quinn reached over to Kingston's side, but he must have had a good hold on it, because she gave up a second later and harrumphed back into the driver's seat.

Curiouser and curiouser. Kingston loved to take incriminating photos, so why didn't he let her snap this one? Too pornographic and not artsy enough as, say, beautiful sunsets? I was grateful, but only for a brief second until I remembered he was behind the destruction of my roses. Trick or treat, indeed.

Trick or treat
. If my see-through PJs were the treat . . . then were the painted roses the trick? As in, the prank?

“Girls, move it!” Quinn yelled. She gunned the gas and peeled away, tires screeching. Di and Dru scrambled to pick up the bucket. They ran across my lawn, paint dripping everywhere.

“Di! What's going on?” I stalked toward her.

“Please don't ask me to explain, Alice,” Di said.

“Quinn already stopped talking to Amanda when she refused to participate,” Dru added.

Di got into her car, fumbling with her seatbelt. Before Dru could even get her door shut, Di eased the car into drive, following in the direction of Quinn. I stood there, stunned.

I'd thought the prank might be against Neverland High. But maybe it was only supposed to be against me.

I stalked into gym, T-shirt thrown on so haphazardly that half of it was tucked into my pants, earning chuckles from the students crowded in the bleachers. That should have been my first clue that fate was messing with me, but I was too single-minded, my eyes trained on only my targets. Quinn, Di, Dru, and Kingston gabbed away in the middle of the bleachers. A crowd of students blocked them in on every side, a little too strategic to be random. No one looked at me as I stopped three levels below them.

“Hey!” I yelled. “Di! Quinn!” I didn't bother with Dru; she had no loyalty to me.

I would have kept yelling, but the teachers blew the whistle to start class and then started a boring explanation of the process for choosing a new gym activity for the rest of the semester. I plopped into the nearest seat and used the opportunity to alter my appearance from mental patient to fashion victim. The mundane activity of untucking my shirt helped me calm down a little. And by
little
I mean enough to prevent me from turning as vile as Kingston and resorting to the blackmail I'd promised him I wouldn't use to get answers.

The seniors chose first, and the boys practically knocked each other over to get a spot in weight training while the girls scanned all the options and then chose croquet, whatever that was. It had to be something that would result in the least amount of sweat.

Kingston bypassed the rest of the junior boys and beelined for the head coach at the far end of the gym. He produced a piece of paper and the coach nodded, then scribbled something on a yellow hall pass. Kingston waved it in the air and blew a kiss in Quinn's direction before exiting the gym.

Another fake doctor's note? Or something else he'd forged to skip class? How did any teachers ever believe him?

I didn't care what activity we did; I only cared about getting answers. It didn't even matter which girl gave them to me.

The three girls rushed straight for the croquet activity when the juniors were called, so I dragged myself over there and squeezed into the space right next to them. It was only on closer inspection that I realized they were all wearing the same outfit: white shirts with numbers in the center and hearts on the sleeves, resembling cards. Like I needed another reason to think they were indentic-dull.

“What the hell were you doing last night?”

Di and Dru looked to their leader for answers. Quinn turned to me, the corners of her lips struggling to stay flat. “I think it's in your best interest to stop talking right now.”

There were people who still intimidated me. Kingston, sometimes. And now my sister. Quinn didn't even make the waiting list. “I've been doing a lot of things that aren't in my best interest lately.” Talking to her, for example. “So tell me why you painted my—”

“Shut. Up,” Quinn said through gritted teeth. “Because let's just say I was scrolling through Kingston's phone the other day and I found some interesting photos on there.” She shot me a triumphant smile.

I clamped my mouth shut.

She could mean that maybe Kingston did take a photo of me in the see-through T-shirt. Or she could mean that she saw other photos Kingston had taken, ones that would get me more than a red face if they got out. Not the printed and mounted ones that might give Kingston the flaming cheeks.

The frazzled gym teacher pointed his finger over our heads, mouth moving as he tried to count all of us, then shook it out and started all over again. After the third attempt, he threw his hands in the air and instructed us to go outside.

We stood on the field, cold wind biting at our arms, but nothing felt as icy as the dread in my stomach. Gray skies weighed down the horizon. A pile of mallets lay on the ground next to a bucket filled with colorful balls. The only two guys who had joined were currently sparring with the mallets, using them like lightsabers. Seriously, courting rituals of male teenagers were sometimes as outlandish as the ones in the animal kingdom.

“Okay, well, this is quite a turnout, huh?” Mr. Card, our gym teacher, raked his hand through what was left of his hair, which wasn't much. “And they told me no one would care about British pastimes.” He laughed at his own joke, the sound echoing in the empty air. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I want everyone to pair up and spread out along the soccer field. Get a feel for the mallets and balls today, and I'll go around and mark down your names.” He clapped his hands. No one moved. “Okay, go!”

Everyone charged for the equipment, probably eager to get out of there and grab a spot far away from the teacher. I glanced at Quinn, ready to open my mouth, but she took off for the equipment as well. Di and Dru huffed and followed. I had no choice but to chase them. With so many people trying to get to a tiny bucket, the four of us were separated. I had to follow one of them and I made a split decision.

Di was brainwashed; she'd never talk. If I wanted answers, I had to get to Quinn.

She was attempting to push a girl out of the way, claws out. The girl elbowed her hard, and Quinn got pushed out of the pack. I glanced back at Di. She and Dru had already secured mallets from someone who'd grabbed extras. The two of them were trying to find a spot away from the crowd.

“You have to be my partner,” I told Quinn. “Di and Dru abandoned you.”

“I don't have to do anything.”

I took a deep breath. “Quinn, I need to know what Kingston's planning at Homecoming.”

That seemed to get her attention, though I wasn't sure why. She stopped fighting against the crowd and turned to me, brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

Curiouser and curiouser. So Kingston hadn't yet informed his “girlfriend” of his plan.

“Homecoming? Kingston said he's planning something and I better show up.”

“Wait—so he asked you to Homecoming?” A wrinkle bridged the gap between her eyebrows.

I nearly spat out laughing. I was about to say,
no, are you drunk?
But then I saw opportunity in her question, in her confusion. “Why? Did he not ask you?”

A clapping sound startled me. Our gym teacher was striding purposefully toward us. “Do you girls need partners?”

“No.” Quinn grabbed my arm. “We're partners.”

“Mr. Card, all the mallets are gone!” someone shouted.

The crowd had dwindled now, only a few stragglers remaining. Mr. Card's eyes widened as he glanced at the empty bucket. “Oh dear. Okay, I need you all to separate and join up with another pair just for today, until we get more equipment.”

“No!” both Quinn and I said at the same time. For once, we agreed on something. Weird.

“I'm not playing if I'm not her partner.” Quinn batted her eyelashes like a pageant contestant trying to woo a judge.

Mr. Card placed his fingers at his temples, eyes closed. “Um, okay, come here.” He led us back toward the gym. “I'll try to find something you two can use for today.” He disappeared inside.

“Why did you prank me?” I asked, hoping I could get answers out of her before she tried to get them out of me.

She rolled her eyes. “Oh please, don't be so arrogant. We painted
all
the roses red. Though I can't say I'm upset we did yours.”

“What does ‘all the roses' mean?”

“Exactly what I said. Every rose in town.”

I remembered the ring of white roses guarding Town Hall. Lead weighed down my stomach. So Kingston did get them to do an environmental task. Lorina would certainly be checking on it, and most likely she'd think I did it. She'd probably even reason I'd hit my own house to throw her off the scent. Not good. “Why'd you—”

Just then Mr. Card came out clutching two plastic, pink flamingos and green tennis balls. “Be gentle with them.” He held the flamingos out to us. “They're decorations for the Homecoming dance.”

On a normal day, using flamingos for mallets would have been the craziest thing to happen.

We searched the lawn for a private section, but most of the students had spread out, standing in gossiping twosomes, spending more time chatting than playing. Now I understood the rush for equipment. It wasn't because they were eager to play; it was because they were eager to slack off.

“The roses were the prank? The one on Neverland High?” I dropped a tennis ball on the grass in front of the gym and tilted my flamingo face down, practicing a golf swing without making contact.

“Obviously.” Quinn rolled her eyes, then focused on the flamingo in her hands. “But also personal. So did Kingston ask you or not? Because you two looked a little cozy at the table that morning.”

“Why do you even like him?” The question flew from my mouth without consulting my brain first.
Lips, you're on my shit list.
“And I don't get the prank. What does it even mean?
Our
color is red.”

“Neverland's color is red, too.” She lined up her flamingo with exact precision, like it might win her the PGA Tour. “We did their school first, and then Kingston said it was too obvious, that they'd know it was us, so we did the senior lounge here next, to make it look like they retaliated and—”

“You broke into the school?” I didn't want to resort to blackmail, but if she had really seen those pictures on Kingston's phone, then I needed something on her to keep her mouth shut.