Dead Is the New Black (3 page)

Could Opal be her name? But why would she stamp her own name on her hand?

There was a tattoo of a four-leaf clover on the base of her left thumb. That lucky charm hadn't brought her much luck. I also noticed that her long auburn hair had a thick white streak that extended along the part, all the way down to the tip of her hair.

I moved away from the body. There wasn't anything I could do for her now, except try to find her killer.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a movement. I held still, barely daring to breathe, and watched. There it was again. Her hand moved, I was sure of it.

"Is there anybody there?" I said, and then felt foolish when I remembered what Mom had told me, that bodies sometimes gave the illusion of movement after death.

Just my imagination. I closed the drawer containing the body and clicked off my flashlight. I had a few clues but didn't know what to do with them.

Ryan burst into the room. "We've got to leave now!" he panted. He moved closer, until he practically bumped into me, then handed the keys to me. "Hold on to these."

I heard footsteps coming closer. I couldn't see his face in the dark, but I knew his face mirrored the panic welling up inside me.

"Officer Denton," I hissed. "What do we do?"

Ryan grabbed my hand. "I have an idea," he said. "Just play along, okay?" His palms were sweaty.

The footsteps sounded like they were right outside the door. Ryan drew me closer.

"Wha...?"

That's when Ryan kissed me. It was obvious he'd had lots of practice. I hadn't, but I was a quick learner.

I liked the way he cradled my cheeks in his hands as we kissed.

He pressed his body closer to mine. I moved backward until my butt touched something cold. He'd backed me into the cooler. The thought repulsed me for a second and I tried to shove him away.

"Kiss me back," he whispered, and I responded, all thoughts of where we were flying out of my brain. I wriggled closer and touched my lips to his once again. His hands tangled in my hair and the tip of his tongue met mine.

We heard a loud throat-clearing, and then someone turned on the light switch. Ryan and I stood blinking in the sudden brightness. I realized I was still in his arms and took a giant step backward like we were playing a game of hokey-pokey, rather than a game of hanky-panky.

"Mendez," Officer Denton said, "what did I tell you would happen if I caught you in here with a girl again?"

"You'd call my dad," Ryan replied glumly.

A girl? My brain registered.
Again?
Who had Ryan brought to the morgue? And why the morgue?

Officer Denton stared at us for a few seconds. "I thought I took your keys away last time," he said.

" The door was already open when I came in," Ryan said. Technically not a lie, since I was the one who opened it.

I found my voice. "Please don't call his father. I asked Ryan to bring me here. It's not his fault."

Officer Denton could barely restrain himself from giving Ryan a congratulatory high five.

I glared at Ryan. It'd probably be all over the county tomorrow about what a stud the Mendez kid was. If it wasn't already, I thought, remembering Officer Denton's words, particularly the part about the
girl
and
again.

Finally, we convinced Officer Denton not to say anything to Ryan's dad or my mom. After giving us a stern warning to head straight home, Officer Denton let us off the hook.

Ryan insisted on walking me home, even though it was almost his curfew. I stared straight ahead the whole time. It took us about ten minutes to get from the station to my house at the other end of town—and people think I'm exaggerating about how small Nightshade is.

We were in front of my house. I opened the gate and we started up the walkway.

Ryan stopped in his tracks. "Daisy, I'm really sorry about that kiss," he said.

I turned and looked at him. "Thanks a lot," I said.

"I didn't mean it that way," he said. "I just meant that a morgue isn't the best place for a first kiss."

"Didn't sound like it was a first for
you,
" I said.

Ryan said softly, "Daisy—"

"You're going to miss your curfew," I said.

He didn't budge.

"It's no big deal," I said.

"You seem mad," he said, leaning against the fence.

"I'm not mad," I said, gritting my teeth and smiling as pleasantly as possible. "You just took me by surprise, that's all. Next time, just give me a little notice."

"A little notice before I kiss you?" Ryan said. He grinned widely. "I can do that. I'm going to..."

He leaned in. I never found out what he was going to do, because the porch light flickered on.

I saw a curtain stir at one of the front windows. I was going to kill Poppy.

"I'll see you later," Ryan said. I watched him as he hopped our low picket fence and took off, whistling in the dark. Why was he in such a good mood?

I was in a pretty good mood myself, I thought, remembering the kiss. What was I thinking? Ryan Mendez and me? As if I didn't have enough problems.

Chapter Three

I glared at Ryan's back. He was in the front, right next to the volleyball net. Rachel King, who was on the opposite team, was halfheartedly checking him out.

Rachel was on the cheerleading squad with Samantha Devereaux. I'd always liked her the best out of all the cheer clones. She was probably the second most gorgeous girl at Nightshade High—second only to Samantha.

Rachel had long curly brown hair, smooth skin the color of an iced latte, and deep blue eyes. She didn't look gorgeous today, however. Her skin had a green cast to it, like the algae that grew in Poppy's fish tank. It looked like she'd tried a home highlighting kit, and the effect was startling: there was a long white streak in her hair.

I glared at Ryan again. It was already Wednesday and he hadn't said any more about our kiss in the morgue. In fact, he hadn't said much of anything. He seemed to have urgent business on the other side of the galaxy whenever I appeared.

What was his damage? It was just a kiss between friends. It was no big deal. That's what I tried to tell myself, but it was more than a big deal. It was the kind of kiss that poets write sonnets about, but Ryan Mendez was too stupid to see it. Or maybe he was on the receiving end of fabulous kisses every day of the week.

It was my turn to serve. Ryan turned to watch me and then looked away quickly. I hit the ball as hard as I could. It went right for Ryan's head, but he ducked at the last minute and it careened into the net.

"Sorry," I called, smiling sweetly.

Samantha Devereaux had managed to dye her P.E. uniform black. She still had the pendant on as well. I thought Ms. Foster was going to read her the riot act about her uniform when she pointed to Samantha and said, "Why are you wearing that in my P.E. class?"

Samantha tried to look innocent. "What do you mean?"

"Miss Devereaux, you are fully aware that I do not allow any jewelry to be worn in my gym. It's a safety hazard."

"I'm sorry," she said, smiling sweetly.

For a minute, I thought Ms. Foster would take the pendant from Samantha, but instead she blew her whistle again. Figures that Sam would get away without a demerit for a dress code infraction. The teachers at school let her get away with murder, just because she is the captain of the cheerleading squad.

The other team rotated, and it was Rachel's turn to serve. She stepped up to the line and then crumpled to the floor.

Ms. Foster blew her whistle as a crowd gathered around Rachel as she lay on the floor. I stood in the back and hoped that she was okay.

"Step back, please," Ms. Foster said. "She needs a little room."

A minute later, Rachel sat up. "What happened?" she asked.

"You fainted," Ms. Foster said. "But I'm sure you're fine now."

"Shouldn't we take her to the nurse or something?" I asked. Ms. Foster was new, substituting for Mrs. Lamb, who was out on maternity leave, but weren't teachers supposed to know this kind of stuff?

"Yes, yes, of course," Ms. Foster said. "Daisy, could you and Ryan help Rachel to the nurse's office?"

Ryan didn't look at me as we each took one of Rachel's arms and helped her to her feet.

We kept our arms around her as we escorted her to the nurse's. I noticed that Rachel leaned heavily on Ryan's shoulder. She even fluttered her eyelashes, but weakly.

I knocked on the nurse's door. Nurse Phillips answered and then took over,
tsk
ng at the sight of Rachel's pasty complexion.

Nurse Phillips had a retro thing going. Cherry red lipstick, cat's-eye glasses, and platinum blond hair done up in a beehive do so high it blocked out the sun. She looked like someone ready to go to the hop, but I guesstimated her age to be somewhere in the midthirties.

I breathed in and almost choked on the smell of Aqua Net hairspray. Nurse Phillips's hairstyle probably required cases of the stuff.

"Let's get her on the cot," she said. Then to Rachel she added, "We'll have you right as rain in a minute. Leave it to me."

As Rachel lay there on the cot, I noticed the streak in her hair again. Had it somehow gotten even paler since we left the gym? Then I remembered that the girl in the morgue had a streak in her hair, too. Fad, or something freakier?

"Will she be okay?" I asked, but Nurse Phillips ignored the question.

"Thank you for bringing her to me," she said, "I'll take care of her now. Daisy, can you ask Ms. Meyers in the office to call Rachel's parents?"

I nodded. The big lump of worry in my throat wouldn't let me speak, but Nurse Phillips shooed us out into the hallway and shut the door firmly in our faces, blocking out Rachel's prone form.

Ryan and I stood there and examined the beige walls.

He cleared his throat. "Daisy, we need to talk," he said.

Typical. He wanted to talk now, of all times. "You heard Nurse Phillips. I have to go to the office."

"Later then?"

"Later." I went to the office, delivered my message, and then headed back to gym class.

The gym was empty. I checked the huge clock that hung on the wall opposite the double doors. The volleyball game had ended without me.

I wasn't heartbroken about it or anything. Gym was, thankfully, my last class of the day. I mean, who wants to go through the day with sweat sticking to their clothes? Or worse yet, get naked and take a shower with twenty of your classmates?

Mandatory showers had been dropped in the fall, when Lilah Porter protested the archaic practice by staging a sit-in in the gym, where she set up a projector and played the shower scene from
Carrie
in a continuous loop until the school board caved.

I headed for the locker room to change. I wondered what Ryan wanted to talk about. The kiss, probably. The thought made me squirm. I hoped he didn't think I'd get all clingy and that he'd have to let me down gently.

I'd tell him the kiss meant nothing, I decided. Absolutely nothing.

Still, I didn't want to dwell on the question of who else Ryan had kissed in the morgue. But however much I tried, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Which is why I wasn't quick enough to avoid Ms. Foster.

I was walking into the girls' locker room when she found me. She wore designer sweats in white with red trim. Nightshade High School colors.

"Daisy," she said. "I was so looking forward to a chat with you."

"Me?" What did Miss Foster want to talk to me about? Then I realized she'd want to know how Rachel was doing.

"We left her with Nurse Phillips," I said. "Her parents are on the way."

"Who?" She stared at me.

I stared back. She couldn't have forgotten about Rachel already. It wasn't every day that someone fainted in gym class, although some people had tried faking it.

"Oh, yes, the Davis girl."

"Rachel
King,
" I prompted. "Ms. Foster, don't you remember?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure she'll be fine," she replied, "And it's
Miss
Foster, not
Ms.
Gotta let them know you're available, and a silly ol'
Ms.
won't do that, now will it?"

Miss
Foster? It sounded so last century. I didn't think anybody used that term anymore, except Miss McBennett at the post office, and she had to be eighty.

She studied my troubled face. "You mustn't worry. It causes wrinkles," she said.

Her face was pink and smooth as a baby's. Clearly, Ms.—I mean
Miss
—Foster didn't worry much.

There was a gleam in her eye that I recognized. I'd seen ladies at the skin-care counter at Nordstrom with that exact same look. Two-hundred-dollar face cream, I guessed.

"You probably know that not only am I the physical education coach, I am also the cheerleading coach," she continued. "I can tell that you are physically fit."

"I guess," I said. She was looking me up and down so thoroughly that I knew she could probably guess my weight to the nearest ounce.

I was glad I'd given up chocolate. Not really, but it sounds better than the truth, which is that I had been jonesing for chocolate the way Poppy longed for unlimited cell minutes. My habit was so bad that I finally put a stop to it after I spent a week's worth of lunch money on some imported Swiss dark chocolate, 92 percent pure.

I'd lost track of what Miss Foster was saying. Chocolate will do that.

What she said then shocked me so much that I made her repeat it. "You want me to do
what?
"

"I want you to try out for the cheerleading team."

I was stunned. Me, a cheerleader?

"I don't think so," I said.

"Just think about it," Miss Foster said. "Cheerleader tryouts aren't for another week. With the Davis girl out sick, we're short. We have no choice but to replace her, and fast."

I didn't bother to try to correct her again about Rachel's last name. I was too busy trying to dodge trying out for cheerleading, but Miss Foster wouldn't leave until I promised I'd at least think about it. But deep down I knew that I didn't fit in with the cheerleaders. There was no way I was going to try out.