Fearscape (7 page)

“
Is that friend of yours joining today?” asked Rachel, mouth full. “Whassername?”

“
Lisa?”

“
I prefer Whassername.”

“
She should be,” said Val. “
Lisa
doesn't have her phone, so I don't know. I can't text her.”

“
Oh, no,” Rachel said, adopting an expression of mock-horror. “Princess lost her phone?”

“
Lisa isn't that bad,” Val said automatically, wondering even as she said it whether it was true.

“
Maybe.”

“
No maybe,” Rachel said. “I'm never going to forget what she said to us.”

“
What are you — oh, calling us a 'cute couple'?”

“
What?” Val said, looking from one to the other, not quite sure if they were serious. “When did this happen? You never told me that Lisa thought you were — ”

“
Lesbians?” Lindsay supplied, at the same time Rachel said, “Dykes?”

Lindsay glared at her. “Rachel, that's offensive!”

“
We both know that's what Miss
Thing
was really thinking.”

“
I'm sure Lisa didn't mean anything bad by it,” Val said uncomfortably.

“
She asked me if I listened to
Indigo Girls
.”

“
And she asked
me
if I played lacrosse.”

“
You did play lacrosse,” Rachel pointed out.

“
Yeah, but she didn't know that. She just assumed.”

Rachel nodded. “And she asked both of us if we had a Tegan and Sara thing going on.”

Oh dear god
, thought Val, at the same time that a tray slammed noisily against the fake wood surface of the table. “How do you guys always get here so fast? That line is so gay, no offense.”

Lindsay's eyebrow arched so high it nearly disappeared into her hairline. Rachel looked like whether she couldn't decide whether to laugh her head off, or toss back an insult of her own. To Val's relief she settled for a snort of disdain and took a big bite out of her pizza.

Lisa eyed her for a moment, then turned to Val. “So James told me that you're mad at him?”

“
I wouldn't say mad. More like annoyed.”

Val explained the situation that had transpired in the art room, making an effort to meet the eyes of all three girls in turn. “I guess it's all for the best,” she finished. “I mean, he looked surprised.”

“
What a jerk,” said Lindsay. “He's so not even worth your time.”

Lisa gave her an evil look. “I'll speak to him, Val. I'm sure he didn't mean it that way.”

“
I think he did. 'Do you wear your uniform to school on game days?' Come on. Anyway, I'd rather skip the whole he-said she-said deal. Too much gets lost in translation.”

“
Amen,” said Rachel.

“
Boys,” Lindsay agreed, nodding. “What
doesn't
get lost in translation?”

“
Things with the letter X in front of them,” Rachel posited. “Like X-Box. And X-rated movies.”

“
In that case, I'm sure they'd be thrilled if we did wear our uniforms to meet days.”

“
And be ogled at like we're cheerleaders? No, thanks.” Lisa's evil stare got eviller. She was a cheerleader. As if just realizing this, Rachel's eyes widened and she looked at Lisa and said, innocently, “Oh. No offense.”

“
What about that other guy, Val? The one you were telling us about earlier? The older one?”

“
Yes, the one who called you
exquisite
.” Rachel batted her eyelashes.

“
What older one?” Lisa demanded. “Why didn't I — ” she broke off, now focusing her evil stare on Val. “Oh, no. You didn't.”

“
It's not like that,” Val stammered, withering under Lisa's glare.

“
Ooh, you know Val's mystery man, Lisa?” Lindsay said, grinning.

“
Who is it?” Rachel said. “I want the wheres, whens, and hows — but especially the wheres.”

“
Don't tell them,” Val pleaded.

“
Why not? If you won't listen to
me
, then maybe your best friends can tell you why Gavin Mecozzi is bad news.”

“
Gavin who?”

“
Oh shit,” Rachel said. “I think that's Hit List Guy.”

“
No,” Lindsay said.
“Him?”

“
Who?” Val said.

“
Your boyfriend, Val — known pretty much to everyone else in the school as Hit List Guy.”

“
What's a hit list?”

“
It's the grocery list school shooters write so they can remember who to cut down.”

“
Charming,” Rachel said dryly.

Val blanched. “He actually made one?”

It was Lindsay who answered this time. “Not exactly. It's
a long story, but basically it comes down to this paper he
wrote for English last year. Juniors have to read this book called
The Most Dangerous Game
by Richard Connell.”

“
It's a short story about this shipwrecked guy who ends up getting washed up on this island with a crazy old coot, who also happens to be an ex-hunter. And guess what? He's decided that regular game has lost its appeal — ”

“
Game in the hunter sense, not the playing sense,” Lindsay added, for Val's benefit.

“
Yeah,” Rachel said. “So
he —
Count Zoloft — ”

“
Zaroff.”

“
Zoloft, Zaroff, whatever. Count
Zaroff
decides that he's going to hunt humans from now on, since they're the only worthwhile challenge left for him.”

“
Hit List Guy — I mean, Gavin, sorry — had some interesting things to say about that book.”

“
Interesting as in scared-the-shit-out-of-people.”

“
The teacher kept his project on display. She said it was because it was awesome and what an A-plus paper is supposed to look like, and blah, blah, blah, but everyone knew it was because the school wanted proof, in case he ever actually did something, that they weren't liable or whatever.”

“
Something as in shoot-up-the-school,” Rachel said.

“
What was the paper about?” Val asked.

“
Basically
, it was this really creepy essay about how each major clique of the school would survive, or not, if put in that kind of situation,” Lisa said, seizing the conversation, “band geeks, cheerleaders, scene kids, jocks — ”

“
That's not a hit list, then,” Val said. “I mean, it's creepy but it's not like he was actually seriously considering — ”

“
The cheerleaders would probably be the first to perish,” Lisa said, “Because, despite their natural athleticism, they have never known what it is like to truly need to run. That's a direct quote. His essay's on the wall of my classroom. I read part of it — and had to stop.”

“
I've read parts of it, too,” Lindsay said, nodding. “He said the most likely to survive would be one of the shy, quiet kids that nobody suspects because his or her 'apparent weakness' would cause them to be underestimated, thereby increasing his or her chance to use one of their natural advantages.”

“
What on earth renewed your interest in that psychopath?” Lisa wanted to know. “Because I thought we had already gone over this. Did he say something to you?”

“ —
exquisite,” Rachel said in an undertone. Lindsay punched her in the arm.

Val wished she had something cold to put on her face. It was burning like a candle.

“
Oh my God, Val,” Lisa groaned. “He is going to chew you up and spit you out.”

“
Maybe not spit her out,” Rachel said, with a leer. “Not if he likes the taste of her.”

Lindsay punched her again, harder.

“
Ow! Not with the lacrosse arm. That freaking hurt!”

Lisa glared at the two of them. “Val, whether you believe me or not, he will hurt you. I do not want to watch that happen.”

“
Hey, maybe he's a really nice guy,” Rachel said, taking pity on Val's distraught expression. “I mean, Stephen King is apparently a doll and look at all the messed-up shit he writes.”

But Gavin isn't nice
, Val thought in despair.
He said so
himself
.

She felt as if she were right smack in the face of all public
scrutiny —
that's the girl who likes Hit List Guy —
and it was
like being trapped in a room without doors.

▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

When Mrs. Kimble asked, “How was school, Val?” she was a little alarmed when her normally chatty daughter responded with a grunt. “Did you have a bad day?”

“
Meh,” said Val.

“
Meh?”

“
High school is dumb.” Val scrunched up her face. “Everyone is so — so
shallow
.”

“
Oh, Val. You say that like it's such a novel observation. High school hasn't changed much since I was a girl, and I imagine that it's been pretty much the same since public schools first began.”

“
It's still dumb.”

“
Many things in the world are, and we can't do a thing about ninety-nine-percent of them.”

Val barred her arms over her chest. “I can't wait until college.”

“
Well, I'm afraid you're going to have to,” her mother said dryly, “So I'd suggest making the best of the life you have now.”

(I think you're exquisite.)

Val hesitated. “There was one good thing that happened today, though.”

“
Oh? What was that?”

“
There's this boy at school, and I think — I really think he might like me.” Val frowned again. 'Like' somehow wasn't the right word. It was too simple. Too light.

Too innocent.

Mrs. Kimble shot her a sideways grin. “Oh, that's wonderful, Baby. Is he the one you told me about earlier? The one Lisa is playing matchmaker with?”

'Playing' matchmaker? Like it's a game of pretend?
Val's frowned deepened into a scowl. “No. James is a jerk.”

“
I see.”

Silence.

“
So who is this new mystery man? Did Lisa introduce you to him?”

Val stomped her foot. “Mom! I can find boys without Lisa's help!”

“
Don't stomp! And I didn't say you couldn't.” Her mother looked offended.

“
You implied it.”

“
Goodness, you're sensitive today.”

Val glared ahead at the car stuck in front of them. Traffic was always heinous after school. The car had a “my child is a Derringer Honor Student” bumper sticker. The driver, however, had added another part, rife with irony, which read, “And all I got was this stupid sticker.”

She bet that kid's parents didn't think they had the dating appeal of a slug.

“
Oh, come on. Don't huff. Spill. I'm dying of curiosity.”

Val was tempted to torture her some more — she was still quite mad about her mother's assuming that she couldn't find boys on her own, mostly because it was starting to look as if it might be true — but she was too excited to keep quiet much longer, and her mother's enthusiasm was hard to resist in the wake of Lisa's cutting skepticism.

She managed to hold out for another block until blurting, “He's a senior.”

Her mother's expectant smile slipped. “Oh … dear. So he's eighteen. That's quite old.”

So are you
. “That's only four years older. We go to the
same high school!”

“
And next year he will be in college whereas you, little missy, will still be a high school student.” She rolled her eyes at her daughter's expression. “Okay, I get it. We'll discuss that later. So he's a senior. Is that all you know about him?”

“
He's in my art class.”

“
Mm-hmm.”

“
He works at Petville.”

Mrs. Kimble lifted an eyebrow.

“
Mom!”

Mrs. Kimble demurred. “I didn't say anything.”

“
You looked at me.”