Killer's Kiss (3 page)

Karina let go.

Delia toppled back. Her head slammed into the hard bleacher seat behind her.

Karina crouched over her, panting like a wild animal. She grabbed Delia's throat again.

“Let her go! Karina, stop!” Gabe yelled.

Delia struggled to free herself.

Karina's hands twisted tighter around her throat. “You're not going to win! You're not going to take anything that belongs to me!” Karina cried hoarsely.

I can't breathe, Delia realized. I can't breathe!

Blackness edged her vision.

With her last bit of strength, Delia reached up and grabbed Karina's ponytail.

She yanked as hard as she could.

Karina shrieked in pain and surprise. Her hands slipped off Delia's throat.

Delia scrambled into the aisle, gasping for air. “Get her away from me!” she gasped.

Gabe reached for Karina, but she was too fast for him. She grabbed one of Delia's long, dangling earrings. She jerked it down.

Delia screamed as pain shot through her ear. A trickle of hot blood oozed over her torn earlobe.

Her lungs felt as if they were on fire. The gym blurred in front of her.

The only thing she could see clearly was Karina's face. Karina's beautiful face. Twisted with anger.

Karina's lips were pulled back over her teeth in a snarl. She raised her hands and curled them into claws. Then she threw herself at Delia.

“I'm going to kill you!” she screamed.

Chapter

5

A
sour taste filled Delia's mouth. She grabbed a handful of Karina's expensive sweater and pushed Karina away.

Karina teetered on one of the bleacher steps.

Then Gabe wrapped his arms around her.

She went limp.

Gabe led her down to the gym floor.

Karina stared up at Delia. She began to shake. “You won't win!” Karina sobbed. “Not this time, Delia. You won't! I swear it!”

Delia lowered herself onto the bleachers, trying to get her breath back. She barely noticed Britty's arm around her shoulders.

“What is she talking about? What does she
mean? Why is she acting so crazy? I didn't do
anything
to her,” Delia murmured to herself.

She kept her eyes on Karina.

Karina dragged her arm over her cheek—and smeared her makeup all over her sweater. “You won't win the Conklin,” Karina promised her. “And you'll never, never, never get Vincent. He's mine, Delia.
Mine.”

“V-Vincent?” Delia sputtered.

She felt dizzy. Her ear throbbed. Her head ached. Blood stained the sleeve of her orange dress.

Delia slowly shook her head back and forth. She struggled to understand what had just happened.

Nothing Karina said made any sense.

“Vincent?”

With Britty's help, Delia hauled herself to her feet. “What are you talking about, Karina? What do you mean?”

Delia stared down at Karina, trying to figure everything out.

She's crazy, Delia realized. Karina is crazy. Crazy.

“You need help, Karina,” Delia called shakily. “You're sick.”

“I'm
not the sick one!” Karina cried. “You stay away from him!”

“Girls! What is going on here?” Ms. Bates, a gym teacher, ran up to them.

“Karina attacked Delia,” Gabe told her.

“That's because she—” Karina shrieked.

“Come with me and you can tell me all about it,” Mrs. Bates said. Then she led her across the gym.

“Delia, go get the nurse to take care of that earlobe,” the teacher called over her shoulder. “I'll check on you in a little while.”

Delia slumped back against Britty.

Gabe climbed up the bleachers and took her hand. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I … I guess so.” Delia wondered if her voice sounded as shaky to her friends as it did to her. “She didn't tear my earring all the way out. But why did she do that to me?”

Gabe glanced at the gym door. “I think one of us should stay with Karina. I'll go,” he said in a rush. He turned and went running after Karina and Ms. Bates.

“I think you should rest before we try heading to the nurse,” Britty said.

“I'm scared,” Delia admitted. “I'm worried about Karina. Did you see the frightening look on her face? Did you see all that
hate?”

Britty was pale, her eyes wide. She chewed tensely on a strand of her hair. “I've never seen Karina like that. Never. I've never seen
anybody
like that.”

“Did you hear what she said about Vincent? She really believed it. She really believes he's her boyfriend. She's insane. She has totally lost it. That's the only explanation,” Delia murmured.

“I'll talk to her later,” Britty promised. “I'll
try … I'll try to calm her down. I'll find out what happened. Something must have set her off.”

Delia nodded. “I'm really frightened of her. I've never seen anybody so out of control! What if she does something horrible?”

“Don't worry,” Britty soothed her. “You're safe now. Ms. Bates will talk to her parents. And Gabe is watching her. Let's just grab our things and go to the nurse. Then we can get out of here.”

“Good idea,” Delia said. “But give me a minute. I must look awful.”

Britty laughed and shook her head. “See? You're already starting to recover,” she answered.

Delia laughed too. “Owww, that hurts,” she complained.

She ran her fingers through her tangled hair and straightened her dress. Even though her hands shook, she touched up her lipstick—perfectly.

She spotted a napkin on the bleachers. The flimsy kind they gave out with boxes of popcorn at the concession stand. Delia grabbed it and blotted her lips, then set it on the seat beside her.

This time, the lip print wasn't smiling.

♦ ♦ ♦

“My drawings are okay, I guess,” Delia said to Vincent the next night. She tilted her head to one side and studied the pictures set up against her living room wall. “But they're nothing compared to Stewart's,” she added. A tiny knot formed in her stomach.

Vincent didn't answer.

“Stewart is really into detail,” she went on. The knot grew a little bigger. “His drawings are realistic, perfect down to the last detail. Mine are more … more imaginative, I think.”

She tipped her head the other way and smiled. “Maybe they look better sideways!”

She did her big, bold drawings with markers—in the brightest, loudest colors she could find. Some of the drawings were of Delia's own fashion designs. Wild styles. Crazy colors.

A few showed her friends. Britty whirling across the gym during her floor exercise, a blur of bright color. Gabe with his face stretched into an enormous smile, his fire-engine-red hair.

She even did a self-portrait. In it, Delia wore her favorite black miniskirt and a purple shirt just a shade lighter than her Midnight Wine lipstick. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. A wild, dark halo.

There was no drawing of Vincent.

Delia gazed at him, sitting next to her on her living room couch. She was a pretty good artist. Good enough to get into the Conklin finals. But she would never be talented enough to do justice to Vincent.

Nobody was that good.

“Vincent?” Delia urged. “Do you think my drawings are okay?”

Vincent kept staring at the basketball game on
TV. He stretched and yawned. “Of course,” he mumbled. “You wouldn't be in the finals if they sucked—would you?”

Delia watched Vincent as he spoke. He appeared bored.

No, she decided. Not bored. He's tired and worried. We're both still upset about Karina.

Karina hadn't shown up for school that day. The whole school was buzzing about her. How strange Karina had looked when she attacked Delia. How hysterical she had acted. How unlike her usual sweet, responsible self.

Of course Vincent is upset. Everyone at school is upset. They are her friends. I'm her friend too, Delia thought.

“Or at least I
used
to be.” Delia didn't realize she'd said the words out loud until Vincent turned and stared at her.

“I was just thinking about Karina,” she explained. Delia brushed one hand tenderly over her sore ear. “We used to be such good friends. But it seems like a long time ago.” Delia sighed. “I'm worried, Vincent. Karina wasn't just angry yesterday—she was
insane!
I wish you could have seen it. She said all this crazy stuff about you being her boyfriend. About how she won't let me have you. It was so
weird. “

Vincent didn't reply.

“Vincent?” Delia prodded.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Weird.” Vincent edged closer
to Delia. He flicked off the lamp on the end table and slipped one arm around her shoulders.

Any other time Delia would have been eager to lose herself in the warmth of Vincent's arms. But that wasn't so easy right now. She felt too unsettled, too frightened.

Delia stared into Vincent's dark brown eyes. “I think Karina truly believes you are her boyfriend. She has convinced herself that I'm trying to take you away from
her. “

Vincent shook his head. “Don't worry about Karina. She's basically okay.”

Delia stiffened. He thought Karina was basically okay after what she did to Delia? Delia still had bruises around her throat—and a bandage on her torn ear!

How did he know so much about Karina anyway?

Did he feel sorry for her?

Don't be ridiculous, Delia told herself. Vincent doesn't care about Karina. He only cares about me.

She wrapped her arms around Vincent's neck and rubbed her cheek against his. “You won't let this thing with Karina come between us will you?”

“Forget about Karina!” Vincent snapped. He turned and kissed her. His lips felt hard. Tense.

She ran her fingers through his hair. Delia felt her lipstick smearing, but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything. Except Vincent.

And the Conklin Award.

“Vincent …” Delia pushed him away and studied his face. “You'll come visit me if I go to college in New York, right?” she asked. “You—”

Delia's words stuck in her throat.

She stared over Vincent's shoulder.

And gasped. “Vincent! Someone is watching us!”

Chapter

6

“O
h, Vincent!” a high voice cried.

Karina?

In my house? Delia wondered.

The lamp on the end table clicked on. Delia's fifteen-year-old sister, Sarah, stood behind it.

“Oh, Vincent!” Sarah mimicked in a high, swooning voice. “Karina is going to come between us. Vincent, promise me she won't!”

“Sarah! You little creep!”

Delia leaped off the couch and grabbed her sister's arm. “You're not funny! You're really not funny at all! What are you doing in here?”

Sarah pushed Delia away. “It's my house too,” she sneered. “I don't need your permission to be here.”

Delia narrowed her eyes at her sister. Sometimes she couldn't even believe they were related. They were about the same height, with the same dark hair and brown eyes.

But Sarah had no clue about makeup or how to dress. Tonight she wore baggy jeans and an ancient Girl Scout T-shirt that said “Make New Friends but Keep the Old” across the front in big green letters.

Delia rolled her eyes. What was Sarah's
problem?

“You're supposed to be at swimming practice,” she told her sister. “What are you doing home? Why don't you go get a life instead of spying on us?”

Sarah stuck out her tongue at Delia.

“Oh, real mature!” Delia snapped. “Are you fifteen or five?”

“Five,” Sarah shot back. “Like your IQ.”

“Come on, guys,” Vincent interrupted. He stood up. “Give us a break, Sarah. We're trying to talk.”