Pretty Little Devils (10 page)

Lakshmi leaned closer. Behind her own goggles, she was blinking excitedly. “I was trying to find you at lunch. Did you hear about Jilly Delgado's horse?”

“Yeah,” Hazel said coolly. “Something happened to him.”

“Something happened, all right. He was killed! Some psycho murdered him and cut him into little chunks!”

Hazel turned from her experiment. “What?”

“Someone hacked him up,” Lakshmi repeated eagerly. “They found one of his eyes ten feet away from his body. His tail was missing.”

Hazel shook her head. “Oh my God. How awful!”

“There's going to be a police investigation,” Lakshmi added. “They need to find the perpetrator right away. They're clearly crazy—and you never know what someone like that will do next.”

Hazel understood. She watched
CSI
too.

Footfalls sounded in the hall. Various conversations died away as Ms. Carpentier returned—without Breona.

“Uh, Hazel?” Lakshmi whispered. “We're all getting together tonight to watch a movie. I thought, if you're not busy…”

“Sorry.” Hazel turned away. “I have plans.”

Lakshmi sighed. “Yeah. I figured you would.”

 

Hazel's last period was a study hall that met in the media center. She set her heavy backpack on the table before her and opened it.

She wanted to study, but her mind was whirling. So much was happening. And it was all so confusing.

Breona's meltdown, Jilly's horse, her first football game as a PLD…and as Matty's girlfriend. Sylvia, Ellen, Brandon. What did it all mean?

She shook her head. Now was not the time to figure it out.

Focus,
she coached herself.

She cracked open her econ book. Supply, demand…she could do this.

After a few minutes, she felt someone standing just behind her. She turned her head to find Matty, smiling down at her and waiting to be noticed. She gave him a little grin and raised her brows.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey. I didn't know you had study hall,” she replied.

“Actually, I'm in Photo II,” he said. “I came in to do some research.” He held up a magazine titled
Digital Photographer
that had a bunch of cameras on the cover.

“You're into photography?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He glanced left and right, scanning for the study hall monitor, Ms. Engstrom. The coast was clear. He pulled out a chair and sat down.

“I was selling some of my work to the local paper back in Virginia. Country scenes. I caught a car accident, too.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I was the first one on the scene of the accident. It was a total scoop. Extremely gross.” He paused. “It was a fatality. They used it. They had to digitize out some of the details, but the editor said I had a good eye for composition.” He ducked his head and grinned. “Or rather, decomposition.”

“Ew.” She grimaced.

“They paid me a hundred and fifty dollars for it, too.” He played with the dog-eared corner of the magazine. “I tried to convince them I could e-mail things from here. They said thanks but no thanks.”

“Too bad,” she said empathetically.

He shrugged. “Hey, it's no big. There's…other stuff to keep me busy.”

He means me,
she thought, pleased.

“I see you got your new cell,” he said, pointing to the phone sitting in her backpack. “Can I have the number?”

Sylvia's caution sounded in her ears.
Don't give the number to just anyone….

Was Matty “anyone”? Would Sylvia be angry if Hazel gave him the number?

Hazel set her jaw.
Whatever,
she thought.
Sylvia may nose around in everybody's business, but she's not going to control me.

“Sure.” She wrote the number down for Matty on a scrap of notebook paper.

“Thanks,” he said, slipping it into his pocket.

He glanced down at her textbook. “Economics? I took that. If you get stuck, I got an A.”

Good grades, too.
She sighed.
Could he be any more perfect?

“Good to know,” she said. “Thanks.”

Then his smile faded as he dropped his voice even lower. “Hey. Did you hear about Jilly Delgado's horse?”

She nodded. “It's horrible.”

He toyed with the magazine, rolling it between his hands. “Poor thing's neck was severed almost clean off. There was blood everywhere. The stable hands who found it said they thought it was mud at first, it was so thick.” He gazed into the distance—almost as if he were looking at something else. Something invisible to her.

Sickened, Hazel worked overtime not to see any of it. She crossed her arms, hugging herself. She'd been to Jilly's stable, Brookhaven Ranch, years ago for a birthday party. She'd ridden Spirit. She could remember the way he chuffed and shook his mane. His steady gait and big brown eyes.

“And its left eye—”

“Matty,
stop
,” she pleaded.

He tapped the magazine. “Sorry. It's just…maybe I do have a journalist's fascination with this kind of thing. There are a lot of strange people out there, Haze. And a lot of serial killers start out with animals.”

Hazel felt a chill. “God. That's uplifting.”

Matty sighed and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I gotta get back.” He looked at her with a penetrating stare. “I don't mean to scare you, but you should be careful, Haze. Stick with your girlfriends. Don't take chances.”

“I won't. We won't.” She frowned slightly. “It seems like we do just about everything together.”

“Okay.” He tucked the magazine under his arm. “I'll see you tonight.”

Hazel had no idea how she was going to get anything done now.

Poor Jilly,
she thought, shivering.
What kind of person would hack up a poor, defenseless horse?

A
t the game, the PLDs huddled together in the bleachers, sharing a big, scratchy blanket.

Despite the fact that the Highlanders were winning, Hazel felt like the PLDs were the main event—sitting front and center and drawing everyone's interest.

Hazel had to admit that she loved the attention. She cheered loudly and wagged her purple-scrunchied ponytail whenever the team scored.

Sylvia had brought popcorn, and the PLDs discreetly shared a flask filled with scotch. Hazel abstained. Sylvia had her booked for a babysitting gig after halftime. She didn't want to show up at Charlie's house smelling like a distillery.

She threw a Hershey's Kiss into her mouth instead.

Between plays, Daliah Firestone and Francesca Morano slid over to say hi.

Daliah and Francesca were popular girls, known for their style and their rep as stars of the drama club. Hazel would have given anything to hang with them just a few weeks ago. Now the tables were turned.

“Hazel,” Francesca gushed, “I love your outfit. That shirt is totally cute.”

Hazel glanced down at herself. She had on jeans, a long-sleeve T-shirt with a rhinestone cowgirl on it, and her black hoodie. Nothing special.

“And those jeans!” Daliah continued. “They're the perfect wash. What brand are they?”

Hazel had opened her mouth to accept the compliment when Sylvia cut in.

“Merci!”
she said. “Our Hazel has the best clothes, doesn't she?”

Francesca nodded, obviously thrilled to have Sylvia's attention.

A roar sounded from the large crowd and everyone leapt to their feet. Hazel jumped up, craning her neck to see what she'd missed.

Carolyn nudged her. “Your boyfriend just completed a huge play!”

Hazel didn't know anything about football, but she knew Matty was a wide receiver. She spotted him high-fiving Josh. Then he turned directly to where she was sitting and pointed, his face breaking into the broadest smile. He gave a little wave, then returned to the game.

“Ooh, sweet!” Sylvia teased Hazel.

“Matty Vardeman.” Daliah sighed. “He's
so
hot. You're
so
lucky!”

This is like a dream. The other girls don't just like me. They
envy
me
—
they want to
be
me.

That is what being a PLD is all about,
Hazel thought.

At halftime, the cheerleaders took over the field. Breona Wu, who seemed to have recovered from her afternoon meltdown, was the star of the show. She vaulted into the air, balancing on top of a complicated human pyramid.

She tumbled down, then held up a cardboard sign with the number 43 painted on it.

Forty-three. Matty's number,
Hazel realized. She stared at Breona as she whooped and hollered.
Was it that I had a carnation or that I had
Matty's
carnation that made Breona so insane?

Hazel wasn't sure. When you were a PLD, there was just so much drama.

 

When Hazel showed at the Pollins house, she fed Charlie some mac and cheese. He went to bed in his roomful of gadgets, and she settled in the living room, delving into her homework.

She was engrossed in history when the doorbell rang. She set down her book, uncurled her legs from the sofa, and went to the door. She checked the peephole, fully expecting to see one of the PLDs on the porch.

Oh my God!

It was Matty, in jeans and jacket, his dark, curly hair glistening from a post-game shower. He must have seen her peering through the hole, because he waved.

Warmth rushed through her and she fumbled to unlock the door quickly. When she yanked it open, he smiled at her hesitantly. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She opened the door wider, gesturing for him to come in.

“Sylvia told me you were here,” he said. “She thought you might need some company.”

“I do,” she confirmed. He put his arms around her and kissed her gently.

“So, did you go to the after-party?” she asked as they broke apart and moved into the living room.

He nodded. “Yeah, but not for long. I drove Stephan over there. Did you know he used to go out with Megan?”

Hazel's mouth dropped open. “You're kidding! That's—I mean, she hates him.”

“I think the feeling is mutual. He kept trying to convince me that she's gay or something. I told him it was none of my business.”

Hazel stared at him. “Megan? Gay? No, it's—”

She'd been about to tell him that Carolyn was the lesbian, but Sylvia had said not to spread it around.

Matty took off his jacket. “That's what some guys say when a girl ticks them off. It's either that or that she's a prude. All I know is, she must have hurt him bad.”

Hazel processed that. Or tried to. Of the two, Stephan seemed more capable of doing the hurting than Megan.

She shook her head. “I can't even picture them together.”

“Me neither.” He paused. “So how's Charlie?”

“Asleep,” she said.

The telltale beeping of a computer game sounded from Charlie's room.

Matty laughed. “Asleep, huh? Let's go see.”

He grabbed her hand and led her down the hall. Hazel tried very hard not to melt at the feel of Matty's strong fingers wrapped around her own.

Hazel knocked on the door. Charlie's high, small voice answered. “Come in.”

Matty pushed open the door. “
Hello, carbon unit
,” it announced.

Charlie was sitting in bed, playing with his Game Boy. “Matty!” he cried, leaping up. “My dad and I put up the posters and I've had three calls about Isotope!”

“That's great,” Matty cheered.

“None of the cats were him, though,” Charlie said, lowering his voice. “Just cats that looked like him.”

“Don't give up hope,” Matty said. “I'll bet he just went roaming. He'll be home soon.”

Charlie sighed. Then he held up his Game Boy. “Hey, do you want to play for a while? I've got Rayman 3.”

“Awesome.” Matty pulled up the same chair he'd used when he made his sketch.

“Do you guys want something to drink?” Hazel asked.

“Sure. Water is fine,” Matty said.

“We have some Sprite in the refrigerator,” Charlie said eagerly.

“Sprite it is, then,” Matty amended. “Make it a round, please.”

Hazel went into the kitchen and got three Sprites out of the fridge. She grabbed a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa.

She balanced it all against her chest and turned toward the bedroom.

“Oh!” she cried. Matty was there, blocking her way.

“Charlie's a sweet kid, but I hope you know—I didn't actually come here to play video games.” He slowly removed each item from her arms and set them down on the counter.

His fingers brushed her collarbone. Chills rippled across her chest.

He tilted his head, gazed at her with an adoring expression, and brushed his lips over hers. “Hazel,” he whispered.

She put her arms around his neck and gave in. They leaned into each other. The feel of Matty's lips made Hazel dizzy. She struggled to maintain control.

It's okay,
she thought.
This is good. This is real. It's not like what happened last summer.

The memory of that night in August hit her like a bucket of ice water. She hadn't told anyone about it—and she didn't want to make the same mistake again.

She broke away. “Charlie's waiting.”

“He's got his Game Boy,” Matty protested, putting his arms around her again. “He doesn't even know we're gone.”

“I know, but…” She smiled uncertainly. “It's…I just don't think…”

He huffed. His brown eyes narrowed.

Hazel panicked. Was he angry? Did he think she had led him on?

Then she remembered that she was a PLD. Would Sylvia care if Josh was mad at her? Not likely. Hazel had the right to say no. If
that
was all he wanted from her, then he was a jerk.

Matty recovered quickly. He smiled. “Sorry, Hazel. I don't mean to rush you.”

“It's—it's okay,” she murmured.

For about an hour they all sat in Matty's room, playing video games. Matty let Charlie win. Each time, Charlie jumped up on his bed, doing a little victory dance. It sent Hazel and Matty into fits of hysterics.

After a while, Hazel reached over and checked the watch on Matty's right hand. “Almost midnight.”

Matty yawned. “Wow. I should go.”

“Yeah, I guess you should,” Hazel agreed reluctantly. He reached out a hand to help her up.

She walked him to the door and they kissed for a few more minutes. She didn't want it to stop. Ever. But he had to go.

“Lock this door, okay?” he instructed.

“I will,” Hazel promised. She tingled as she watched him go through the arch and down the walk to his car.

“Lock it,” he insisted again before getting in. He started the engine and pulled away.

No longer caring about seeming cool, Hazel watched until she could no longer see Matty's taillights. Then she shut the door and turned the dead bolt.

She padded back down the hall to find Charlie fast asleep. She put an extra blanket over him and shut off his light.

She walked back to the living room to study. As she crossed the threshold, her cell phone went off.

Could it be Matty? She dug the phone out of her pack and checked the caller ID.
ID BLOCKED
. She pressed the connect button and put it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Are you alone in the house?”
The voice was disguised, midway between a growl and a hoarse whisper.

“Hey, guys,” she said merrily. “Guess what!”

“Because I'm in the study, waiting for you.”

“Ha ha! Wrong!” she said triumphantly. “I checked the locks, inside and out. You are so lying!”

“But I'm dead. I'm a ghost. I'm incorporeal.”

“No, you're Katie and Chrissie Darling,” Hazel said, laughing. “Matty came by. Thank you for sending him over.”

“You let him in the house?”

“Damn straight,” she said proudly.

“Without a chaperone? You are a bad babysitter!”

“The evilest,” she confirmed.

“You will pay!”

“No, I will get paid.” She carried the phone into the kitchen, remembering then that she had left dishes in Charlie's room. She would have to clean them up before Mr. Pollins got home.

“No. You will get laid,”
the voice said. Then a crescendo of evil laughter preceded the dial tone.

Hazel giggled, appreciative of the prank. In their own twisted way, it meant the PLDs cared.

Then she tiptoed into Charlie's room, got the dirty dishes, and carried everything into the kitchen. She was drying the last of the three glasses when the landline rang. She grabbed the receiver off the wall unit and put it to her ear.

“Pollins residence.”

“Someone should warn you.”
Another disguised voice. Deeper this time.

“Wow. You guys must be bored. I know. I suck. I'm a bad babysitter.” She put the glasses on the shelf, closed the cabinet door, and hung the dish towel back on the hook beside the door to the pantry.

“You think I'm one of your friends? News flash. They're not your friends.”

The caller snickered. The sound was rough—mean. It rendered Hazel speechless.

“They would turn on you in a second if it came down to you or one of them. You should watch your back. Popular girls are only out for themselves. If they're ever threatened, they'll throw you to the wolves.”

“Who is this?” she said, shaken.

The dial tone buzzed in her ear.

She hung up the phone and replayed the voice in her mind. Who did it sound like? She felt certain that she recognized it somehow.

The landline rang.

Don't answer it,
Hazel told herself. But Mr. Pollins had instructed her to.