Prom Kings and Drama Queens (5 page)

Daniel Cummings’s chin was resting on my driver’s-side window.

39

“What are you doing here?” I demanded through clenched teeth.

He grinned. “Same thing you’re doing here. Unless I’m wrong and you and your little sidekick are working as lookouts for the Crestview Cretins.”

“Funny,” I said. “You mean you knew about this ahead of time? How?”

“I have my sources,” Daniel said.

At this point, I was afraid Lindsay was going to tap a hole in my dashboard. “You knew and you didn’t try to stop them?” I said.

“Stop them from doing what? They haven’t done anything yet.”

“Yet!” Lindsay said. “If you know something, Daniel, you better speak up before we’re all accessories to a homicide.”

“Homicide!” Daniel laughed. “More like oakicide.”

“What?” Lindsay and I said in unison.

“They’re going to try to cut down that tree.”

“What for?” I said.

“Because it’s the pride and joy of Saint Bart’s. It’s the largest oak tree in the city, and it’s been there since before the school was founded back in the forties.”

“So?” I said.

“So who says a bunch of egotistical jerks have to have a good reason for doing something stupid?” Daniel said. “It’s a macho sports thing. The Bulldogs 40

made some threat about kicking our butts on the court, and next thing you know . . . Saint Bart’s Chainsaw Massacre.”

“How do you know all this?” I said.

“My cousin goes to Saint Bart’s. That’s how I found out about the tree. I didn’t know the whole plan till now. I knew the team was meeting here, but I didn’t know why.”

I leaned back in the seat. “What do we do now that we know?”

Daniel shrugged.

I imagined running up to the team and yelling,

“Stop, stop! You mustn’t hurt the tree.” That was one way to ensure Brian Harrington would think I was a big dork.

“We
are
reporters,” Daniel said. “We might as well get a closer look so we can at least see what’s going on.” I glanced at Lindsay, who was glaring at the group now huddled around the famous oak tree that was soon to be the famous dead oak tree. “Wanna come?” She shook her head without shifting her eyes a millimeter. I gently opened the car door, stepped out, and then closed it with a slight click. “Be back soon.” Daniel and I inched forward, hiding behind neighboring cars as we headed toward the tree. I listened to the rhythm of our almost silent steps and tried to remember why I was doing this: I’m a reporter. I don’t 41

want Daniel Cummings to get the story and not me. But one big reason not to do it kept crowding into my head: I could get caught. I could get caught. I could get caught.

Then again, I couldn’t walk away now. Daniel and I got as close as we could and hid behind an SUV about thirty feet from the guys. We could hear them laughing.

“We are definitely gonna show those Saint Bart’s guys who’s boss,” a voice said.

“I don’t know. It’s a pretty nice tree,” another voice said. I recognized it as Brian’s. My heart swelled inside my chest. He wasn’t like those other guys after all.

“Are you kidding me?” Luis said. “We got this far.

We’re doin’ it.”

Another voice: “Yeah, let ’er rip!” The sound of a chain saw starting up suddenly cut through the quiet, drowning out the music of chirping crickets. I winced as the saw clunked against the trunk.

They were really going through with it.

I turned to Daniel. “Should we stop them?”

“Do you really think they’d listen to us?” Daniel answered. “Besides, reporters don’t get involved. They just report the news.”

“Not when something bad is happening,” I whispered frantically.

Daniel stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched over. “All those journalists that cover stories about 42

things like child slave trade in this country . . . they just tell the stories. It’s someone else’s job to fix it.” Images of emaciated children loaded into the backs of trucks flashed before me. “So what do we do about this? Report it in the school paper? By then it’ll be too late for anyone to do anything.”

“Yeah, you’re right, but
—
”

Suddenly Luis Rivera let out a string of obscenities like I’d never heard and a siren sounded from down the block. In unison, the guys raced to their cars and started the ignitions like it was the Indy 500. One at a time, as if they’d planned it, they screeched out into the street and disappeared.

I froze as the siren came closer. “What do we do?” Daniel’s face turned blue. Then not blue. Then blue again. The cop car with its flashing light was speeding toward us.

Before Daniel could answer the question, a large hand clamped down on my shoulder and a deep voice growled, “What do you think you’re doing here?” 43

SIX

Emily’s Strength Curtailed

The next thing I felt was a pair of lips on mine. No.

Make that a pair of lips practically trying to suck mine off. It was too dark to see, but I figured there was a good chance they belonged to Daniel and not the ran-dom guy who had his hand on my shoulder.

Either way.

Gross.

“Ewww,” I shouted, pushing Daniel off me. “What are you doing?”

He stomped hard on my foot and grabbed my hand.

I was too stunned to react.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Daniel said quickly. “We were just taking a walk and, uh, well, you know, Emily’s my girl-44

friend, so we stopped for a second to, you know . . .” Good one, Emily, think before blurting. “Um, yes,” I added, “Daniel’s my, um, boy . . . friend.” The word was a little hard to get out.

Just as Daniel opened up his mouth again, a light suddenly illuminated his face. I hoped it was a comet crashing to Earth.

“What’s going on here?” the cop said, turning the light toward me.

The burly guy, whose voice matched his large, naked, hairy chest, had finally taken his hand off my shoulder. “I caught these two out here watching a bunch of guys at the school. They must be gang members or somethin’—the others got away.” The cop looked at Daniel’s khaki pants and T-shirt with the big basketball that read I HAD A BALL AT

JEREMY’S BAR MITZVAH.

“Gang member, huh?” the policeman said. He turned back to me. “And what are you doing here?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Daniel said.

There was that word again.

“We were just taking a walk,” he added.

“Where’s your ID?” the cop demanded.

Daniel fumbled for his wallet while I froze. I’d left my purse in the car with Lindsay. I couldn’t go back and get it without getting her in trouble, too. She’d be grounded until the end of college if her mother ever 45

found out Lindsay had lied about where she was going.

“I left mine at home,” I said.

Daniel picked up the cue. “It’s okay. She drove with me.” He produced his driver’s license and held it under the flashlight.

“So,” the cop said, “you live in Lauderdale?” He turned back to me. “And what about you, Miss No ID?

Where do you live?”

I hesitated. There was no way I could say I lived in the neighborhood of St. Bart’s. He’d ask me where, and then I’d be in big trouble. “Um, Fort Lauderdale.”

“So the two of you are from Lauderdale, but you had to come all the way up here to this block for a romantic stroll? And, coincidentally, I get a call at the same time that there’s an incident of vandalism going on at Saint Bart’s.” He paused for a second, and then added.

“Do I have
dumb ass
written on my forehead?” He turned to the shirtless guy. “How many of them were there altogether?”

“Countin’ these two, eleven,” he said. “The others were all big guys. They were over by that tree makin’ a racket with a chain saw.”

The policeman grabbed Daniel’s elbow. “How ’bout we take another stroll.”

Mr. Neighborhood Crime Watch tried to grab my elbow, but I jerked it away.

The cop shone the light onto the tree and walked 46

around it until he found the evidence he was looking for—a big jaggedy slash across the lower trunk. It looked like a giant, scary smile.

“What do you two know about this?” the cop said.

Daniel shrugged.

“And don’t give me that romantic stroll crap. It’s no coincidence you two were out here at the same time some guys were trying to cut down this tree.” He pressed his fingers into the indentation the chain saw had made and laughed. “Paul Bunyan couldn’t cut down this sucker. You’re lucky those idiots didn’t know what they were doing, or you’d be in real trouble.” I wondered what kind of trouble we were in now.

Was it fake trouble? Did that mean he’d let us go?

The cop turned toward me. “Now, let’s see. What do
you
know about this?” It suddenly occurred to me—it might not seem like “real” trouble in the world of cops, but in my world, I was in deep Saint Bart’s Bulldog doo.

My heart beat so fast it almost vibrated like Luis’s chain saw. Think fast, Emily.

“We’re reporters,” I blurted. “We heard a rumor about something going on at Saint Bart’s tonight.” What was that phrase? The truth can set you free. Boy, did I hope whoever said that knew what he was talking about.

“That’s right,” Daniel said. “But we didn’t know what it was.”

47

“Where’d you hear the rumor?” the cop asked.

I shrugged, remembering the phone call outside the cottage at Brian’s house. “Around,” I mumbled. Could a half truth also set you free?

“You?” the cop said, turning to Daniel.

“School,” he said.

The cop put his hand on his gun. “You heard a rumor at school, but you didn’t know what was goin’

down?”

“Yes, sir,” Daniel said.

The cop turned to me. “Who were the guys with the chain saw?”

Oh my God. Truth? Lie? Truth? Lie?

I heard the words “I don’t know” escape from my lips.

“None of them looked familiar?” the cop said.

I stared at the huge roots that spread out from the bottom of the oak tree. “It was dark,” I said.

“And it’s a big school,” Daniel added. “We don’t know everyone.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Daniel was backing me up. We were reporters covering a potential crime, but we never got to see the culprits. End of story.

I looked at my watch. Nine forty-five. Plenty of time to get home before curfew.

The cop nodded slowly. It seemed like he was just about to let us go, but then he said, “Let’s take another 48

stroll—over to the squad car.”

Daniel and I exchanged fleeting looks of terror. My heart thumped about thirty times with each step.

At the squad car, the cop turned to us. “You see,” he said, “a crime’s been committed here. Since you two don’t seem to recall who the members of the chain saw gang were, I’m gonna have to take you in on suspicion of covering up that crime.”

I swallowed hard and used all my energy to not cry.

Take you in. Take you in. The words got louder with each obsessive repetition in my brain.

Burly guy stood over us like the dog in the Crime Watch posters as the cop reached into the squad car.

The next thing I saw was the glint of silver in the moon-light.

“Hands behind your backs, both of you.” The cop’s words mingled with the clink of the handcuffs as he slapped a pair across Daniel’s wrists first and then mine. He opened the back door of the car and motioned for us to get in as he recited our rights.

Daniel crouched so his head wouldn’t hit the roof and slid across the seat. I followed.

There was no fooling myself now. This was “real” trouble.

I stared at the floor as the cop thanked the bare-chested guy for being such a good neighbor. Yeah, right.

49

As we rode past my car, I saw an empty passenger seat. Lindsay was probably scrunched down so low, she had to tap her fingers on the floor. I figured she was on her fourth concerto by now.

I looked up at the seat belt to the left and thought about how my mom would kill me if she knew I wasn’t wearing it. Then I shivered at the irony.

I leaned forward and tried to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach. My wrists ached already. A searing pain shot through them when I forgot and leaned back in the seat.

When we got to the police station and they took off the handcuffs, my relief was short-lived. Daniel and I were taken by another policeman into a large room with a big table and metal chairs. He sat us next to each other. Then he asked us our full names and a whole bunch of questions: address, phone number, height, weight, tattoos . . .