The duckling didn’t move.
Emerson gently lifted the cage. Holden flopped limply inside, his feathers stained with blood. “No!” Tears sprang to Emerson’s eyes, darkening her vision. Again and again she shook the cage, but still Holden didn’t move. There were no chirps or pecks or clumsy flaps of his wings. A sob wracked her, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Holden,” she whimpered.
It was through a thick veil of tears that she finally saw it: a note taped to the bottom of the cage. She let out a cry as she tore it off.
Bad things happen when you’re a bad girl. Better behave tonight, Em! Or next, it will be you.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Saturday, 6:35 PM
“We want to withdraw from the homecoming race.” Tenley put her hands on her hips, glaring up at Harris Newsby. The dance was to begin in under half an hour, and she, Emerson, and Sydney were in Winslow’s study lounge, where Harris and the rest of the Pricewaterhouse-Winslow Club—the club responsible for tallying any votes at Winslow events—had set up their ballot-counting booth.
Tenley glanced over at her friends. Well, at least Sydney was there with her. Emerson was physically present, but her eyes were glazed over and it was clear her mind was elsewhere. Probably with her duckling. The thought made Tenley’s blood boil. What Abby had done to a defenseless little animal… It was sick. Her threats weren’t going to work on them this time. They just made it even more important to end this once and for all.
“Excuse me?” Harris burst out laughing, making his wire-rimmed glasses bounce on his nose. “Is this some kind of joke?” He eyed Tenley’s magenta dress, which she’d picked out weeks ago. It was made of raw silk and had a high neckline that made the low dip in the back the perfect surprise. “Because you look dressed for the occasion to me.”
“I might actually take that as a compliment,” Tenley snapped, “if you weren’t dressed like a Smurf.” She eyed his bright blue suit disdainfully. “I’m serious, Harris. We want our names taken out of the running. None of us wants to win queen.”
“B-but, we’ve already tallied the votes,” Harris stuttered. He lifted up a large manila envelope. “The results are finalized.”
“Then refinalize them,” Tenley demanded. “Unless, of course, none of us is the winner.”
“I… uh…” Harris looked bewildered. He tugged at the bright blue vest he was wearing under his bright blue suit jacket. “Miss Hilbrook? Can you come here for a minute?”
“Everything okay, Harris?” Miss Hilbrook pushed a strand of dark blond hair off her forehead as she approached the booth. In her red sheath dress, she could almost pass for one of the students. Tenley had never understood how one of the dorkiest clubs in school had ended up with Winslow’s hottest teacher as its academic sponsor.
“Everything’s not okay,” Tenley informed her. “I was just telling Harris that Sydney, Emerson, and I would like to remove our names from the homecoming race.”
“And I was just telling Tenley that the results have already been tallied,” Harris replied.
“Retallying won’t exactly be hard, Harris,” Sydney cut in, sounding exasperated. Tenley glanced over at her. She still couldn’t get over how different Sydney looked tonight. Gone was her usual uniform of torn jeans and a flannel, and in its place was a gorgeous turquoise dress that made her blue eyes pop. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, and she was wearing makeup for what Tenley suspected was the first time in her life. “Considering there will only be one candidate left.”
“I don’t understand, girls.” A concerned wrinkle formed between Miss Hilbrook’s eyebrows. “You should be excited about this! I shouldn’t be saying this, but…” She paused, lowering her voice confidingly. “One of you has already been confirmed the winner. Whoever it is deserves to get her crown. If this is about nerves—”
“It’s not,” Tenley interrupted. “We just don’t want to be queen,” she said firmly. “Any of us.”
“It’s a protest!” Sydney blurted out. “We’re protesting the, um, rise of materialism in high schools.”
“Yes!” Tenley slammed her palms down on the booth. “That’s right. By not winning homecoming queen, we’re telling all students it’s okay to be a dork”—Sydney kicked her in the ankle and she quickly cleared her throat—“it’s okay not to conform to society’s impossibly high standards,” she finished. She tossed her meticulously curled hair over her shoulder. “Right, Emerson?”
Emerson blinked, looking startled. “Um, right,” she said quickly.
“Emerson Cunningham is taking a stand against materialism?” Harris shook his head, sounding flabbergasted. “You’re a model, for god’s sake. That’s like the living embodiment of materialism—”
“That’s enough, Harris,” Miss Hilbrook interjected. “I think it’s wonderful what they’re doing.” She gave Tenley a penetrating look. “Just as long as you guys are sure…”
“We are,” Tenley promised her. She smiled as sincerely as she could. “It’s a cause that means a lot to us.”
Miss Hilbrook furrowed her brow. “I hope you’re not planning to make any sort of scene as part of this stand you’re taking.”
“Not at all,” Tenley assured her.
“We just aren’t interested,” Sydney added. She glanced at Emerson, who nodded. “Any of us.”
Miss Hilbrook smiled and patted Tenley on the shoulder. “Well, then I think that’s very noble. Harris, please prepare an envelope for the new winner.”
Harris groaned under his breath as he returned to the booth. “Girls,” he muttered.
Tenley breathed in deeply as she stepped into the hallway. The faint scent of punch and cookies drifted over from the cafeteria, where the dance was being set up. “Part One down,” she said.
Emerson adjusted her dress. It was black and ruched and accentuated her model-tall figure. A gold drop necklace hung around her neck, and her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Apparently, even heartbroken she could look flawless. “Time for Part Two,” she said.
Tenley looked from Emerson to Sydney. Abby should be arriving in the bio lab any second. It was now or never. “Everyone remember the plan?” she asked.
“Scream,” Sydney recited.
“Grab,” Emerson added.
“Lock,” Tenley finished. She tossed a key to Emerson. It was large and beat-up, marked on the top with masking tape.
“Supply closet?” Emerson confirmed.
Tenley nodded. Earlier in the evening, before Emerson and Sydney arrived, she’d managed to sweet-talk Bob, the ancient Winslow janitor, into lending her the spare key to the third-floor supply closet. She told him that she was on the decorating committee for the dance and that she would need access to supplies throughout the night. She’d thrown in her sweetest smile, and he’d eaten it right up. “And if anyone needs it, I’ve got my pepper spray.” She popped open her beaded purse to reveal the small pink bottle tucked inside.
“So do I.” Emerson opened up her gold-sequined purse. A matching bottle lay next to several tubes of makeup.
Grimly, Sydney opened her purse as well. The same bottle was jammed between her phone and a pack of mints.
“Let’s do this,” Tenley said.
Fear stampeded through her as they headed silently to the bio lab. Channel it. That’s what her dad used to tell her before gymnastics meets. Channel your fear and you’ll be unstoppable.
Tenley straightened up to her full five feet two inches. She could do this. She looked over at Sydney and Emerson, walking tall by her side. They could do this, she corrected herself. Together.
A few rooms down from the bio lab, they slowed to a stop. Tenley gestured for the others to wait. She crept quietly over to the lab. Careful to stay behind the door frame, she peeked inside. Abby was sitting on top of a desk in a navy dress, drumming her fingers against her lap. Her purse lay discarded on the chair behind her. Perfect.
Tenley gave Emerson and Sydney a thumbs-up. Emerson swiveled around and took a quick scan of the hallway before giving a thumbs-up in return. That was their cue. In the span of a minute, three things happened. Tenley ducked into an empty classroom next to the bio lab. Emerson dashed into the hallway bathroom. And Sydney pushed play on a tape recorder and shoved it to the very back of the third-floor supply closet. As a single, ear-piercing shriek trumpeted out of the recorder and filled the air, Sydney darted into the bathroom to meet Emerson.
Tenley held her breath. Three, she counted silently. Two—
“Delancey?” Abby’s yell exploded from inside the bio lab before Tenley could count to one. Footsteps pounded out of the lab and down the hall.
Bingo.
Tenley flew into the bio lab. There, lying innocently on a chair, was Abby’s silk, cream purse. The purse she’d left behind in her rush to reach Delancey—exactly what they’d counted on. Tenley grabbed it, her fingers wrapping greedily around its chain strap. She popped open the clasp. Inside was Abby’s phone: the darer’s phone. A smile spread triumphantly across her face.