Sydney had hers out in the span of a single breath.
Who will win… and who will die? Welcome to Judgment Day, girls!
Sydney held her breath as she looked up at the stage. Molly was waving the homecoming results through the air. “… Hunter Bailey and Delancey Crane!” she finished. Sydney let her breath come out in a long rush. At least that part of their plan had worked.
The noise in the cafeteria lifted to a roar as Hunter strutted to the stage, people hooting and cheering in his wake. “Just call me Your Highness,” he yelled out.
“Where’s the queen?” Up on stage, Molly scanned the room. “Delancey? Are you here? Oh, there you are?”
Sydney, Emerson, and Tenley all swiveled around to follow Molly’s gaze. Delancey was cowering in the doorway to the cafeteria, looking as if she’d just arrived at the dance.
“Of course, now we find her,” Sydney muttered. “When it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Delancey?” Molly repeated.
Delancey stood frozen in the doorway, her hands clenched around her purse. By the look of horror on her face, you would think it was a guillotine waiting for her up on stage instead of a crown.
Avery grabbed the mic out of Molly’s hands. “Don’t be shy, beautiful!” he crowed. He waved Delancey over to the stage. “Come get your rightful crown!”
For several long seconds, Delancey stood there wide-eyed, like a deer in headlights. Finally, she started across the floor. The band launched into a drumroll as she climbed up on stage and Avery handed Molly back the microphone.
“As Winslow’s student-body vice president,” Molly squeaked, “I officially crown Hunter and Delancey king and queen?” She returned the mic to its stand, then placed a gold sparkly crown on each of their heads. “Now, in the age-old tradition of Winslow coronations, the king and queen shall share a dance?”
Hunter leaned into the microphone. “Don’t forget to bow to us,” he announced. “Curtsying is fine, too.” He offered Delancey his hand, helping her off the stage. But as they stepped onto the dance floor, she pulled out of his grip.
“I—I can’t do this,” she said. She ducked her head, letting her curls fall across her face. “I shouldn’t have won.” She grabbed her purse and raced out of the room, leaving Hunter standing on the dance floor alone.
“What was that?” Emerson asked slowly.
Before anyone could answer, all three of their phones rang out at once. Sydney was overcome by déjà vu as she pulled her phone out once again.
Second-floor bathroom. Now.
They were out of the room and running up the stairs without a word. Sydney reached the bathroom door first. “Wait!” Tenley yelled. But Sydney had already flung it open.
Inside, leaning against the back wall, was Delancey Crane.
“What are you doing here?” Tenley howled. She pushed in front of Sydney. “You need to get out, Delancey. We’re waiting for—”
“Me,” Delancey finished. “You’re waiting for me.”
Sydney’s jaw dropped. Tenley and Emerson emitted frightened squeaks.
“You?” Sydney gulped. “It was really never Abby?”
Delancey shook her head forcefully. “I set her up. It was me.” She wrung her hands as she kept her gaze on something above their heads, refusing to make eye contact.
“But the receipt at the club,” Emerson began.
“I forged it,” Delancey cut in. “Abby’s my best friend. I know her signature almost as well as I know my own. I did it all: the signature, the scarf, the dare that exposed Hannah Baker and her gym teacher. Even Abby’s little disappearance.” She clenched her fists at her sides. “I arranged for a surprise early-admissions interview for her at Princeton.”
“But the picture,” Emerson protested. “Abby was taking boating lessons with Tricia!”
“Because I convinced her to,” Delancey said impatiently. “We took them together.”
The bathroom swam around Sydney. Innocent, doll-faced Delancey, Abby’s obedient little sidekick, was the darer? And Abby was innocent? Just thinking of what they’d put Abby through today made Sydney sick to her stomach. They were just as bad as Delancey. “Why?” she whispered. “What did we ever do to you?”
“And why would you frame your best friend?” Emerson spat out.
“Were you working with Tricia all along?” Tenley added furiously.
“I…” Delancey hesitated. She had the strangest expression on her face, as if she’d just bit into something rotten and was trying desperately to swallow it down. “I can’t tell you any of that,” she said at last. “Y-you all ruined everything. I wasn’t supposed to win tonight! Sydney was! The party at the Vault was supposed to help her!”
“What?” Tenley exploded. “Why? What are you talking about?”
Delancey finally looked right at them. Sydney blinked in surprise. She’d expected to see fury in her eyes, or hatred, like there had been in Tricia’s. But all she saw was fear. “That’s up to you to figure out.” Delancey pushed past them. “I have to go.”
“No!” Sydney grabbed her arm, holding on tight. “You at least have to tell us if it’s over!”
Delancey looked back at her. Up close, her eyes were red and glossy. “It’s never over,” she said. Then she wrenched her arm away from Sydney and raced out of the room.
“Wait!” There was a scraping noise outside as Tenley hurtled toward the door. When she pulled at it, it didn’t budge. Something was blocking the way. “She trapped us in here!” she howled.
“That’s karma if I ever saw it,” Emerson grunted. She and Tenley grabbed the door handle, trying to wedge it open. Sydney was about to go help them when she noticed Delancey’s silver purse lying abandoned against the back wall.
“She left her purse!” She crouched down to grab it. As she lifted it up, the clasp jostled open. Sydney sucked in a breath. There, sitting right on top, was Delancey’s cell phone. And on its screen was a text.
Blocked, read the name at the top.
You might have won homecoming, D, but you lost the game. It’s time: Confess to the girls. Or the next announcement you hear will be your BFF’s eulogy.
The message stared up at Sydney, mocking her. Her hands went slack and the phone slid out of her palm, clattering to the floor.
Delancey wasn’t the darer at all. Delancey was being dared.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Saturday, 9:40 PM
“Not here.” Emerson pounded her fists against the dashboard of Tenley’s car. They were at Reed Park, the last place they could think of to look for Delancey. After they’d finally shoved their way out of the bathroom and past the chair Delancey had used to jam the door, they’d spent an hour and a half searching for her. First, they’d looked in every room at Winslow. When they hadn’t found her there, they’d sent a quick text to Molly Berg from Abby’s phone, instructing her to bring Janitor Bob up to the third-floor supply closet—then they’d booked it out of the building.
They’d been scouring the town ever since. They’d gone to Delancey’s house, Abby’s house, Echo Boulevard, the pier, and Great Harbor Beach. Finally, they’d just started driving through the streets, hoping to find her walking. But so far: nothing.
“I can’t believe Delancey would drop a bomb on us like that and then bolt,” Emerson said angrily. “She didn’t even explain why she was doing nice things for Sydney!”
“Nice?” Sydney snorted. “Parties, homecoming queen… That’s like the very embodiment of everything I hate! No offense,” she added quickly.
Emerson shook her head, too frustrated to muster up a response.
Tenley let out an exhausted groan. “Well, clearly, we’re not going to find her this way. We need a new game plan.”
Emerson eyed Tenley’s calf. It was red and blistering and coated in dried blood. “That looks terrible, Ten. Honestly, before we do anything else, I think we should take care of it.”
Tenley shook her head stubbornly. “What we should do is find Delancey.”
“I’m with Emerson on this one,” Sydney jumped in. “We should really get you to a hospital.”
“No!” Tenley exploded. “The only way we’re going to figure out who this darer is once and for all is if we find Delancey. We can’t go to the cops if we don’t even have a name. The darer will kill all of us before the cops have time to open a new file! Delancey has to be priority number one. Everything else comes after.”
“Including infection,” Sydney shot back. “Gangrene. Leg amputation—”
Emerson held up a hand to stop her. “How about this? We’re close to Tenley’s house. We’ll skip the hospital, but we’ll make a quick pit stop to clean up her leg and the cuts on her hands. Then we’ll get back to searching.”
Sydney nodded her agreement in the backseat. “Fine,” Tenley grumbled. She slammed down on the gas. “A quick pit stop.”
They were all quiet as Tenley whipped through the streets, the only sound the faint thumping of the car’s wheels against the ground. Back at school, the dance was still going on. The punch bowl had probably been spiked and someone had undoubtedly fallen into one of the trunks of “jewels.” Harris Newsby would already be handing out flyers to recruit new members to the Pricewaterhouse-Winslow Club.