Choker (7 page)

Then Rachael stepped to one side to fix her shoe, and the group’s words floated over to Cara more clearly. “Apparently, she refuses to take it off,” she heard Madeline say. The other girls shook their heads, their hands pressed to their mouths.

“Does Alexis think wearing Sydney’s necklace is going to bring her back or something?” Julie’s eyes were wide.

Cara sagged against the fence. No one was talking about her.
Get a grip, Cara,
she thought of Zoe saying.
It’s not always about you
. Just then, she caught sight of Ethan weaving his way across the field. The light shone on his dark hair. His blue warm-ups, the same color as everyone else’s, seemed to glow. Cara’s breath came more quickly as he drew near.

“Hey, Cara,” he said as he passed her.

Cara opened her mouth but closed it without saying anything. Like saying something was even an option when she was so entirely lost in his scent of Right Guard deodorant and warm skin.

A blast from Coach Sanders’s whistle scattered the spell. “All right, runners, over here!” The team clustered around the coach like a swarm of shiny blue nylon fish.

“Franklin is fast and tough,” Coach Sanders said. “You all are going to have to put forth your very best.” He waved his clipboard at the opposite end of the field, where Franklin, clad in red, was warming up. Cara took a look at them for the first time. They did look tough—and
tall
. One girl in particular had legs like stilts. She was bent down, touching her toes with her ankles crossed. She looked like a grazing giraffe.

“Competitors to watch.” Coach Sanders consulted his clipboard. “Kohli, hundred meters—keep your eye on number eighteen. She was first in regionals last year.”

Sarit nodded confidently, her long dark ponytail bobbing. “No problem.”

“Lange, watch number six. She’s extremely fast at the start.” He waved his clipboard, and Cara followed his arm in the direction of the giraffe girl. Oh God. Not her. Not in the Homecoming meet. Cara gulped. Coach Sanders apparently took that as a “yes,” because he went on. “Okay, folks, that’s it. It’s almost time. Four hundred meter runners, go to the starting line.” He waved his clipboard at them, and the runners scattered, trailing back toward the track.

Cara’s feet carried her toward the start line. She could barely feel them touching the ground. The chatter of the other runners and the occasional cheers from the crowd receded, leaving only the roar of blood in her ears.

The other runners were already at the start, one per lane—three from her own team and four from Franklin. Number six was at the end. Cara crouched and pressed her feet firmly against the rubber of the blocks. She could feel the grit of the track under her fingertips. The starter raised his gun in the air. For one awful moment, Cara felt her stomach rise.
Oh God, no, not now
. Her legs had that terrible heavy feeling. Then Zoe’s face flashed into her head. The starter gun went off.
Go!
Zoe mouthed in Cara’s mind.

Cara felt her legs lurch away from the blocks. Before she could think, she was hurtling down the track. She could feel her legs pistoning in time with the rapid thump of her pulse. Rounding the first turn. She leaned to the inside, fighting to stay upright. Two runners pounded beside her. Cara couldn’t see them except for a flash of red and one of blue. Six, where was six? She couldn’t see her.

The straightaway. Faintly, she registered the yelling of the crowd. Approaching the second turn. Cara’s legs slowed slightly, and with all of her strength, Cara forced them back to their original pace. There was only one runner ahead of her. Where were the others? Did they already finish? The final stretch. Breath whistled through her open mouth, and with a final push, she forced her legs over the white finish line looming in front of her. “All right, Cara!” she faintly heard someone yell, and then a cheer.

Her legs pounded the pavement more and more slowly. In a flash, Cara realized there was only one person ahead of her at the finish line, a willowy blonde in red—number ten. The red giraffe was
behind
her. And all the other runners were too, including the three from her own team. Which meant . . . she’d actually come in second, and first on her own team. Cara felt a bubble of joy rise in her chest, lifting her up like a giant helium balloon.

She came to a halt, resting with her hands on her knees. Her lungs fought the sudden stop, trying to expand in her chest. Cara pulled herself upright, putting her hands behind her head to give her lungs as much room to breathe as possible. She walked in a small circle before looking around. Someone clapped her on the back. Cara stumbled and almost fell over.

“Nice work, Cara!” Julie cried.

“Yeah, good job,” Sarit chimed in. She raised her hand, and tentatively Cara slapped her palm. A few other people reached out to pat her back as she passed. Cara nodded at them, trying to keep what she hoped was a nonchalant expression on her face—as if almost winning during Homecoming was no big deal. In fact, she was wearing a big sloppy grin, but she couldn’t help it. And for once, she didn’t care.

The deserted warm-up area was a sea of discarded blue nylon and open gym bags. Ethan was perched on a cooler, scribbling madly in a calculus notebook. He looked up as Cara approached. “Nice race,” he said and held up his hand. Cara’s heart gave a giant thud. She willed her eye not to start twitching.

“Thanks, Ethan,” she said as casually as she could and awkwardly tried to slap his palm. But oh God, her hand missed his, actually
missed
it, and she wound up slapping the air next to his hand. She almost lost her balance, but caught herself before she actually stumbled into his knees. She could feel her face turning into a red map of splotches. She resisted the urge to flee and let out an idiotic little giggle instead. “Um, can I try that again?”

Ethan’s eyes crinkled at the edges. He held up his hand and Cara slapped it. “Better,” he said, smiling.

Yes, much better
.

Chapter 8

T
HE COOL NIGHT AIR ENVELOPED CARA AS SHE FLOATED
home after the meet. A police car wailed past, its red lights flashing, but she barely noticed. Not when Ethan’s sweet smile was dancing in front of her.

The windows were dark at home, but her parents’ cars were in the garage.

Inside, there was a line of light under Mom’s office door. Cara poked her head in. Her mother was staring intently at a page of densely packed legal text, a glass of Scotch beside her. Samson was curled up on a stack of law journals on the floor. From the Bose sound dock in the corner, Bob Dylan was wailing softly.

“Knock, knock,” Cara said from the doorway.

Her mother swung around. She wore a hooded gray IU sweatshirt and sweatpants, black reading glasses perched at the edge of her nose. There was a smear of red pen on her chin. “Oh hi, honey,” she said. “How was the meet?”

“Good, actually.” Cara grinned. “I came in second.” She took a step into the room and perched on the worn arm of a green velour armchair.

“Uh-hmm. Listen, honey, I wanted to talk to you about something.” Mom’s voice dropped. She took off her glasses.

“What?” Cara crossed her arms over her chest.

Mom tapped a pen on the desk. “It’s nothing really. Earlier in the week when I was passing your room, I just heard you . . . talking to yourself.” She cleared her throat.

Heat rushed to Cara’s face. She’d heard her talking to Zoe. She walked over to the bookcase and studied the titles. “Mom, was it at night?” Her voice sounded calm. “Because you know I talk in my sleep.”
Evidence, Second Edition,
she read.

“Yes . . . I remember that.” Cara heard a creak as Mom shifted her weight in the chair. “I was wondering if the, er, passing of Sydney had . . . upset you.” She seemed to be choosing her words with unusual care.

Cara let out a breath. Her mom didn’t suspect Zoe. “Yeah. Um, it’s been kind of weird at school. I think a lot of people are upset.” She patted her mother on the shoulder. “But I’m cool. Thanks for asking.”

“Oh, good.” Mom sounded relieved. She picked up her sheaf of legal papers. “I overheard Chief Rangleif down at the courthouse today. Apparently, they’re still investigating Sydney’s death.”

Cara frowned. “What’s there to investigate? She was drunk and fell in the pool.”

Her mother shook her head. “I didn’t catch everything he was saying, but apparently the investigation isn’t closed. That’s all I know.” Her eyes drifted back to the papers. She picked up a highlighter and ran it across a line. “Leftover Chinese in the fridge.”

Cara stood a moment longer, gazing at the back of her mother’s bent head, then turned and slowly trailed out of the room.

After extracting the carton of shrimp lo mein, Cara climbed the stairs, sticking a fork into the slippery noodles. Samson, who had a lifelong obsession with soy sauce, followed. Cara breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her bedroom door firmly shut. She didn’t know what she was worried about—maybe that Zoe would’ve left. Cara didn’t think she could stand that. It had only been a week, but already she was back to depending on Zoe. Before she did anything, she needed to know what she thought. Just like when they were little. When she’d open presents at her birthday parties, her first thought was always if Zoe would like the toy or book inside. If Zoe didn’t approve of something, Cara would throw it away.

Cara twisted the knob and pushed open the door. Zoe was sitting on the floor, her back against Cara’s bed, a magazine propped on her knees. She looked up with a huge smile. “Hey, you’re home!” She jumped up and gave Cara a big sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Cara grinned. Samson nudged her foot, trying to slip past her into the room. “No,” she told him and shoved him back.

“Wait, who’s this?” Zoe looked down. “Aw, you didn’t tell me you had a cat. Hi, cutie.” Samson twitched his tail back and forth, and Zoe scooped him up, cradling him like a baby. The cat’s belly hung to one side. He grunted.

Cara grimaced. “He’s my mother’s. And he’s not cute, he’s fat and smelly and he sheds on everything. My mother loves him though. More than me, I think.”

“Well, duh!” Zoe laughed at the stricken look on Cara’s face and tenderly set Samson on his feet in the hall. “Night-night, bunny,” she crooned.

She plopped down on the striped comforter and tugged Cara down next to her. “So, what happened today? I’ve been so bored. You have to tell me everything. How was the meet?”

Cara sank back on the pillows and tucked a hand behind her head. “Well, first of all, guess what Mom just told me?”

“What?”

“The police are still investigating Sydney’s death.” She widened her eyes at Zoe dramatically.

Zoe’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What are they investigating? Drunk people drown all the time.”

“I know.” Cara shrugged. “Maybe she hit her head or something. I don’t know. Her parents could sue the pool manufacturers.”

“Okay, so tell me about today!” Zoe changed the subject. “You looked really happy when you came in, so good things must have happened.”

“Oh, they did. The meet was awesome.” Cara recounted her unexpected second-place finish and the congratulations from her teammates, concluding with her botched hand-slap with Ethan. “So, what do you think? Do you think he thinks I’m an idiot who can’t even high-five someone?”

Zoe pursed her mouth, thinking. “You said he smiled after you missed his hand?”

“Yeah. What? Is that good? Or bad? Is it bad?” She waited anxiously.

Zoe tapped her fingertip on her cheek. “Nooo, I don’t think it’s bad. Actually, he might be thinking you’re cute, in a kind of innocent way.” She studied Cara a moment. “You know, maybe you’d feel more confident with Ethan if you did something different with your hair. Have you ever thought about that?”

Cara touched her ponytail. “Well, sometimes. I mean, plain brown hair is kind of boring. But I don’t know what to do with it.”

Zoe sat up suddenly. “Here, let me see your hair.” Zoe reached out for her, her long fingernails grazing Cara’s neck. Instinctively Cara pulled away.

Zoe looked wounded. “You were always pulling away from me, you know that? Ever since we were little. Maybe that’s why you abandoned me.” She eyed Cara.

“What are you talking about? We moved!”

“Well, you left me, and my life was awful. You knew it too.” Zoe laid her head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.

Cara felt her pulse speed up. “It wasn’t easy for me either, you know. I was so upset about losing you, my parents made me talk to someone when we first moved here. I felt like
you’d
abandoned me.”

“Oh yeah, and are you still seeing the guy now?”

“No . . . I felt better once I got adjusted to living here.” Cara shifted. She felt almost guilty, though she knew she shouldn’t. It had been her parents’ decision to move, not hers. Besides, she’d written Zoe a few letters. She’d just sort of stopped after a while. But it wasn’t like she’d forgotten about her friend completely. It was just that it was the “good period” then, and she was busy with her parents and building a new life. . . .

Instead of replying, Zoe reached over and pulled out Cara’s hair band. Her lank brown locks fell around her shoulders. Her hair had gotten really long in the last year, and now it reached almost to the bottom of her shoulder blades.

Zoe tucked the ends under and leaned back, squinting at Cara. Standing so close, Cara could feel the heat coming off Zoe’s body. “That’s sort of it . . . ,” Zoe said. She fluffed the top layer and held the bottom back behind Cara’s neck.

“I’m in your hands,” Cara said.

Zoe squealed. “Really? Can I do anything I want?”

Cara nodded. “Yeah. It can’t get any worse, right?”

Zoe clapped her hands. “Makeover! Oh my God, this is going to be so fun.” She bounded over to Cara’s laptop on the desk. “Okay, first thing, and most important—makeover music.” She scrolled through the iTunes list.

Cara climbed off the bed and opened the cabinet under the bathroom sink. “What supplies do you need?” she called.