Cutting Up The Competition (Horror High #2) (3 page)

Chapter Six

My last classes of the day were a series of blurred events; my garbled attempts at reciting the French alphabet, my loathing of all things that have to do with line segments, rays, and types of angles, and my favorite—please note my sarcasm here—the effects of European colonization on the States.

By the time the final bell rang, bringing its usual relief to all students alike, I felt sleepy and irritable. Not to mention the fact that the entire school felt like one huge sweatbox, my paper-thin t-shirt stuck to my chest as I made my way from my locker to the gym for tryouts.

I should have been more exuberant about the upcoming season and the tryouts that lay ahead, but I was dreading a run-in with Dakota and Sydney, and also my new friend, Winter. I was walking against the foot traffic, students scampering down the hallways, headed out to either their own personal vehicles or to catch the bus. But I was headed for the gym.

Students brushed past me rudely, their heavy backpacks banging against my outer thighs painfully. Since it was day number one of the school year, everyone was wearing the best of their new school gear. I saw lots of skinny jeans, flashy leggings, and every color of Uggs you could imagine.

At my old school, we had to wear these wooly, school-marmish uniforms.
At least at Harrow High, we have options when it comes to school dress,
I reminded myself.
There was a code, of course; there always is. But for the most part, Principal Barlow was pretty easygoing when it came to enforcing the dress code rules. And speaking of Principal Barlow, her daughter was standing at the outer edges of the gym entrance, smiling at me brightly.

Brittani Barlow is a total fruitcake—and that’s putting it lightly. She’s an overachiever when it comes to everything related to academics or sports, but she also has about as much emotional intelligence as a pet rock. Last year, no one was surprised when she made the team. Not only was she Principal’s Barlow’s daughter, but she was also a damn good cheerleader. However, it was her personality that cost her a spot on the team because she got caught purposefully dropping other cheerleaders in stunts just to lower the field of competitors. After her removal from the team last year, I was a little taken aback by her presence near the gym ten minutes before tryouts.

“Hey, Amanda!” Brittani squealed, walking straight toward me. She clutched me in an awkward embrace before I had a chance to pull away.

“Hi,” I answered unsurely, making it sound more like a question than a greeting. “I’m not trying to be rude, but what are you doing at tryouts, Brittani?”

The smile on her face didn’t flicker or fade. “Oh, well…I’m trying out again this year. The principal gave me permission to try again, as long as I’m on my best behavior!” She flashed that wooden smile of hers.

“The
principal
? You mean your
mother
?” I asked bitterly. Brittani let out a creepy bubble of laughter, and said, “Well, of course I’m talking about my mother. I don’t see any other principals around here, do you?” She giggled.

“I don’t have time for this.” I pushed past her, heading through the heavy, metal doors to the gym. I was surprised to see a group of boys stretching in the center of the basketball court. My eyes were immediately drawn to where Jordan stood, bent at the waist stretching his hamstrings and calves.
I guess he’s going to be practicing with the team today after all,
I thought, smiling in spite of myself. I knew how badly he wanted to play basketball, and I had to admit to myself that I wanted to see him play this year too.

Mostly, I want to see him in those shorts and sleeveless jersey…

As I passed the boys on my way to the locker room, he looked up at me, smiling widely. I gave him a small wave and couldn’t stop myself from grinning. I’d had a few boyfriends in the past, and I’d even had a short-lived fling with one of the basketball players last year, a douche bag named Ronnie…but I’d never felt this girlish or giddy over a boy before, and I sort of liked the fluttering feeling.

Finally breaking eye contact with him, I entered the locker room to dress in my athletic tights and top. The outfit fit snugly over my chest, rear, and hips, and I felt sexy in it. I dabbed on a little pale lipstick—although I knew Coach Davis would find it unnecessary—and I headed to one of the back stalls to blot my lips on toilet paper.
I’ll have to remember to get down here early every day. It’s kind of nice having the locker room all to myself.

I could hear the door behind me swing open, other cheerleading hopefuls pouring in. I reached through the half open stall door, grabbing for the toilet paper roll, but then I froze. There was someone inside the stall already, slumped at an awkward angle over the toilet.

I jumped back, then peeked back in, shaking my head from side to side. Sounds of screaming ripped through my eardrums.

It took me a moment to realize it was the shrill sound of my own voice.

Other girls rushed to my side, including Dakota and Sydney.

Someone kicked the stall door all the way open, and we all stared in horror at the girl inside. She was clearly dead, her eyes lifeless, her skin a sullen gray. I didn’t want to look but at the same time, I couldn’t pull my eyes away from her face. Well, mainly, her nose—or lack of a nose, I should say.

Even in death she looked beautiful. The dead girl was Genevieve McDermott.

Chapter Seven

The next hour passed like a blur. There were screams and shuffling, all of the basketball players and cheerleading hopefuls corralled into a small advanced theatre classroom.

It was hard to believe there were really this many of us.

We were shoulder to shoulder, struggling to see over each other’s heads and hear what Principal Barlow was saying.

The police had been called. Harrow High was on lockdown and all of the students remaining at the school were stuck there until the police deemed it safe to go home. Our parents had been called. Unless she called our name, we were ordered to take our usual route home.

I’d lost Dakota and Sydney in the crowd, but now Jordan was standing next to me.

He rubbed my shoulders from behind, hunching his own, as he was nearly a foot taller than me. He leaned down and whispered in my ear. He asked me something, but my mind was somewhere else.

In that locker room…that stall. Genevieve’s limp body propped up on the toilet seat. Her skin waxy and dull.

Her butchered face…

I shuddered, my shoulders quivering. Jordan turned me around, pressing me against his own chest. He smelled like aftershave, cologne, and heaven all mixed into one gorgeous scent.

He stroked my hair, staring down into my face. I willed myself not to cry.

“It’s okay, Amanda. It’s going to be okay. It will all be over soon. The police just want to make sure whoever did this isn’t still inside the school, and then we can go.”

Unless whoever did this is right here…in this room somewhere
, I wanted to say.

“Thank you,” I managed to whisper. My voice was hoarse, an after effect of screaming for a half hour straight.

“Detective Simms wants to talk to you.” It was Mr. Church, one of the algebra teachers who hadn’t made it out of the building before Genevieve’s body was found.

“Me? Why me?”

“Because you found her.” He tried to smile, an attempt to reassure me. It did nothing to relieve the big ball of anxiety contracting in my abdomen.

Jordan squeezed my arm and nodded.
He’s so cute
, I thought, noticing a dimple on his right cheek for the first time. Hard to believe I could think about liking him, or anyone, at a time like this.

Detective Simms was waiting for me, and I followed him out of the room, avoiding the glares of my fellow classmates. Surely no one suspected it was me who hurt Genevieve…

But then I thought about last year…all of the fliers hanging up around school—pictures of my father’s mugshot and me.
Like father, like daughter?
—those were the words printed on the flier.

Detective Simms motioned for me to take a seat in an empty classroom. I recognized it as my Biology class from last year.

I sighed. “I don’t know what happened to Genevieve. I went into a stall to get a piece of toilet paper to blot my lips, and that’s when I found her…dead.”

Detective Simms took a seat at the desk next to me.

He stared at me, silently. “I just talked to Dakota and Sydney. Why didn’t you guys tell me you were still getting harassing phone calls this summer?”

I tried to swallow down the lump in my throat. “We just figured it was a copycat, someone trying to keep the drama going…plus they haven’t called in over a month.”

“You should have told me.” His face was stern, but not angry.

“I’m sorry,” I said, staring at a crude drawing of a big-breasted cheerleader on the desk.

“I need to see your phone.” Without hesitation, I reached inside my bag and handed over my iPhone.

“When will I get it back?”

“You can come to the station in a couple days and pick it up then.” I nodded, still trying to forget Genevieve’s nose.
Who would want to kill her? One of the other cheerleaders? Someone she’d had a beef with?

And the real question—who did Genevieve
not
have a beef with? That girl was bitchy as hell…

Despite Genevieve’s unlikable personality traits, no one I knew seemed capable of something so horrible.
And why chop off her nose?

“Was she murdered?” I looked up, staring at Detective Simms’ face, trying to read his expression. I heard myself ask the question and realized it sounded stupid.
Of course she was murdered,
I scolded myself
. Last time I checked there’s not some rotting nose disease going around that kills healthy teenagers.

“We won’t know until further investigation, but for now…it looks like foul play to me.”

He walked me back to the classroom I’d been held in before. Looking around for Jordan, I finally spotted him next to his sister and another girl.

“You want a ride home? They’re letting us go. Rumor is, school might be canceled for a few days while they process the crime scene.”

I didn’t mind the idea of a few days off. All I wanted to do was hide under the covers and forget about strips of flesh stretched against bone. And empty nose sockets…

I shuddered again.

“Amanda. Do you want us to take you home?” Winter repeated. Her voice was soft, comforting. She gave me a sad smile.

I nodded, letting them lead me out of the classroom. Parents were arriving out front and kids were headed to their usual end of the day destinations. Some of them were still waiting for family to pick them up.

I caught a glimpse of the east hallway. It was blocked off with caution tape. Several police officers were clustered outside of the gym. Discussing Genevieve, no doubt.

We had barely made it out to the parking lot when I saw Sydney and Dakota standing near the front entranceway.
Were they waiting for me?

You would think after what happened to Genevieve, Dakota might forget about our stupid little tiff but instead, she scowled, narrowing her eyes at Winter and shaking her head at me.

I gave her an apologetic look, but kept going. I needed to get home. I needed to process all of this. I didn’t care how I got there or who took me, as long as I got there and away from this school.

They don’t call it Horror High for nothing…

Chapter Eight

I’d never been so happy to see my Grandma Mimi’s house. I was so out of it that I jumped out, forgetting to thank Jordan and Winter for bringing me home.

There was another girl in the car who rode with us. I didn’t know who she was, nor did I even think to ask. Normally, I’m pretty polite, but I had a lot on my mind…

Grandma Mimi is pretty strange. She sleeps late, wears makeup to bed, and drinks cocktails off and on all day. She used to be a showgirl in Vegas and supposedly, had a heavy drug problem to boot.

She’s my dad’s mother—no surprise there—but we never talk about him. He’s dead now, which is arguably where he probably deserves to be.

I pulled out my key and lifted it toward the lock. Surprised to find the door slightly open, I pushed it the rest of the way in, tentatively stepping inside. Mimi is a little paranoid and rarely leaves the house, so the door being left open was worrisome. Usually, she kept the house locked tight, like we were protecting Fort Knox or something…

“Grandma?” I shouted, dropping my backpack in the foyer. I peeked in the living room. I expected an intruder or to find Mimi sick on the floor. But what I found was inherently worse.

My mother was sitting on the couch.