Shattered Girls (Broken Dolls Book 2) (6 page)

“That’s sweet, Ella. Maybe one day we can take you up on your promise, but today’s not the day.”

“Aren’t I a good person?”

“You’re always sweet as a doll. It’s human you that’s venal.”

I don’t know what that word means, but it can’t be anything flattering. “I’ll prove you wrong, Gabby. You told me I used to live in an attic alone, but now I’m with you, seeing the world and learning new things. Maybe being alone was what made me sad. Maybe now… I’m truly happy.”

Gabby smiles and strokes my hair. She goes to speak, but instead picks me up and cuddles me.

It’s at this very moment in her loving embrace that I realize I’d do absolutely anything for her.

I’d move the mountains.

I’d split the oceans.

I’d give my life.

Gladly.

’m just saying it’s creepy how pale your head is underneath all that hair.”

“Then stop looking at it!” Gabby’s really irritable today, and it’s starting to rub off on me. She lifts me from her head and shoves me into one of the outside pockets on her bag. “Just be quiet.”

I roll my eyes and peep through the pocket flap. Kids are slumping into school, all of them hunched and gangly and glued to their phones.

“What class do we have first?” I ask, but Gabby doesn’t respond. Either she can’t hear me over the chatter, or she’s ignoring me. I’d better find out. “Hey, Gab?”

“It’s Gabby! Never Gab!” she snaps. Well, I guess that answers that.

We enter the school, the sunlight now blocked out by brick and clanging lockers. I like learning, except the teachers don’t treat the students well, so students don’t treat the teachers well. It’s a vicious circle. They’re forced to learn and in turn, they’re forced to teach. When the teacher isn’t inspired, they can’t be inspiring, so everyone ends up hating the weekdays. The pressure is so great, the kids end up having mental breakdowns, or they just stop caring. Seriously, what does it matter if you suck at math when you want to be a journalist? Or can’t swing a baseball bat when you want to be a seamstress? Life would be soooo much easier for everyone if the education system stopped getting its panties in a twist and taught something
important
, like oh… how to be an adult. Or get insurance. But what would I know? I’m just a doll.

Except, even I know you don’t spar in the middle of a school corridor. Brad and Rick clearly don’t. At first, it looks like they’re mucking around, but when Gabby stops and takes cover in a random doorway, I realize it’s serious. They’re big guys, cliché footballers. Gabby was friends with them years ago, but they went their separate ways when the boys found a peppier group to hang with, the cheerleaders.

“Why would you say that?!” Brad shrieks, his voice hoarse. He shoves Rick, who shoves him back.

“You’re overreacting! It was a joke!”

“Saying that my girlfriend’s dead when she’s been missing for a day is a joke?”

Gabby stiffens.

“Amanda,” we both whisper. Gabby pulls me out of her bag and lets me climb onto her shoulder. It’s her subtle way of apologizing, I suppose. I stroke her ear as we watch the boys scuffle.

“My girlfriend’s missing, too!” Rick shouts, misaiming when he swings a punch.

“So why would you joke about it?” Brad tackles Rick to the ground, pinning him between his thighs. He pounds him in the face several times before two teachers run in to pry them apart.

Rick is in bad shape, and his eye is already swelling up, but he’s going to live―as will Brad. At least, until the Powers That Be get through with them. The boys sheepishly follow Ms. Fry, who directs them to the principal’s office.

“Move on! Get to class!” Mr. Winter shoos the rest of us away, his constant scowl in place and accounted for. Gabby told me it’s because he hates the universe for taking away his hair and replacing it with a large stomach, but I’m pretty sure she was kidding.

“We have sports first.” Gabby shifts her bag from the arch in her back. She takes an alternate route to the gym, avoiding the crowds and going up the stairs to the forgotten bathroom.

“Amanda and Bryony are missing,” I whisper, nervously plaiting the hair dangling by her ear.

“They’re not the only ones.”

“What do you mean?”

Gabby opens the bathroom door, wincing at the squeaky hinge. The lights are off, like always, and the graffiti still hasn’t been cleaned off the stalls. She bends over to check if anyone else is in, and pops me on the sink when she’s satisfied we’re alone.

“Did you see any cheerleaders when we walked in?” she asks.

I go to speak, until I actually think about the question. Usually, at least, three can be found rehearsing their routine outside, or smooching their boyfriends near the lockers. Unless I’ve become desensitized to the grotesque and unnecessary display, there were definitely no cheerleaders in sight.

“Fiddlesticks,” I murmur. “Maybe they’re home mourning Amanda and Bry?”

“What?
All
of them?” I don’t appreciate the coldness in Gabby’s tone. She shakes her head and scrambling around her bag for a change of clothes, swiftly replaces her jeans with track pants. Her blue polo shirt and trainers she keeps on as she messily ties her hair into a loose ponytail and swaps her hoop earrings for studs. I miss the girly way she used to dress. She’s such a tomboy now. Well, maybe not so much tomboy as lazy; she wears the same outfit three times in one week just because she doesn’t want to do the washing.

Out of the blue, someone sniffs.

Gabby raises her head like a dog who just heard a can of food being opened. “Was that you, Ella?”

“Wasn’t me,” I whisper. “Someone’s in here.”

“But I checked underneath the cubicles!”

“People raise their feet if they’re hiding, dummy.” I point at the far end. “It came from over there.”

Someone sniffs again, as if in response.

“Who’s there?” Gabby inches slowly towards the stall.

No answer. Cautiously, she nudges the door, which swings open, hitting the wall with a thud. Curled up on the toilet seat is Lacy, in her bright blue and yellow cheerleader uniform. Her cheeks are mascara-stained and her eyes are bloodshot.

“Help!” she sobs out between breaths, dropping her feet to the floor and rocking back and forth. “Help me! They took everyone! Everyone! They’re going to come back for me!”

Gabby crouches so that she’s at Lacy’s eye level. She gently reaches for her hand, but Lacy pulls away. The two have never gotten along, but not for any real reason, it was just a personality clash.

“What do you mean, Lacy?” Gabby asks. It’s nice to hear some warmth back to her voice.

“They took all of the cheerleaders!” Lacy shrieks. “I’ve been here since yesterday, hiding.”

“Your parents didn’t worry about you not coming home?”

“They’re on holiday trying to fix their personal problems. I was happy being alone, you know? I liked the freedom. And then… these
men
in white came to practice. Our coach was away for the week so we had training without her. They released some kind of sleeping gas and just took them. I ran, I’m a strong runner, and they haven’t found me yet. I don’t know what to do!”

“You have to go to the police!” I blurt, my faith in the justice system is still strong.

Lacy snatches some toilet paper and blows her nose. “Stupid robot. I’m not going to the police.”

“Why not?” I ask, ignoring Gabby’s obvious throat-clearing cue.

Lacy narrows her eyes. “Because the police are in on it.”

I gasp. “That’s porpoise’s touch!”

“What did that thing say?”

“She means prosperous,” Gabby covers. “Ah, preposterous. Sorry, I think this robot needs defragging. Anyway, how could the police be in on it? Why would they allow dozens of girls to be kidnapped?”

Lacy hovers the toilet paper underneath her nose. “I was at the bubblers, just before practice, when I heard Devin on the phone to her dad. She was angry with him. She hung up and stormed through the hall. I asked her what was wrong, and she just said that the world is corrupt and money-hungry. Then she left. Whatever it was, they’re in it for the money.”

Gabby and I shake our heads. “Lacy, that’s insane! Devin was just arguing with her father.” Gabby scans Lacy for injuries. “We really need to take you to the police, or to the hospital, or something. I can call your parents?”

Lacy curls up into a tighter ball. “I’m not hurt. Don’t call my parents. They’re already having problems in their marriage… I can’t add to their worry.”

“This is a little more important than their relationship―”

“I’m not calling them, okay?! And I’m
not
going to the police!”

“Lacy, you have to tell them what happened! They can help you!”

I scoff. Gabby’s such a hypocrite. Her parents have been missing for a day, and she still hasn’t reported it just because the professor told her not to. See how school isn’t useful? It’s still producing nitwits.

“No one can help me! I need to hide!” Lacy shrills. She abruptly stands and knocks Gabby over. I hold onto her for dear life as we go down hard against the brick wall.

Lacy bursts through the door, her feet slamming against the tiles.

“Lacy, wait!” Gabby scrambles to pick herself up. We chase after her, but she’s long gone. She’s right. She
is
a fast runner.

“Fiddlesticks,” I mumble, gripping onto Gabby’s ear. She pants heavily, and I feel like I’m going to fall.

“You can swear, you know,” Gabby says when she catches her breath.

I pause. “Fffff… fu… funk. Funky town. Nope, sorry.”

She smiles and heads back to the bathroom. “Do you think we should tell the principal?”

“Ah, yeah. A girl just claims she knows who took all the cheerleaders. Of course we tell!”

“She’s gonna hate me for it.”

“So?” I prod her temple. “She never really liked you anyway. And maintaining a guilt-free conscience is important.”

“We’d be helping her, right? I just don’t like ratting on someone if I don’t know the full story.”

“Gabby, this is
beyond
ratting. This could possibly mean life or death.” I sigh. “Trust me.”

My stomach metaphorically churns. I hope we’re doing the right thing.

“And she just ran off?” Principal Tony repeats. He’s a pretty cool guy. He’s young, hip, and has the loveliest speaking voice. His jaw is crooked, but I think it gives his face character, along with his dark, slightly droopy eyes. Truth be told, I have a slight crush on him, but I’d never admit that to Gabby. He’s not at all handsome, but there’s something remarkably attractive about him. Maybe it’s because he’s calm personified. Or it’s the way he rolls up his sleeves and loosens his tie. Or his insistence that students call him by his first name, because the “barriers are so 2010’s.”