Good Girl, Dead Girl (Valencia Lamb Book 1), page 20
The table I’ve decamped at all afternoon was a strategic choice. It’s directly across the quad from Miss Wayne’s classroom. I was able to keep track of when the loiterers in the courtyard departed, and it made spying on my first period teacher simple. A fistful of minutes ago, Miss Wayne killed the lights, emerged from her classroom, and left.
It’s go time.
I have never seen the librarian move so fast as she does once I’m out the door. Shoving her arms into a puffer coat, she practically runs from the building before anyone else can approach seeking a book. This woman clearly doesn’t understand the power of an open library. I snort as I follow the line of the building, pretending to be aiming for the lockers.
My traitorous heart leaps in my chest as I approach the classroom door. The knob is a simple lever, so it should be a snap to pick. If a velociraptor can operate one, so can I. I cut my eyes over my shoulder every few seconds, dreading the distinct possibility of being caught by one of the janitorial staff. Focus, Valencia. Steady hands.
The lock clicks and the door pops open, swinging inward. It closes without a sound, and I wait a beat for my vision to adjust to the dark room. Miss Wayne left the blinds open, so I scurry under the windows.
Miss Wayne leaves our in-progress journals in the bottom drawer, so that’s where I check first. Easing the drawer open without making a sound, I pump a fist. In and out in less than five minutes. Not bad.
Fingering through the journals, I find Rock’s. Flip it open. My teeth clench. The handwriting in the composition notebook matches the note I found on my dresser. Snapping a photo with my phone, I return the journal to its place.
Then it’s back to looking. There. The journal with my name scrawled across the front.
I didn’t want my mom stumbling on a dead girl’s diary on one of her laundry excursions through my room, so I tore the cover off Gracia’s journal and hid it inside my own with double-sided tape. I’ve been through the pages a few times, and most of it is pretty cut and dry.
It’s impossible to see in the dark, so I reach for my phone’s light.
And stifle a yelp when the classroom door swings open with enough force to knock a couple papers off the bulletin board next to it.
Firework curses flash in my head as I bury my phone under my butt to hide its shine. Slow, measured footsteps enter the room. Could Miss Wayne have forgotten something and come back for it? No, it doesn’t sound like the tapping her high heels.
The intruder draws closer. If I don’t think of something between this breath and the next, I’m caught. Holding my breath, I slide the phone under the desk and crawl into the space where the chair is supposed to be. Lucky for me, Miss Wayne didn’t roll it into place before she went home.
Papers rustle against plastic. The janitor coming to empty the trash cans. There’s a dull thunk as the larger bin by the door is set down.
Tucking my chin into my knees, I hope they’re not ready to vacuum. Then I spot the mini trash can sitting between me and the wall. If the janitor circumvents the desk to reach it, there is no chance they won’t find me.
Whip-fast, I shoot out from under the desk, scoop up the mini can, and set it on the side hidden from the door. If I have any luck at all, they’ll get to it without having to orbit my hiding place.
There is rustling as the second bin is emptied. Footsteps retreat. The door opens and closes.
The unruly organ in my chest slows its rioting. I’m pretty sure I’m alone. Still I wait.
Uncoiling my limbs, I peer over the desk like a meerkat on lookout duty. Yep, I’m alone. One of the staff is in the courtyard emptying the big garbage cans while another goes from classroom to classroom doing the same. Guess I’ll hang out inside for a while.
Deflating my cheeks, I sit in Miss Wayne’s chair and open the notebook to the table of dates Gracia recorded. Each one ends with a 207, the room number she met the guy I’m pretty sure is Leif in each week. An idea pokes at my brain. Taking out Gracia’s phone, I type in the digits of the first date in the chart. It unlocks.
Her code was the date she met Leif. My gut sours. Every time she unlocked her phone, she thought of her secret boyfriend. Even when Destin was sitting right next to her. Hurt rises on his behalf, but I can’t dwell on it. I have digging to do.
It doesn’t take me long to find Gracia’s notes in a file in her documents.
The doc loads, and right in front of my eyes is a photo of Leif meeting with someone at the casino. A handshake. A tiny baggie half-filled with white powder. A folded bill passed from palm to palm. Jackpot. Leif was selling at the resort, and Gracia caught him in the act. This is his motive for killing her.
I have to get all of this to Sheriff McCandles. Immediately. I text asking to meet him at the department. I’m in the middle of packing up the journal and the phone when mine lights up. Janice sent me a video.
The department just posted this on social media
They asked if anyone could ID the guys
Are you seeing what I’m seeing?
A couple classrooms away, a vacuum whirs to life, the industrial vibration filling my ears. Gotta be quick.
Janice’s video is grainy footage of a freeway underpass held together by graffiti. A single orange light illuminates the cracked asphalt under the bridge. An ick builds in the base of my throat. It’s the bridge where Gracia’s body was found. Is this footage of the body dump?
The phone’s volume is muted, so the car is silent when it drives into the frame. A well-kept classic that I’d recognize anywhere. Dino Agani’s car. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen that car in months. It’s not at the shop.
My entire body stiffens when a man gets out of the driver seat, calls to someone still inside. He circles to the trunk and pops it open. The passenger door swings wide, and my chest begins to burn. Rock climbs out to meet his brother at the trunk. Together, they maneuver what looks like a rolled-up carpet out of the black void. Carry it to the underside of the bridge. And unroll.
That traitorous organ in my chest gives up beating completely when a body falls out and lands on the sidewalk. The video’s sharp edges are blessedly pixelated, but it’s exposed enough to make out Gracia’s shoes. The dark splotches on the back of her shirt.
There’s a brushing sound against the door, followed by its drag over carpet as someone enters the classroom. My head snaps up and my eyes pull wide. Everything in me goes rigid at the figure crowding the doorway. Flashes of a brutal dance spin through my mind’s eye. Too-tight hands on icy skin. The stomach-churning aroma of sweaty bodies pressing too close.
“Give me the phone, Little Bird.” Gracia’s phone. He knows I have it. Somehow, he knows.
Rock told him.
I don’t move. Don’t blink. Don’t even breathe.
Way Too Much Puke
Leif Agani killed Gracia, and now he is here, staring at me. His grin is pure violence.
He doesn’t know I’ve seen the sheriff’s video, and I’m not going to volunteer the information. All I have to do is make it out of this classroom alive. My chin takes a defiant tilt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Shaking his head in arrogant nonchalance, Leif shuts the door behind him. A stone sinks in my stomach as he stands like a monolith in the shadows, blocking my exit.
I keep my face blank even though my insides are crawling. Portia knows where I am. She read my text letting her know I was getting ready to leave the library. If she doesn’t hear from me in a few minutes, she’ll come. Destin, too. And McCandles is waiting for me at the department. I have people on my side who will come through if I need them. So I play it like Leif’s visit isn’t making my insides run in the disorganized, panicked zig-zags of mice tossed into a snake’s enclosure.
“Now isn’t a good time. If you shoot me a text, we can schedule a meeting.” Easing my bag onto my shoulder, I maneuver so that the bulky desk acts as a barrier separating Leif and myself.
Murderer.
Leif has the absolute gall to chuckle. Rub a thumb along his jaw. “You think you’re so smart, but you’re not. Want to know why?”
I don’t respond. Not rising to his bait.
“He ratted you out, my brother. Rock told me you found the phone. He’s been helping me this whole time, and you were fool enough to trust him anyway.”
All blood flees south, leaving me lightheaded and dizzy. My heart pumps double-time. Every fiber of my body screams that he’s lying, but the video I just watched proves he isn’t.
Rock helped his brother dump Gracia’s body. God, my brain revolts at even putting those words in that order.
You’re not nobody.
Maybe Leif didn’t give him a choice. Maybe he forced Rock into it, somehow. I don’t understand the intricacies of being in a gang with one’s jackhole older sibling, and I can’t imagine it’s fun.
I clench my fists to keep from shaking, my eyes fixed on the violent threat looming closer.
What I’m really having trouble with is that Rock ratted me out to Leif. That part of Leif’s story cannot be true. Rock would never turn on me. Would never pick Leif over me. Even as kids, we were always a team. Leif was always the villain in our games.
This isn’t a game.
And my defense of Rock has holes. When my dad forbid me from spending time at the Agani house, Rock didn’t push back. Didn’t even plead his case. He stopped coming over. Effectively, he picked his screwed up family over me. I try to swallow the tight ball in my throat, but it doesn’t budge.
Leif hasn’t moved. He has the positional advantage. He holds out a grease-stained hand. “Give it to me, and we’ll let all this shit go.” The menacing glint in his eye makes him a liar.
I keep my body still as if I’m not prepared to bolt. “Again, no idea what you’re talking about. The only phone I’ve got is mine.” I flash it in the air, showing off a case bereft of sparkles.
I zero in on Leif’s hands. Hands he used to end Gracia’s life. Silence stretches out. Maybe I’ve convinced him. Maybe he’s taking stock. Taking a second to reevaluate.
I take that chance.
Straightening my spine, I march across the room, weaving between the desks toward the door. Leaving an entire aisle between myself and the older Agani brother. The door grows as I inch between Leif and the closed portal. My fingers grip the cool lever. Push it open. I step out, not daring to look over my shoulder.
A heavy-booted foot shoots out, sweeping my legs. The ground vanishes as my feet fly up behind me. I barely manage to extend my palms before slamming against the concrete path. Knives of pain slice along my forearms, and I can’t bite back a cry. My vision goes white, but I blink the stars away.
A familiar reek fills my nose as cruel hands yank at my backpack, wrenching my shoulder to remove it. I hiss in pain and anger, flipping onto my butt. In this position, I can see the next attack. React in kind. But it leaves my belly exposed. “Give that back.”
Leif snarls as his lackey hands over the bag. Pulling the zipper open, he tosses my crap all over the dry grass. A journal slaps the concrete. The jerk comes up with the yellow phone. His eyes lock on mine as his thumb hovers over the screen. “Give me the code.”
My lip curls upward. “Not a chance.”
A current passes between the older Agani and his rank buddy. A heavy boot pummels into my side before I can block it, making my ribs scream. Pulling into a fetal curl, I glare up at them. Unwilling to showcase the pain rippling along my side.
“The code?”
I smile up at him, the picture of sweetness. I rattle off some numbers.
The phone vibrates a protest, and Leif growls. Tries a second time. Then he drops it to the ground, lifting a his booted foot.
I can’t let him destroy that phone. I need whatever is on it for evidence, especially since he seems to be so keen on taking it from me.
A hot, spiced smell of fire fills the air as I rip the canister of pepper spray out of the grass and aim it at the thugs standing in unrighteous judgment. Their howls cut through the night as their hands come up to their streaming, quickly swelling eyes.
I’m up and running. My shoes pound over the concrete, too loud in my ears. If I can get inside one of the rooms, I can lock the door and wait. Possibly use a landline to call McCandles.
The first door is locked.
Second one, too.
By the third, I’m panicking, hair streaming behind as I run.
Where have all of the janitorial staff gone? I scan side to side as I flee but find no one else on campus. There’s no one nearby to help.
Howls of pain give way to ferocious threats, hurled from much too close. Closer.
Heart wild with alarm, I sprint toward the gym. It’s usually open late because of athlete practice hours, right? Hurtling toward the side door, I beg it to open. Please, please. The lever gives, swinging outward to admit me.
I fling myself inside, trying to yank it shut. A booted toe slams into the space as I heave the door, yanking a guttural call from the hulk on the outside. The brute’s foot doesn’t budge. Leif shoves inside, eyes pink-rimmed and wet. Trained on me with hatred in every line of his blotchy face.
I slide backward, blue flickering in the corners of my eyes. No lights are on save the ones at the bottom of the pool, casting the entire space in shifting refractions of turquoise.
Leif’s backup slips inside after him.
The heavy clunk of the lock sliding into place makes me wince. Not daring to look away from the two of them, fury burning in their eyes, I try to measure my surroundings with only slivers of peripheral vision. The pool spans most of the length of the room. A long pool net hangs on one wall next to a life-saving tube. There’s not much else here.
Leif lunges. My body jerks back, my left food finding a solid foundation on the textured pool deck. My right foot lowers on … nothing. Arms flailing, I grasp for anything as I plummet through the air. Water engulfs me, so cold my lungs seize. I shove off when my feet hit the bottom, my legs working despite my stunned brain. I come up gasping for breath.
Leif shoves me under again, his strong, brutal hands exerting heavy pressure on my skull. Merciless.
Spluttering, I swing my arms through the water, feeling for the pool’s edge. My fingers barely scrape the rounded concrete lip. It’s too far away. I can’t grasp it.
Panic is all that is remains as my air siphons away, rising in bubbles from my nose.
The pressure eases. I breach the surface coughing and wheezing. Behind my ribs, my lungs spasm into action, taking in oxygen and expelling overused fumes.
Leif’s malevolent drawl slices through my panic. “Should have left it alone, bitch.”
I scramble for the edge. If I can just--
He forces me under a second time, holding me down with a punishing grip. My legs kick against nothing, propelling me into Leif’s locked palms. The tips of my fingers scrape against the pool’s rough sides, chafing skin. There’s nothing to hold on to. Nothing to anchor me to life.
My thoughts splinter. Each one incinerated, reduced to nothing by the need for air that sears underneath my skin. My limbs go numb as my lungs heat, expanding to bursting in the search for sustenance.
Have to get out of his reach. If I don’t, I’ll--
Forcing my limbs to cooperate, I scramble to paddle away from Leif. Cruel fingers dig into my hair, holding me in place. I slap and scratch. My attacker doesn’t relent. Refuses to yield even a puff of air. The last of the bubbles escape my lips, and I’m empty. Hollow.
I’m going to die.
Releasing my limbs, they float as if disconnected from my body. My eyes open, because if this is my last minute I’m not spending it with eyes squeezed shut.
There’s a ripple in the water. A tan reflection coming into focus. My dad materializes in the blue, standing like he always did with his cowboy hat in hand. A sad smile parts his features. Relief floods my system, overwhelming every other sensation until all I feel is warm comfort.
“I’m here,” my dad says, clear despite the water that should muffle his words. I don’t know how he’s speaking audibly under the surface, but hearing that familiar voice brings a peace that overtakes the terror. The shudders stop. My dad is back. I’m going to be okay, if I can reach him.
Digging underneath the layers of cold brushing my veins, I find a small vestige of strength. One of my arms swans through the water, reaching for my dad’s outstretched hand. Almost there. I strain, because if I can gather a few more inches…
The pressure on my crown vanishes in the same instant my dad does.
I float, arm still extended toward empty water. Shock prickles my skin. Water erupts like a geyser around my body, jolting me awake. A dark figure catapults toward me through the swirling blue.
My mouth opens in a horrified scream. A deluge of water fills my lungs, making me gag. Thick arms wrap around my waist.
No! I scramble to get away.
Leif jumped in to finish the job. Even with a light head and surrendering muscles, I fight back. Kick. Shove.
It’s not enough.
Leif drags my aching-- Wait. He’s hauling me toward the edge.
Muscles quaking with effort, he heaves me up over the lip of the pool. I land with a thwack on my side on slick cement. My organs recoil at the rush of unliquefied air, and I vomit. Water comes spewing out of my gaping mouth, leaving me hacking and gagging. Under the loud sounds of retching, my brain shouts warnings. Need to get up. Need to run.
I have nothing left.
Tears pool behind my eyes. I’m going to die. Pulling my trembling frame into a tight ball, I anticipate the first kick.
Someone yelps. I wait for the pain to register.
Another hit and another yelp, but the pain doesn’t…
Sniffling and blinking, I force my jelly arms to hold until I can get my legs under me. Wobbly, as a newborn calf, I list from side to side. The fog over my vision clears. I gasp.
