Get Even, page 23
The shock lasted a moment, replaced instantly by a steely, hardened look that froze Olivia in place.
“Margot Mejia,” she said, drawing out each syllable. “I didn’t recognize you without all that . . . weight.” She turned to Logan. “Did you know Margot used to be really fat in junior high?”
Margot’s shoulders instinctively hunched, head lowered as if she were attempting to hide herself in plain sight. No way would Olivia allow Amber to crush Margot’s spirit. Not again.
Margot felt all the heat in her body concentrate around her face and was terrified that she was either turning a fluorescent shade of crimson or sweating like a turkey in late November. She was immediately twelve years old again, walking into school the day the photo of her encased in plastic wrap had gone viral. Logan would realize she was a loser, the fat kid who’d been bullied for so long that no one at school would be seen within a ten-foot radius of her. He’d practically fall over himself trying to get away from her. Shame, panic, and an instinct to flee that was so overwhelming her feet actually shifted position.
Quiet the mind, quiet the panic. Dr. Tournay’s words were hollow and meaningless as the swell of bullying muscle memory swamped her rational mind. She felt her legs weaken, her knees buckle.
“Margot!” Olivia cried. “You were absolutely brilliant running lines with me this week. A real lifesaver.”
Margot glanced up, the panic abating. “Thanks.”
“And I love what you’ve done with your hair.” She grabbed at the short curls that crowned her own head. “I can’t wait until mine grows out so I can wear it like that.”
Margot could have hugged her.
“Oh, that’s rich,” Amber said, wheeling on Olivia. “You sticking up for her?”
“She looks gorgeous,” Logan said.
Olivia smiled at her, and Logan’s arm pulled her into his body. Both gave her strength.
Margot faced Amber. “I have a line coaching with you after school tomorrow.” With Olivia and Logan nearby, she felt emboldened in a way she’d never dreamed possible. “Mr. Cunningham says you have a lot of work to do, so if you want to come early I can probably manage that.”
“I . . .” Amber’s voice trailed off, and Margot saw the sheep beneath the wolf’s clothing—vulnerable, weak. “I don’t think I can—”
“Amber!”
Amber swung around. Storming across the parking lot were Rex and his buddies.
“Who the fuck are you talking to?” Rex asked as he wedged himself between his girlfriend and Logan. His left eye was still discolored from where Bree had punched him.
Logan stuck out his hand, affable and friendly as always. “Logan,” he said. “Amber and I are in the play together.”
Rex turned on him. “Oh yeah? And what makes you think you can talk to her in real life?”
“Dude, she talked to me.”
Rex grabbed Amber roughly by the arm. “Really? I’m five minutes late and you’re all over Point Break here?”
Amber shook herself free. “Five minutes? I was five minutes late. You’re like thirty.” She leaned in and sniffed his neck. “Drinking again? Really? You couldn’t invite me along to raid your dad’s liquor cabinet?”
Margot had to give Amber credit—no one could shift the focus of an argument quite like her.
“Babe, it’s a guy thing.”
Amber folded her arms across her chest. “Then you and your guy thing can go stand at the back of the line.”
“Fine,” Rex said. “If that’s how you want to be.” He turned to Olivia and gave her outfit the once-over with an overt expression of lust. Margot wanted to throw Logan’s jacket around Olivia’s shoulders to protect her from Rex’s eyes.
“Liv, you’re looking fierce tonight. Seriously making me pant over here.” Rex reached out and grazed her bare arm with his finger. Olivia flinched. “I’ll be seeing you later. That’s a promise.” With a glance at Amber, he marched toward the back of the line, head high, with Tyler and Kyle following in his wake.
“Dude doesn’t know how to treat a lady,” Logan said, his voice low, his lips inches from Margot’s ear.
Somehow, Margot didn’t think Logan had the same problem.
They stood awkwardly together, waiting for the door to open. Peanut and Olivia chatted away about clothes and the play, while Amber tried to look as uninterested as possible. Margot barely noticed. She felt so light and giddy she wanted to skip around in circles. She’d faced down Amber Stevens and won. Her life was about to—
An ear-splitting screech of tires jolted the crowd. Screams filled the air as a car veered erratically into the parking lot. Logan pulled Margot protectively against him, shielding her body from potential impact, but the car skidded to a halt just feet from where they stood.
The driver’s side door opened, and Margot’s jaw dropped as the driver toppled out of the car.
Coach Creed.
FORTY-FIVE
KITTY AND DONTÉ ROUNDED THE BACK CORNER OF THE CLUB to find Coach Creed stumbling through the parking lot.
“’Maine Men!” he cried to no one in particular. “We have an emergency.” His face was bright red and slick with a layer of sweat.
“Coach?” Rex trotted up to him. “What are you doing here?”
Coach Creed gripped Rex by the shoulder. “The enemy is here,” he said. “Hiding in plain sight, son. Basking in their victory.”
“Um, okay.”
“We can’t let them have this triumph. It’s time to take the enemy down.” Coach Creed pounded on the front door of the club. “Open up! This is Major Sergeant Richard Creed. You are harboring a dangerous criminal and I demand you open this door immediately.”
Donté tightened his grip on Kitty’s hand, pulling her behind him for protection. “That suspension made him lose his damn mind.”
The door swung open and a bookish guy dressed in black stepped into the doorway. “I’m the manager of this establishment,” he said calmly. “Are you a cop?”
“I am Major Sergeant Richard Creed,” he repeated.
“So you’re not a cop.”
Coach Creed jabbed his finger in the manager’s chest. “You are harboring a criminal,” he said. “I demand that you give him up to my custody immediately.”
The manager arched his eyebrow. “A criminal, huh? And who would this be?”
“John Baggott.”
The manager sniffed Coach Creed’s breath. “Dude, you need to lay off the Wild Turkey.”
“Either give him up or face the consequences.”
Coach Creed tried to push his way past the manager, who straight-armed him square in the chest. “I seriously don’t need this tonight,” he said under his breath, then half-turned and called into the club. “Tiny? I need backup.”
Someone jostled against Kitty as he squeezed through the crowd. “What’s happening?” Theo asked. Where had he come from?
Donté shook his head. “I think Coach Creed is having a breakdown.”
Theo bobbed his head. “Awesome.”
Another figure stepped through the doorway into the parking lot. He was massive, six and a half feet tall and at least three feet wide, with shoulders so meaty it looked like he was wearing football pads under his black T-shirt.
The color drained out of Coach Creed’s face as Tiny the Bouncer cracked his knuckles in wordless warning.
Coach Creed hesitated as if he was considering retreat, then suddenly pointed to the door of the club. “You!”
Kitty’s eyes followed Coach Creed’s finger to Bree.
“You’re his accomplice,” he roared. “You’re protecting him.”
“That bullshit may work at school,” Bree said, fists balled up in defiance, “but not here. Leave us the hell alone.”
Coach Creed breathed faster, his eyes still locked on to Bree. “I’m going to get you both,” he yelled. “Make no mistake. You’re both dead!”
All around Kitty, students gasped. First he’d threatened Donté, now John and Bree. It was over the line, even for Coach Creed.
He made a sloppy fake-out move and tried to dash around the double-wide Tiny, but the bouncer was too quick for him. With one fluid motion, he grabbed Coach Creed’s wrist and twisted his arm around his back, then drove the coach forward and pinned him to the brick wall.
“How dare you attack an officer?” Coach Creed sputtered.
“Sorry about this, Tiny,” the manager said, strolling up behind the bouncer.
“No prob, Boss,”
“Listen up, moron,” the manager said. “This is my club, and no one comes in here threatening my customers or my bands. So unless you want the cops to bust you on a variety of counts, including but not limited to trespassing, disturbing the peace, and driving under the influence, I suggest you get the fuck out of here right now.”
Tiny released Coach Creed, who immediately crumpled to his knees, his cheek indented with the rugged surface of the brick wall.
“And if I ever catch you here again,” the manager said, following the bouncer back inside, “Tiny’s fist will be the last thing you’ll ever see.”
FORTY-SIX
MARGOT COULD FEEL HER HAND TREMBLING IN LOGAN’S AS Coach Creed peeled his car out of the parking lot. He’d threatened to kill John and Bree. Had he taken it a step further with Ronny, who’d gotten him fired from Archway? She could see the madness in his eyes as he stormed the front door of the club. Not only did Coach Creed have motive, he had the ability—both physically and mentally—to commit murder. She’d seen it on his face when he spotted Bree in the doorway.
“I doubt he’ll be back,” Logan said.
Margot pushed all thoughts of Coach Creed from her mind. She wasn’t going to let anything ruin this night.
Logan squeezed her hand as the line began to move. Once inside the club, he navigated them to the railing that separated the bar area from the mosh pit. It was the perfect spot: far enough from the action that she wouldn’t get trampled in the pit, but two steps up from the dance floor, it had an unobstructed view of the stage.
“I’m going to the bar,” Logan said, close to her ear. “Can I get you anything?”
“Just some water,” she said.
“Okay.” He nodded with fake seriousness. “Hold down the fort while I’m gone.”
Margot sighed and leaned against the railing. She must have slipped into a coma and was living out some kind of repressed fantasy. There was no way this could all be real.
A body sidled up behind her, and Margot spun around, expecting it to be Logan.
Instead, Ed the Head glared at her coldly.
“So this is why you couldn’t go out with me tonight,” he said. “You already had a date.”
“I told you I was busy,” Margot said. “That wasn’t a lie.”
“Wasn’t the truth, either.”
Margot felt the heat of shame spreading across her chest. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
Ed craned his head, scanning the club. “So who’s your date? And why did he leave you alone to fend for yourself?”
“He’s at the bar,” Margot said defensively. “Getting me a bottle of water.” She wasn’t going to let Ed the Head disparage Logan.
“Ah.” Ed stared at the bar in silence. “Logan Blaine, huh?” he said after a few moments.
“How could you possibly know that?”
He shrugged. “Easy. He keeps looking over here.”
Great. “Can we talk at school tomorrow?” Margot asked, desperate for him to leave her alone.
Ed the Head ignored her. “What do we know about this guy?”
“We?”
“Yeah. I mean, he just transferred into this school and you’re already boyfriend and girlfriend? Have you met his parents? His friends? Know where he lives? Done any sort of background check or extensive email hacking?” He eyed Margot. “This guy could be anyone.”
Margot winced as thoughts of Christopher Beeman flooded her brain. This guy could be anyone.
Stop it. Coach Creed was clearly the prime suspect and Christopher Beeman, whoever he was, had faded into Ronny’s backstory. “Is there something you wanted?” Margot asked.
“Actually, yeah.” Ed the Head pulled a file folder out of his ever-present backpack. “Small lead on your photo.”
Margot caught her breath. “Do you know who it is?”
“Not exactly.” Ed the Head held the folder in both hands. “I tried everything. Even dusted it for prints. No one’s but yours.”
“You have a fingerprinting kit?”
“Why should that surprise you?”
Margot shook her head. “Anything else?”
“The photo was taken with an older iPhone model, maybe a 3G or a 3GS.”
“Oh.” Margot got the distinct impression this information could have waited until school Monday morning. “Well, that narrows it down to every single person I went to junior high school with.”
Ed the Head clicked his tongue. “O ye of little faith.” He opened the folder and pushed a photo into her hands. “I ran it through some filters and here’s what I got.”
The photo looked as if it had been lightened, color enhanced, and expertly contrasted. The face of the photographer was still a featureless blob, but Margot could clearly make out the light curly hair.
“Based on my estimations, the girl in the photo was about five feet tall, with midlength curly blond hair.”
“Which describes most of the girls in my class,” Margot said with a sigh.
“Not so much.” Ed the Head slipped several more photos out of the folder and handed them to Margot. They were blowups of photos from her seventh-grade yearbook. “Taking into account hair length, height, and when these yearbook photos were taken, I’ve narrowed it down to five suspects.”
Margot sifted through the photos. Tiffany Horne, Samantha Heisberg, Loretta Davis, Eleanor McGrath. As she stared at the fifth and final photo, her hand began to shake.
Olivia Hayes.
FORTY-SEVEN
BREE LEANED AGAINST A PILLAR NEAR THE BACK OF THE PIT and wrapped her arms tightly around her body. It was less her usual “don’t mess with me” stance and more “I need to give myself a hug.”
You’re both dead, Coach Creed had screamed. And he’d meant it, of that Bree was sure. She’d never looked into the eyes of a killer, but the wild hatred she’d seen in Coach Creed was exactly what she’d imagined she’d see. It wasn’t much of a leap to think that he’d turned his blind rage on Ronny as well. Now they just had to find proof before he followed through on his threats and went after John.
Another image replaced Coach Creed in her mind. John, lips parted, leaning down to kiss her. Just the memory of it caused an involuntary reaction: her pulse quickened, her stomach fluttered, her breath caught in her chest.
John had been right: everything was about to change.
Bree’s eyes wandered aimlessly around the sellout crowd, tightly packed into the small club, all there to see John’s band. Maybe that was affecting her judgment? Her gaze lingered on a couple frantically making out in the corner. Maybe the rock-star vibe John was giving off had seduced her subconscious to the point where her hormones raged out of control like those two idiots?
As she stared at the make-out session with a mix of envy and horror, she realized the two figures were familiar. Holy shit, Kitty and Donté.
If Olivia didn’t know that her ex-boyfriend was getting primal with their DGM leader, she would soon.
She glanced back toward the stage, searching for Olivia, and caught sight of her in the mosh pit, snaking her way through the crowd, practically on a collision course with the Kitty–Donté face-sucking display. It was only a matter of time before Olivia barreled into them.
Bree’s instinct was to intercept Olivia, but she stopped herself. Why did she care? So what if Kitty and Olivia fought over the same guy; wouldn’t it be more entertaining to watch her two friends go at it?
No. No, it wouldn’t be fun to watch the fallout. She didn’t want to see either of them get hurt.
Bree pushed herself off the pillar and shouldered her way through the crowd. “Olivia!” Bree cried out, but her voice was muted. Olivia never even paused. She was practically within sight of Kitty and Donté. Crap. This wasn’t going to end well.
Just when Bree thought a Kitty–Olivia confrontation was inevitable, someone stepped between them, blocking Olivia’s path.
Bree had never been so happy to see Ed the Head in her entire life.
“What is it?” Olivia asked. Her eyes shifted to either side of him, still in search of Donté. The concert was about to start. Where was he?
“I have some more information for you.” Ed the Head leaned forward and dropped his voice. “About that photo.”
Olivia arched an eyebrow, her interest piqued. “Spill it.”
Ed the Head smiled wryly. “Perhaps we should discuss price first?”
Olivia threw up her hands, exasperated. “Ed, I’m not going out with you. Give it a rest.”
“Olivia, Olivia, Olivia,” Ed the Head sighed, shaking his head. “Not everyone at this school dreams of a date with you.”
“What do you want then?”
“I want”—he paused dramatically—“a favor. To be named at a later date.” He extended his hand.
A favor. Olivia had no idea what Ed the Head had in mind, but she’d deal with his request later. She accepted his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Done.”
Immediately, Ed the Head was all business. “Barbara Ann Vreeland was expelled from Bishop DuMaine after the grade-fixing scandal broke two years ago, based on an anonymous tip. She was failing algebra, again, and her coach struck a deal with the math teacher.”
Olivia pursed her lips. “I already knew that.”
“Aha!” Ed the Head made a dramatic flourish with his hands. “But did you know that Barbara Ann was the captain of the JV girls’ volleyball team?”
“Yes,” Olivia said slowly. “Because you told me.”
