The Betrayal of Natalie Hargrove

At the sound of the whole congregation gasping at once, I opened my eyes. J.B.’s limp body popped up with the stretcher.

His skin was the color of an old bruise, dull and yellow, and his hair was matted to his forehead. He was still in the black-leather skirt and the fishnet stockings, still with that one high heel dangling from his foot.

I looked down at my hands. I had just held that ankle in them last night — and now I could hardly feel my fingers. I could hardly feel anything at all.

Just before the paramedics lifted J.B. into the ambulance, I noticed Mrs. Balmer. She hunched over her son, stroking his cheeks. She unwound the hot-pink feather boa from his dead neck and tucked it, shakily, into her purse. Then she broke down in a long, labored series of sobs until, eventually, they pulled her off his body.

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath, and suddenly, I thought I might faint. I was looking around for some clear air and a place to sit down when I felt my phone buzz in my bag. Who could be texting at a time like this?

Doll face — don’t give me the cold shoulder. Cut your dad a little slack and call me, okay? I miss you, kid.

My head spun. There was no way I could deal with my father now. Delete, I punched. Delete delete delete. I practically beat the message out of my phone. This would be my texting mantra from here on out. At least until I caught wind that Dad had ducked back out of town. At least until this awful J.B. mess had. . settled down? What was this awful mess, anyway? I couldn’t see straight. I couldn’t figure it out. I was having a hard time grasping for breath.

Behind me, I heard someone say, “Thus endeth the competition for Palmetto’s throne.”

Rex Freeman’s loud voice was cheerless when he chimed in, “Looks like you’ve pretty much got Prince locked down now, huh, King?”

Mike. Where was he? I needed him. He needed me. I swayed. My eyes raced through the crowd to find my love my love my loveThere. Mike was standing stoically across the circle in his church suit. He was flanked by his parents, stroking Diana’s hand.

But he was looking straight at me.

I started toward him in a hot rush through the crowd, feeling alive again, feeling the blood pour back through my body. My heart was hammering so hard I thought my ribs might break. I needed to get to him. Mike would know what to do.

He shook his head and narrowed his dark eyes as I approached. A chill ran down my spine as he mouthed, “Nat, what did you do?”

CHAPTER Eight

AN ABSOLUTE TRUST

On Monday morning, I went through an entire pack of Juicy Fruit gum during the twenty-minute drive to school. With an aching jaw and a sinking feeling in my stomach, I parked in my usual spot under the leaning Palmetto. I got out of the car and had to follow suit by leaning on the driver’s door for support. Sweat poured down the back of my neck. How was I going to make it inside?

Suddenly, I got a little extra push from Ms. Cafiero, my mustache-sprouting eight-period algebra teacher who practically hauled me toward the front steps by the earlobe.

“Wait, I never meant—” I started to confess.

“Save it,” she interrupted, grabbing the kid in the car next door by the earlobe too and shoving us both in the direction of the auditorium.

“Do not pass go,” Ms. Caf commanded. “Do not collect two hundred dollars. Go to the assembly. Go directly to the assembly.”

“But I have shop class,” the kid beside me whined.

“Not today, you don’t,” Caf snapped. “A fellow student loses his life in a freak accident. I think your model airplane can wait.”

A freak accident. That’s what the school was calling it. It was the first piece of non-terrifying news I’d heard since yesterday morning when my whole world fell apart. I needed to know more before I went inside. If I could just make a pit stop at the junior bathroom to pay Tracy Lampert a visit. .

“Nature calls,” I tried on Ms. Cafiero, failing to edge my way around her Botticelli hips.

“Well, you’re going to have to hold it,” Ms. Cafiero frowned, steering my tense shoulders into the assembly hall. I held my breath and stumbled inside.

Once I crossed the threshold into the large, high-ceilinged auditorium, I was hit with a rush of semi- comforting deja vu. I’d practically come of age in this room. It was one of those chameleon venues, a catch-all for Palmetto’s big-ticket events. We held the final pep rally here before the homecoming game each fall. We’d squirmed in these seats last year listening to the creepy male gynecologist they’d flown in from the CDC when a rash of STDs swept the school. We’d even sold out the place the night Mike played Marcus Antonius in last spring’s performance of Julius Caesar. But never had I heard such a buzz in the auditorium as the one I walked into this morning.

Everyone was wearing black. A few of the junior girls even had dark veils covering their faces. I looked down, suddenly grateful that my dark gray cowl-neck cashmere would pass for the mourning attire that was suddenly what people wore at Palmetto.

And it wasn’t just the costumes that were wigging me out. The whole energy of the room seemed to swarm as kids darted in and out of conversations, up and down the aisles. No one could sit still. We looked like a colony of ants who’d just had our farm kicked over.

Chaos made me dizzy. I reached into my purse for more gum and remembered I was already out. My jaw throbbed. I wanted Tracy and I wanted Mike. Was I really going to have to wade through this sea of sobbing Bambies to find them?

Up ahead, I spotted Kate’s long hair glimmering under the florescent gym lights. I sidled toward her, and the sophomore foursome huddled around her. They were all sharing a box of tissues, like it was popcorn.

“What if he’s gone for good?” Kate moaned to the other girls. I had to do a double take to realize she was crying.

“You have to prepare for the worst,” Steph Merritt jumped in, helping Kate to blow her nose.

Jesus. How much more proof did these kids need? Kate hardly even knew J.B. I know it sounded weird for me to feel protective over his death, but I had known him. I had known him a little too well. Hadn’t I earned the right?

“What, he didn’t look dead enough yesterday morning?” I blurted too harshly, too quickly. The other girls almost jumped back in surprise, but Kate just sniffed without judgment.

“We’re not talking about J.B.,” she said. “Haven’t you heard about Baxter?”

“What about him?” I said quickly, glancing around the auditorium.

Kate gave the girls an apologetic frown and stepped forward to take me by the arm. She led me a few feet away toward relative quiet.

“Baxter’s phone,” Kate shuddered. “It’s been shut off all weekend. I’m so lame; I must have tried him twenty times yesterday.” She looked at me. “He said we were going to study.”

“So he didn’t call you back,” I shrugged. “That could mean anything. Maybe he hired a tutor—”

“But Saturday night. .” She blushed and looked away. “We kind of. . at the party. .”

I sighed and rubbed my temples. I could feel the tension mounting in my skull.

“Kate, do you have any idea how many senior guys at this school sleep with sophomores only to blow them off?” I asked.

Kate opened her mouth to speak and shook her head. Tears sprung to her eyes. I hadn’t meant to make her cry, but usually her skin was thicker than it was today.

“I’m sorry,” I said, squeezing her shoulder. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just freaked out about the J.B. news. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “I’m freaked out, too. One of the partners at my father’s firm heard Justin was D.O.A. by sunrise on Sunday morning. He was already gone when the grounds-keeper called the paramedics. Baxter, I mean. They’re pinning J.B.’s death on a bad combination of drugs. But—” She glanced up and her lip quivered. She gave me the most tortured look.

“But what?” I asked, feeling yesterday’s numb tingle wash over me again.