hurt Sydney. We had our differences, but she was my best friend. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without her.”
“So,” Chase said as we walked back down the front walk to his car. “Do we believe her?”
I shrugged. “She could have slipped away from her dad long enough to shove Sydney into the swimming pool.”
Chase nodded. “It’s possible.” He opened the Camaro’s driver-side door (which groaned loudly in protest) and got in. “But I say we follow the cheating angle.”
I followed suit, steeling myself for another wild ride back to school. “So you think Quinn was telling the truth about how they got the answers?”
Chase shrugged. “Well, there’s only one way to find out.” He turned to me, grinned, then shot me a wink as he gunned the engine. “Want to go to the football game with me tonight, Featherstone?”
Chapter Five
IT WASN’T UNTIL LAST PERIOD WAS OVER THAT I GOT A chance to fill Sam in on what Quinn had said. She was on the west field again, at lacrosse practice. Only today, I noticed as I made my way toward the bleachers, the team had a whole different vibe. While Sydney and Quinn being suspended might have dampened their hopes of making nationals this year, Sydney’s death had put a virtual black cloud over the team, seeming to cause the girls to run just a little slower, the coach to yell just a little softer, and the energy level to fall several enthusiasm notches down the spirit scale. On the upside, Sam was only two yards behind all the other players today instead of three.
I waited until the coach blew her whistle, signaling a water break, before hailing Sam over.
“Hey,” she said, panting as she jogged toward me. “I think I’m getting the hang of this.” She leaned on her stick, taking in deep breaths. “I almost touched the ball once today.”
“Awesome!” I had to hand it to her-she was optimistic if nothing else. Quickly I filled her in on Chase’s and my interview with Quinn.
“So do you think she did it?” Sam asked when I was finished.
I shook my head. “Not sure. Her alibi seems solid enough, but I still like her on motive. Being ratted out to the vice P is a pretty big thing to forgive.”
Sam nodded. “True.”
“But,” I hedged, “Chase has a point about the test answers. It’s just as likely Sydney knew something about who was selling them and the guy killed her to avoid exposure.”
“So you’re going to the football game tonight to find him?”
I nodded, then replayed the plan Chase and I had concocted in the car as we’d driven back from Quinn’s house. It was pretty simple, really. We’d wait until the game started, then hide out where we could watch the mascot room. As soon as the cheat seller showed up to collect his cash and drop off that week’s answers, we’d catch him.
“Wait,” Sam said when I’d finished. “You and Chase are going?”
“Yeah.”
“As in together?”
“Well, kinda…”
“As in you’re going to the football game together?”
“I’m not really sure if-”
“Ohmigod. Did Chase ask you out?”
“No!” I made a “pft” sound through my teeth. “God no. We’re going to the game to catch the cheater. It’s a stakeout. That’s it.”
“But he did ask you to go with him, right?”
I pursed my lips together, trying to remember what he’d said. “Well, yeah. But I’m sure he didn’t mean
“Tell me the exact words he used,” Sam ordered, leaning forward on her stick.
“He said, ‘Want to go to the football game with me?’”
Sam threw her hands up. “That’s it. He asked you out. On a date.”
I shook my head. “I really don’t think he meant it like that.”
“Are you sure?” Sam narrowed her eyes at me.
“Yes. No. I… I don’t know! He said it, and he winked at me.”
“Whoa!” Sam dropped her stick, putting both hands up. “You didn’t mention a wink. You never said anything about a wink!”
“Why? What’s the wink mean?” I asked, starting to get a little nervous.
“Ohmigod, Hartley. He totally fluffin’ asked you out.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Absolutely not.” I paused. “I mean, I don’t think he did.”
“As soon as practice is over, we’re getting you home and dressed to kill just in case.”
I rolled my eyes. “This is so not like that, Sam.”
“Yeah, well, better safe than sorry.”
An hour later, the entire contents of my closet were strewn out on my bed, and I was beginning to feel sorry I’d ever agreed to let Sam help me play it safe.
She held up a pair of jeans and a tank top with a sparkly butterfly on the front.
“The jeans say casual, but the top says flirty.”
“I’m not sure about flirty-” I started, but Sam ran right over me. She was in her element, in the zone.
And I was in serious trouble.
“But see, this skirt,” she said, holding up a white denim mini, “says flirty, and if you pair it with this pink Henley,” she added, holding up the button-top shirt, “it says casual, yet feminine, too.”
“I like casual,” I said, hanging on that word.
“On the other hand,” Sam said, dropping the outfit in a heap on my floor as she grabbed another pair of hangers. “This tube dress totally says sophisticated, and if you pair it with this denim jacket and cowboy boots, it says chic with an edge.”
I rolled my eyes. My clothes were going to be doing a lot of talking tonight.
“Sam, the game starts in half an hour. Can we please just pick something?”
Her eyes ping-ponged between the casual-flirty and the flirty-casual outfits before she finally shoved the tube dress at me. “We’re going edgy chic. And I think I can glam your makeup just enough to pull this off.”
“Wait-makeup?” I wore a little mascara on a daily basis and had a tube of pink lip gloss conveniently tucked in my book bag, but that was about it.
Sam must have read my mind as she waved me off. “Don’t worry. I have an emergency touch-up kit in my backpack. We’ll have you looking date ready in no time.”
Somehow that did little to relieve my worry.
Worry that was well-founded as, by the time Sam was done with me, I was casual-chic-flirty, my makeup was edgy-sophisticated-glam, and my nerves were stretched-to-their-limit raw.
Not to mention that my heels (I’d drawn the line at cowboy boots) were Mom-will-never-approve high.
I slowly walked downstairs, Sam a step behind me. Mom was at the kitchen table, directly in the line of sight of the front door. She had her laptop out again, her eyes intent on the screen as she scrolled with her right hand.
“Too tall,” she muttered to herself. Some more scrolling. “Too skinny.” Scrolling again. Then Mom made a disgusted face. “Uh, too… hairy.”
Mental face palm. Mom was on Match again.
I took a tentative step forward.
She didn’t look up.
I tiptoed down the rest of the stairs, one eye on Mom, one eye on the door.
If she heard me, she didn’t register it.
Two feet from the front door, I took a deep breath and made a break for it.
