was more anxious than ever to prove just that. I was shoving books into my locker and planning my strategy for confronting Quinn when Chase cornered me.
“Hey, Hart,” he said. “Where are we on Sydney’s story?”
“I’m fine, thanks for asking. Finding her dead body didn’t rattle me at all,” I said, heavy on the sarcasm.
Chase grinned. “Okay, my bad. How are you Hartley? Holding up?”
“Yes.”
“Good. So, where are we on the story?”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re good. Fine. Great.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, I’m working a
Again he grinned at me. “Lay it on me, Featherstone.”
And, considering he was my editor, I did, outlining how I thought someone had committed, as Sam had put it, “Twittercide.” When I was finished, Chase’s eyebrows were drawn together in a frown.
“But I thought the police were looking at her death as a suicide?”
I nodded. “They are. But they’re wrong.”
“And why do you think that?”
“Because of the meeting Sydney had set up with me for yesterday afternoon. She knew I was working on the story, and she was going to tell me something.”
“What?”
“I dunno.”
Chase shot me a look. But before he could comment, I quickly backtracked, “I mean, she died before she could tell me.”
“Who knew you were going to talk to her?”
I shrugged. “You, Sam, Kyle. Anyone that Sydney might have told.”
“Which doesn’t narrow things down much.”
“No, but if she was suicidal, wouldn’t she wait until after she’d told me whatever it was she wanted to get off her chest?”
Chase looked at me for a long moment. “How do you know she wasn’t going to tell you to back off and leave her alone? Maybe she felt so persecuted and hounded by the entire school-you included-that she killed herself.”
I bit my lip. “Please don’t say she killed herself because of me.”
“I didn’t. I just think that if we’re going to run with a story saying she definitely didn’t kill herself, we need to offer more than circumstantial evidence. We need proof.”
I nodded. “Right. That’s what I intend to get.”
“How?”
“Quinn Leslie.”
“The girl Sydney got caught cheating with?”
I nodded. “And her former best friend. If anyone had a reason to hate Sydney, it would be her.”
Chase stared at me as he chewed on this angle. “When are you going to talk to her?”
“I’d planned on now.”
“Cool. I’ll go with you.”
I paused. “I can do this on my own. I’m not gonna screw up,” I said, unable to help the defensive edge that crept into my voice.
Chase grinned, showing off one dimple in his left cheek. “I know. But I’m in the mood for a little entertainment.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but he didn’t wait. Instead, he slammed my locker shut for me and turned toward the back parking lot.
“You coming, Featherstone?” he said over his shoulder.
While I wasn’t thrilled with being considered “entertainment,” I had little choice but to follow.
I only hoped Quinn didn’t mind a crowd.
Chapter Four
UNFORTUNATELY, QUINN LIVED A GOOD FIVE MILES AWAY from the school, which left me with two choices to get to her before sixth period started: the city bus or Chase’s car.
As soon as I’d turned sixteen, Mom had started the lectures about riding in cars with my friends who had their licenses: (1) never ride with more than three people at a time, (2) do not turn on the radio, as it distracts the driver, and (3) do not get in any vehicle that doesn’t look like it’s passed a ten-point safety inspection in the last six months. Chase’s car was a 1985 Camaro with a dented back bumper, a muffler that was holding on for dear life, and a crack down the right side of the windshield. It wouldn’t pass a two-point safety inspection. But more disturbing than that car was Chase’s driving itself. On the scant few occasions where I’d ridden with him, I’d felt like I was in the running for a NASCAR cup.
He unlocked the passenger-side door of the Camaro and held it open for me.
I stared at it.
“You getting in or what?” he asked.
I bit my lip.
“Earth to Hartley?”
“I’m thinking.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “Just get in the car, Hart.”
He walked around to the driver’s side, got in, and gunned the engine, creating a cloud of black smoke in the region of his muffler (which I was 99 percent sure was just for show).
Without much other choice, I hopped in, buckled my seat belt, and gripped the side door for dear life.
The first thing Chase did was crank up the radio so high the Camaro’s windows vibrated.
I said a silent prayer and held on tight.
Ten minutes, two “orange” lights, and three “California stops” later, we arrived in front of the two-story ranch house listed under Quinn’s name in our school’s buzz book.
I pried my fingers out of the white-knuckled position they’d frozen into, then silently counted to see if my teeth were still intact. Yep, all there, despite rattling together like Tic Tacs as we’d caught air on the speed bumps leading to her neighborhood.
Chase, oblivious to my concerns, hopped out of the car, shoving his hands in his pockets as we made our way up the front walk. He rang the bell, and a beat later, it was opened by a guy with dark hair, dark eyes, and a dark- looking scowl on his face.
“Yeah?” he asked.
I shifted from foot to foot, suddenly nervous. “Um, hi,” I said, doing a little wave. “Is Quinn here?”
“Quinn’s grounded,” he said, moving to shut the door.
“Wait!” I said, raising a hand.
He paused, lifted an eyebrow at me, but continued the scowl thing.
“We’re, uh… here about homework,” I lied.
Chase shot me a look but thankfully remained silent.
“Homework?” the guy asked.
“Um, yeah. Quinn’s teachers didn’t want her to get behind so we’re here to tell her what her homework is.”
He paused a moment, then looked from me to Chase. Then back at me. Clearly Chase wasn’t what he’d expect in a messenger of the teachers, but he finally shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll get her. But she has five minutes, that’s it.”
I nodded. Hopefully that was all we needed.
He stepped back, pulling the door shut again, as we heard him call out to Quinn.
