Social Suicide

Chase elbowed me in the ribs. “Nice one, Featherstone,” he whispered.

I tried not to grin at the praise as the door opened again to reveal Quinn.

While Quinn and Sydney had been best friends all through high school, the two could not be more opposite in the looks department. Sydney had been brunette, green eyed, tall. She had long, straight hair that was usually worn in a ponytail or stylish-sloppy bun, and had her finger (and closet) firmly on the pulse of the latest fashions. Not only had Sydney been captain of the lacrosse team, a starting pitcher on the girls’ softball team, and a 100-meter-dash record holder on the track team, she was also on the debate team, the yearbook club, and was head of the Spirit Week committee.

Quinn’s extracurricular activities, on the other hand, started and ended with the athletics department. She was a sporty girl through and through. The only time she wasn’t wearing a pair of sweats was when she was in an HHH jersey of some sort. Quinn was slimmer than Sydney had been-all lean muscle-and half Japanese, giving her pale skin, straight dark hair, and brown almond-shaped eyes that created an exotic look.

Today, Quinn was wearing the Sporty Girl uniform of pink sweatpants, a T-shirt, and Ugg boots. The word Juicy was written down the right leg of her sweats, which was ironic, considering I couldn’t see an ounce of body fat on her.

While Sydney may have been her ex-BFF, I could see that Quinn’s eyes were red- rimmed and puffy, like she’d spent a fair amount of the morning crying. I suddenly felt bad for her and just a little guilty that we were there to question her as a suspect.

“Hey, Quinn,” I said as she stared at the two of us on her doorstep. “I’m Hartley. I’m on the Herbert Hoover High Homepage.”

Quinn nodded, her ponytail bobbing up and down behind her. “I recognize you,” she said.

“We wanted to ask you some questions about Sydney for the paper,” Chase added.

“Oh.” Quinn’s eyes hit the ground. “Um, sure, I guess.”

“You two were friends, right?” Chase asked.

Quinn nodded, her eyes flickering up from the cement porch. “Yeah. Since sixth grade.”

“But she’s the reason you’re suspended?” I asked.

For just a second I could have sworn I saw anger flash through her veil of grief, but it was quickly swallowed up as Quinn replied. “Yeah, but she was my best friend for four years. We did everything together, you know?”

“Including cheat on tests,” Chase pointed out.

Quinn bit her lip. “Look, it was stupid. I know.”

“Sydney told the principal that it was your idea.”

“It was. And it was stupid,” Quinn repeated.

“Then why did you do it?” I asked.

“Because I needed to get a good grade on that test! Look, Mr. Tipkins is one of the hardest teachers on campus. I’m not a brainy kind of person, you know? I mean, math isn’t my thing. I was struggling just to get a C in that class, and unless I got a three-point-four overall GPA, I was going to get cut from the lacrosse team.”

“Lacrosse means that much to you?” I asked. According to Sam, it was just this side of hell on earth. Then again the only thing sporty about Sam was her collection of cute hoodies.

“I need to stay on the team,” Quinn explained. “I’m counting on a sports scholarship. My parents can barely afford my brother going to community college. There’s no way they can foot the bill for a UC.”

I nodded. I couldn’t count how many thinly (and sometimes not so thinly) veiled references to the cost of college my own mom made on a daily basis. The day I started looking at UC Berkeley, she’d started playing the lottery.

“Why did Sydney cheat?” Chase asked. “Was math not her thing, either?”

Quinn paused. “Actually, Sydney was pretty good at math. But lately, with lacrosse and homecoming plus her after-school stuff, she didn’t have any time to study. When I suggested cheating, she was relieved. Like she had one less thing to worry about.”

“Did she seem overly worried to you?” Chase asked, jumping on the word. “Stressed, depressed… suicidal?”

Quinn pursed her lips together, taking a moment with that one. “If you had asked me that last week, I would have said no way. Sydney was all about overachieving. And overachievers don’t throw in the towel. But now…” She shrugged her shoulders in indecision. “Honestly, I don’t know. I mean, I hadn’t really seen her much since Tuesday.”

“You mean, since she ratted you out?” Chase said, coming to the point of our interrogation.

Quinn turned on him, that flash of anger clearly visible this time. “Yeah. She did.”

“Which must have pissed you off,” I added.

Quinn nodded. “Yeah, it did. It was her idea to put the answers on our nails. I told her we should just memorize them, but she said she didn’t have time. Then she gets caught, just like I said she would, and she points a finger at me? Totally unfair.”

“I agree,” I said. “So unfair. Where were you yesterday after school?”

Quinn cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you have an alibi for Sydney’s time of death?”

She blinked her dark eyes at me. Then she turned to Chase. “Is she for real?”

“Unfortunately,” Chase mumbled. Though, I could have sworn I saw the corner of his mouth tilt upward into a grin.

“Look, if Sydney wasn’t suicidal, she must have been killed by someone else,” I jumped in. “You seem to have a pretty good motive.”

Quinn shook her head from side to side so hard her ponytail swished in the breeze behind her. “No way. Look, yes, I was pissed at Sydney, but I’m not a killer!”

“Then where were you?” I asked again.

“Here! Geez, I’m grounded for the rest of my natural life. I can’t even sneeze without my dad hovering over me,” she said, gesturing behind herself. “Like I could get out to kill someone.”

She had a good point. Dad seemed pretty vigilant. I felt my best-friend-killer theory slowly crumbling.

“Do you know anyone else who might have had a problem with Sydney?” I asked instead.

Quinn shrugged again. “No clue. I mean, we totally creamed West San Jose High last week at the game.”

“How did you and Sydney get the answers in the first place?” Chase pressed, switching gears.

Quinn paused, looking from him to me. “Sydney bought them.”

I raised an eyebrow. “From who?”

She gave me a blank look. “Got me.”

I shot her a “get real” look.

“Seriously!” she protested. “I don’t know where Sydney got them. I told her, ‘Wouldn’t it be cool if we could just get the answers to the test?’ and the next thing I know, Sydney says she’s got someone willing to sell them to her.”

“And she didn’t tell you who it was?”

Quinn shook her head. “She didn’t know, either. The buy was all set up anonymously.”

“How?” I asked.

“Some senior gave her this cell number. She texted the guy which class she wanted the answers for, then exchanged cash for them.”

“Where did she do the exchange?” I asked.

“At the football game last Friday night. That’s where this guy does business. She was supposed to put the money under a big rock outside the mascot’s dressing room before the game started. Then she went back at halftime, and the answers were waiting for her there.”

I nodded. It sounded like a perfect drop place to me. Lots of people would be around at the game, so it wasn’t likely the guy selling cheats would stand out. But the mascot room was isolated enough that it was a safe bet no one else would stumble across the cash before he could.

“He does this every Friday?” Chase asked.

Quinn nodded. “That’s what Sydney said.”

“Quinn,” her dad called from inside the house. Apparently our five minutes was up.

“I gotta go,” she said. She moved to close the door but paused just before she got there. “Look, I would never