Page 37 of The Fall of Iris Henley
“Don’t lecture me, Soph, please. I know. I know it’s not my fault, I know I’m not responsible for whatever was wrong with Rocky. I’m just saying it’s something theycouldthink.” I bite my lip. “I don’t know, maybe that’s a long shot. They’re so nice, it’s hard to imagine.”
“They’re nice,” says Hayden. “But what about Kendra? She was already pretty antisocial before the murder, but these days she’s straight-up weird.”
“I mean, I’d be feeling antisocial too, if my brother turned out to be a monster,” Sophie mutters. “She might just be grieving, you know?”
“She might. But then again…” Max hesitates. “It doesn’t hurt to have her on your radar. Just in case. Who else?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’m sure there are people that think I suck for whatever reason. No offense, but Katy’s never been a huge fan of mine. And, um, Carter,” I say, glancing at Hayden.
Max does a double take, but then looks thoughtful. His eyes slide over to Katy—still watching us angrily from her own table across the courtyard.
Hayden’s shaking her head.
“For one thing, Carter doesn’t hate you, he’s just… confused right now,” she says. “And for another, he was right next to me when that first post went up. I would’ve seen him on his phone.”
“You can schedule posts, though, right?” I look at Max, who nods. “Sekrit lets you prewrite a post and put in a time, and then it automatically posts for you. He wouldn’t have had to do it manually.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but before she can say anything, the lunch bell rings.
“Well, that was relaxing,” I say, zipping up my backpack. “I love listing off all my mortal enemies during my lunch hour.”
“If you know who’s got it out for you, you have a better chance of seeing them coming,” Max says.
“That’s a fucked-up way to live. But he’s probably right,” Sophie says. She squeezes my elbow. “Come on, Hay, if we’re late for trig again Mrs. Garcia’s going to take us down a grade level.”
“Yeah, okay,” Hayden says.
I’m still fumbling with the enormous stack of books I have to carry everywhere with me now. Max watches for a moment, his lips somewhere between pity and amusement. Finally he snatches my history book off the top of the pile. “Here, let me carry a few.”
“No, I got it,” I say.
“You can use my locker,” he insists. “It’s halfway between here and choir. I’ll give you the combination and you can use it until yours is fixed.”
I hesitate for another moment, but he holds the textbook up just over my head like he’s playing keepaway. “Come on, if you hurt your back you won’t be able to cheer this Friday. And I would never forgive myself if you couldn’t jerky.”
I grin. “That’s ‘herkie.’”
“Sure, whatever.”
I follow him through the bustle of kids packing their things and throwing away their trash. It’s nice to have him at my side—to know he’s going to help me. But it’s also impossible not to feel everyone else’s eyes on the back of my neck.
To feel certain that some of them, at least, are looking for a place to put a knife.
CHAPTER 21
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 11, 12:53PM
VARDA HIGH
After I put my books in Max’s locker, he gives me a quick hug.
“Don’t panic,” he says. “Just… stay vigilant. Keep your eyes peeled. We’ll get through this. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Max. For everything.” I squeeze his arm one last time and then make my way down the hall to choir.
But then I turn the corner and come up short.
Deputy Holden Mays is standing there in uniform.
