Page 57 of Pretty Dead Things

“Hannah, you walked out naked in front of half the school,” I say. “I think you can walk in a dress in front of some old church ladies.”

She smirks.

I line up my curling iron and comb on the table. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Olivia, still acting cagey. She hasn’t met my eyes once today.

Maybe she’s still thinking about what Cat said—about Mom and the scaffolding. I’ve tried not to think about it myself, but every time I replay the crash, the way the metal buckled and the lights swung, a chill crawls up my spine.

In the car ride home, Mom let out a long breath through her nose.What a mess, she said.

I’m just glad Olivia’s okay, I told her.

We’ll figure something out, she said.

And I wasn’t sure whether she’d heard me. Whether she meant she would figure out how to get the scaffolding back up in time for the pageant. Or if she’d meant that as a response. That she would figure out another solution to our Olivia problem.

And I didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to think about what my mother was willing to do. What she might have done before.

So I turned my face to the window, watched the Sherman land slip away, the bulldozers, the mountains of overturned earth, and the crime scene tape that wound its way around The Hollow.

“Hey, Liv,” I say now. “You okay?”

She turns to me and blurts, “My mom has videos of us at The Hollow.”

I freeze. “What do you mean, videos?”

“Like, from a security camera or something. She was watching them last night.” Olivia’s voice drops lower with each word. “Videos of us.”

Hannah’s lip gloss pauses mid-swipe. “Are you serious?”

My pulse spikes. “Those cannot exist.”

Olivia flinches. “I know—”

“I mean, whatever,” Hannah says, sliding the gloss again. “Our parents already know.”

“No, you don’t get it.” Mom’s warnings echo in my head:Don’t send boys racy pictures unless you want them printed out and taped to every locker. Don’t post anything online unless you’re okay with the entire pageant board watching it together in a room. I fumble for my phone like I can somehow erase it all myself. “If anything ever ends up on the internet, it’s there forever. Forever. That’s like… rule number one.”

“Shit,” Hannah says, chewing her bottom lip.

“This is how celebrity careers die.” I’m up now, pacing a circlebetween the chairs. “One leaked picture. One stupid video. Next thing you know, your face is a meme.” I picture Mom in the dark kitchen, her back to me, her silence like a pillow pressed over my face.

I replay the tequila shots, the joint to my lips, the three of us stepping naked from the woods. Mr. Magnuson leaning against his truck, parked in the shadow of trees.

The girls are looking at me, worry clear on their faces. Hannah winds one curl tightly around her finger. Olivia hides her face in her knuckles. I meet my own eyes in the mirror, lift my chin the way I’ve been trained.

“We’re getting rid of those videos,” I say, rolling my shoulders back, letting the worry fall away. If my mother taught me anything, it’s how to follow through with a plan.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINECAT

The wind howls against the siding, rattling the model home like it might shake loose from its foundation. Grains of ice scatter against the windows. Night presses in from every side. I pace from the front window to the back, back again, peering through the blinds, wearing a path through the staging company’s rug. My pulse won’t settle.

Last night, after Chinese takeout, Olivia and I watchedThe Princess Brideon the sofa, a bowl of popcorn between us. Within the first ten minutes, she was laughing. When the popcorn ran out, Olivia moved the empty bowl to the side table. She scooted over to fill the space, lifted the edge of the blanket so we could share. The warmth of her beside me pinched my heart like a set of surgical tweezers. I want, more than anything, to be the kind of mother she deserved.

Another gust slams the windows. I twitch open the blinds. The street outside is drowned in mist, thick as smoke, shifting in sheets across the half-paved road. Through it, a car glides into view, headlights cutting a pale tunnel before blinking off.

My breath sticks.

Rain lashes sideways behind the fogged glass. For a second, I think I see the driver’s side door swing open, but the haze closes over it again. When there is another break in the rain, the door is closed, and no one is in the road.