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Kate pauses, hands in the bag, and looks over her shoulder at Billie. She blinks, patient all of a sudden, waiting—
“And she hated Carmine, because… well, most of the girls did, didn’t they?” Billie snorts.
Kate’s mouth twists with a small smile. “Envy is a monster.”
“She tried to get her after class in the bathroom. But we heard about it. Got there first. Beat the crap outta her.”
“You took the fall,” Kate finishes the story. “Said you did the whole thing. How long did they suspend you for?”
“Couple of weeks.” Billie smiles. “Mom didn’t even know. She wasn’t home to notice.” She pauses to drink some of her beloved liquid love. “No one really went after Care, though. Not after that.”
Kate is quiet for a moment. But, still wearing that smile on her face, turns back to her bag and fishes out from the bottom (all buried under shoes, makeup, clothes) a bulky hardback book.
Billie makes a face. Didn’t much like reading back at school when she was forced to…well, forced to copy Kate’s notes. “That’show you’re passing the time up here in the fortress?”
“It’s our yearbook,” she says. “I figured we could go through it, see if we can come up with any suspects.” She looks back at Billie. “Someone knows what we did, Bee. They know us and our secret. But if we can figure out who they are, we can stop them.”
“Yeah. Like saying Beetlejuice three times over, and he just disappears.” Billie smirks, leaning her temple against the wall. The booze has that lazy look on her face again, the tiredness of her low-hanging lashes, her leg limp over the edge of the window seat.
Kate throws the yearbook down on the foot of the bed. Hands on her hips, she rounds on Billie. “Do you want to die?”
Billie’s stare is blank. All humor gone, it dissolves into something empty and hollow, like that ever-growing pit in her stomach.
Maybe.
Sometimes.
But no, not really.
“Put that away,” Kate says and snaps her fingers in the direction of the bottle. “With every sip, you’re becoming less of an asset and more of a liability.”
“No.” Billie’s tone is firm, but all the same she slides off the window seat and drags herself to the bed. She flops down on her front, the yearbook near her chin, and says, “Go ahead, then.”
And it’s as pointless as it all feels.
Page after page, face after face—all meaningless.
“No.”
“Not him.”
“She didn’t know the Maxwells.”
“I think he was fucking Grace for a while, but then he dumped her for Angel down in the trailer park, remember?”
That’s all that’s said, on repeat, and dull toned.
Until—
The pages for the pageant.
Carmine’s spectacular grin that could once light up a room, but now lit up a mere page, made sparklier by the winning crown perched upon her perfect blowout.
Next to her, the runner-up, Grace.
“It has to be her.” Kate decides, pressing her fingertip to Grace’s smaller, but elegant smile. “I can’t shake it.”
“Carmine told her and now Grace is out picking us off?” Billie asks, rolling onto her side. She props up her head with her hand, elbow digging into the mattress she’s sure is made from actual clouds. “Doesn’t work. Blood Hood… is a guy. Definitely. Too tall, shoulders too broad: It can’t be Grace. Besides, she was with us at the sleepover when Gigi…”
