Dangerous GirlsAuthor: Abigail Haas
Genre: YA Contemporary Mystery/Thriller
Release Date: July 16, 2013
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Buy Links: Amazon
Description:
It's Spring Break of senior year. Anna, her boyfriend Tate, her best friend Elise, and a few other close friends are off to a debaucherous trip to Aruba that promises to be the time of their lives. But when Elise is found brutally murdered, Anna finds herself trapped in a country not her own, fighting against vile and contemptuous accusations. As Anna sets out to find her friend's killer; she discovers hard truths about her friendships, the slippery nature of truth, and the ache of young love. As she awaits the judge's decree, it becomes clear that everyone around her thinks she is not just guilty, but dangerous. When the truth comes out, it is more shocking than one could ever imagine...
The photo clicks up on the display
projector overhead. Although everyone must have seen it a dozen times over, I
still hear the gasp of shock ripple through the courtroom.
“Miss
Chevalier, if you could look at the first photo…” He clicks again, making it
larger this time. “Can you tell us, when was this taken?”
“Halloween,”
I reply reluctantly. “Last year.”
“And
that’s you in the photograph?”
“Yes.”
“With
who?”
“Tate,” I say quietly, picking at the skin
around my left thumbnail. I’m supposed to keep my hands folded, unmoving, but I
can’t help it. Every nail is bloodied by now, scabbed and torn.
He’s
still waiting, so I take a breath. “And Elise.”
“The
victim.” He announces, as if they didn’t know. “And what are your costumes,
here?”
“Vampire
cheerleaders.”
It
sounds so stupid, out loud in court, but that’s what Halloween is for, right?
Slutty nurses, and zombie cats; guys with fake limbs, and girls in trashy
fairytale costumes. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s all just a game. It’s not
supposed to be blown up as evidence on a display screen one day, like you
planned it out from the start.
“And these photographs were taken at… the
Newport residence?”
I
nod. “I mean, yes. We were going to a party, but we all met at Max and
Chelsea’s, to get dressed, and take photos and stuff.”
We
must have taken hundreds of photos that night—dressing up, and posing, and
later at the party—but of course, nobody wants the rest of them. Not when they
have the ones they need right there: four pictures, saying everything they want
to see.
“And
the blood—“
“Fake
blood,” I interrupt.
“Yes.”
He gives me a patronizing smile.“Whose idea was that?”
“I
don’t know. We found it, online,” I explain, “The same place we got the
costumes.”
“We.
That’s you and Miss Warren.”
“Yes.”
She
had been so excited, showing me the website. Proper horror costumes, like the
kind they use for movies and music videos. Blood, and scars, and fake wounds
oozing puss. We’d scrolled through the options, laughing and crying out with
disgust. Alien baby.Zombie spinster. Not that we picked any of them in the end.
We wanted to look hot, too. Hot, with an edge.
“And
the knife, whose idea was that?”
I
feel my cheeks flush. “I don’t know.”
“You
don’t know? But that’s you holding it, isn’t it?” He clicks the photo even bigger.
“Yes.
I mean, I don’t remember. There was a lot going on. It’s not mine,” I add,
remembering my lawyer’s instructions not to seem sullen or withdrawn. I force a
polite smile. “Someone got it from the kitchen, for the photos.”
“Somebody.”
He drags the word out, sounding skeptical. “But you don’t remember who?”
“No.”
My voice is small.
“And
you were drinking that night.” It doesn’t sound like a question, so I don’t
reply. “You drank often?”
“We all drank.” I protest. “Just some wine, or
vodka, with mixers, you know? The guys had beer. AK always smoked—“
“That’s
not relevant.” He interrupts me quickly. “You and Miss Warren, and Mr Dempsey.
You drank together.” He clicks to the next photo, to answer his own question,
and there we are: Tate pouring vodka into both our mouths.
“Yes,”
I admit. I know what comes next, my lawyer’s warned me well enough. He’ll ask
about the weed, and the pills. About my Mom’s Xanax, and the times Elise tried
her Dad’s Percocet. About the cocaine Melanie saw Elise try over Christmas
break, and the liquid X Niklas tried to feed her in the club that night. It
sounds so bad, all run together like that, but there’s no way around it, save
lying, and too many people saw too many things to get away with that.
I
take a breath, bracing myself, but instead, the lawyer clicks again, to the
next photo. “Can you tell me about the necklaces?”
I
stop. “What?”
“A
necklace was ripped from the victim’s neck that night, and there’s a possibility
it was the one she’s wearing here, in the photograph. You have a matching item.
Where did they come from?”
“I…
me. I got them.” I look over at my lawyer, but he looks just as confused as I
am.
“With
the costumes?”
“No,
this was before then.”
“When?”
“Uh,
over summer, I think. Yes, summer. We were up in Northampton, there’s this
jewelry store there…” I wait, still lost.
“Why
did you buy them?”
“I…
don’t know.” It’s a trap, I know, it has to be, but I can’t figure out why, or
what for. “It was just, a gift.” I explain, “We would do that: buy two of
something, so the other has one. So we matched.”
“Why
this necklace in particular?”
“They
were pretty.” I shrug. “They looked cute.”
“And
can you describe to me the shape of these necklaces?”
My
lawyer’s face changes to something like panic, but I still don’t know why, so I
shrug again and answer. “It’s geometric. You know, like a—“
I
stop. I can see it now. This was his plan all along, and it’s worse than we
ever thought, but the word is hanging in the air waiting to be spoken.
“Like
what, Miss Chevalier?” His voice gets louder, booming in the courtroom.“What
was the necklace you bought for Elise?”
I
close my eyes a moment.
“A
pentagram.” I whisper.
“Speak
clearly, Miss Chevalier.”
I
say it again. Another murmur ripples through the courtroom: shock, speculation.
“Wait,”
I add quickly, “It’s not like that. I didn’t mean—“
“That’s
enough.” He cuts me off. “No further questions.”
“But
you can’t!” I leap up. “It wasn’t like that!”
“Miss
Chevalier,” the judge interrupts me. “That’s enough! Do I need to return you to
custody?”
I
sink back into the witness chair. He’s left the photos up on display. Elise and
Tate and I, covered in fake blood. Me holding the knife to her throat. Tate’s
shirt open, his arms draped around us both. Elise and me licking strawberry
syrup off the blade. The close up of the pentagram necklaces.
They
say a picture is worth a thousand words, but these only have one:
Guilty.
Abigail Haas has written two adult novels
and four young adult contemporary novels under the name Abby McDonald. Dangerous
Girls is her first young adult thriller. She grew up in Sussex,
England, and studied Politics, Philosophy & Economics at Oxford University.
She lives in Los Angeles.
Links:
Website: abbywritesbooks.com
Tumblr: abbywritesbooks.tumblr.com
Twitter: twitter.com/abbymcdonald
No comments:
Post a Comment