The Perfectionists

  Mac screamed. She’d done it. She got in. It didn’t even bother her that her parents had found out first. It was the most amazing news she’d ever heard.

  Her little sister inched forward, giving Mac a hug. “You’ll never believe the other news, too,” she said excitedly. “Tell her, Mom.”

  Mrs. Wright beamed. “Well, Mrs. Coldwell called me last night. They have inside contacts as well, and it looks like Claire’s getting in, too!”

  Mackenzie froze. A high-pitched wail rang in her ears. “Wait. What?”

  “I know!” Her mother shook her head, marveling. “What are the odds? But you’re both going. Isn’t it exciting? You can room together!”

  A sour taste filled Mackenzie’s mouth. All the excitement of a moment ago twisted inside her, changing shape until she didn’t know how she felt. Anger, disappointment, resentment, and anxiety tainted the brief sense of triumph she’d felt. All she’d wanted to do was beat Claire, once and for all.

  And now, instead of getting even, she’d be stuck with her for four more years.

  “This calls for a celebration!” Her mother bustled to the fridge and pulled out a chocolate cake decorated with musical notes in delicate white icing. Her father started pouring milk into wineglasses. Only Sierra sat with a knowing expression on her face, watching Mackenzie. She’d always seemed to suspect how Mackenzie really felt about her “best friend.”

  “Well? Don’t you have anything to say?” asked her mother, handing her a plate.

  “Yeah, Juilliard girl, how are you feeling?” her dad said.

  Sierra lifted her glass. “Speech! Speech!”

  Mackenzie stared around at her family, holding the slice of cake in her hands. The smell took her back in a sudden rush of memory to the night in Cupcake Kingdom when she and Blake had kissed. Tears burned in her eyes, but she blinked them away so no one could see.

  “I’ve never been so happy,” she said.

  Or so miserable.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  THAT MORNING, JULIE CAREFULLY PULLED on a dark blue dress and inspected herself in her full-length mirror. Behind her, Parker snickered. “That’s what you’re wearing to the police station? You look like one of the kids in Harry Potter.”

  Julie frowned. She had been going for I’m-responsible-and-you-should-take-me-seriously, but now that she thought about it, the long blue dress did look a little too Hogwarts-chic. She pulled it over her head and changed into a gray-cardigan-and-dark-wash-jeans combo instead.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” she asked Parker as she put on her fake pearl studs. “It might be . . . I don’t know. Satisfying.”

  “No thanks.” Parker shook her head emphatically. “As long as Elliot is out there, I don’t want to leave this house. Anyway, you guys don’t really need me, do you? Just to give the cops Nolan’s flash drive.”

  “You’re right,” Julie said, then nervously shook out her hands. She just wanted this over with. She couldn’t wait till Granger was behind bars, and everything could go back to normal.

  As she was selecting a pair of flats, she noticed that the email bubble on her laptop was flashing. She clicked on it, thinking it might be someone asking for a ride. But then she saw the name . . . and the subject. Her heart stopped in her chest.

  From: Ashley Ferguson

  To: Ashley Ferguson

  Cc: Julie Redding

  Subject: Julie Redding’s Dirty Little Secret

  In the body of the email there was no text, just the link to an article, the one describing how Julie and her mom were evicted from their old house in Oakland. The one Parker had erased.

  Well, Ashley had somehow resurrected it.

  Julie leaned forward and clutched the edge of the desk until her knuckles were white, concentrating on counting. One, two—Ashley must have BCC’d the recipients; who were they?—three, four—Was it the whole school?—five, six, seven—Or could it have just been sent to Julie herself, to remind her how much she was in Ashley’s power?

  “Julie?” Parker asked across the room.

  Julie let out a small, wounded sob. Parker kicked off the covers and hurried over. “What’s going on?”

  Julie wordlessly stepped aside from the email. Parker’s gaze slid over it fast. “That bitch,” she snarled.

  “I don’t understand,” Julie said weakly. She kept counting. Twenty-six, twenty-seven. It wasn’t helping at all. “Why? Why would she do that?”

  Parker paced around Julie’s room, seeming suddenly on edge, as if the space weren’t big enough to contain her. “She is everything that’s wrong with the world. You can’t trust anyone except your real friends.”

  But Julie was only half listening. She fumbled for her phone, pressing Ashley’s number, with shaking hands.

  Ashley picked up on the first ring. “Hey, dirty girl,” she sang. “Did you like my email?”

  “What the hell, Ashley?” Julie raged. “Who did you send it to?”

  “Oh, you know. Everyone.”

  Julie leaned over, sure she was going to throw up. She thought of everyone, reading that article. Seeing the picture of her. Putting it all together. Aha! they would think. This is why Julie never has anyone over! “But, why?” she sobbed into the phone. “I never did anything to you!”

  “Exactly,” Ashley said amiably. “You never did anything to me—or for me. You were happy to just sit there and let your friends make fun of me. And let’s be honest—you haven’t exactly been nice lately. Well, now it’s your turn to feel what it’s like on the outside. See you at school!” She paused. “Oh, and say hi to your mom for me! Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll grow up to be just like her!” And with that, she hung up.

  Julie stared at the phone in her hand. Tears streamed down her face. Suddenly, her laptop let out another ping. It was another note from Ashley. This is what Carson thinks of you now, read the subject line.

  The only thing in the message was a photograph. Julie brought her face closer to the laptop. It was a picture of Carson . . . and Ashley. They were standing in front of the Rachel the Piggy Bank at the Pike Place Fish Market, and the same sun that shone outside Julie’s window beamed over them. Carson had a disgusted look on his face, and he made a thumbs-down gesture with one hand. Ashley was holding his other hand. They were standing very, very close together.

  Julie let out a squeak. Well, that settled that.

  Parker sat next to her, squeezing her shoulder tight. Julie blinked, trying to imagine the shape the rest of the school year would take, but all she could see was a gaping black hole. Parker really was all she had now. No more friends. Definitely no Carson.

  No anything.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  AN HOUR LATER, AVA PULLED into the parking lot of the police station. She pulled down the mirror and glanced at her reflection: minimal makeup, just a touch of mascara, and clear lip gloss, her hair in a low ponytail. Her men’s large Huskies T-shirt hung loose over her Lululemon yoga pants. Her skin was still crawling at the memory of the striptease she’d performed for Mr. Granger—the striptease her friends had seen, that Alex had probably even seen. She wanted to look nothing like she had the night before.

  She grabbed her phone and dialed Alex’s number again. The phone rang and rang, then went to voice mail. A lump formed in Ava’s throat. Was he sitting next to it, staring as her name flashed on the screen? “Please let me explain,” she said after the voice mail beep. “It wasn’t what you think, okay? I love you.”

  But all her protests sounded so weak and pathetic. What was Alex supposed to think? She hadn’t even buttoned her dress when she came flying out of Granger’s house. Was this the price she had to pay to prove her innocence?

  Frustrated, she got out of the car and slammed the door behind her. The sky was dull and gray, the air heavy with rain. Inside, the station was quiet, with just a few officers at their desks. There was no receptionist at the front, and no sign of Ava’s friends. She pulled out her phone and sent a group text: I??
?m here. Hurry!

  Tense with pent-up energy, she paced around the lobby, examining the bulletin board covered in posters of missing girls and wanted drug dealers, and ads for bondsmen and local lawyers. There was even an ad for a mental health counselor named Elliot Fielder at Beacon Heights Mental Health Outreach. When her phone beeped, she lunged for it, hoping it was Alex. But it was just an email from a junior she’d seen with Julie a few times, a girl named Ashley Ferguson. Julie Redding’s Dirty Little Secret, it read.

  Curious, Ava clicked on it and read the accompanying article. Her heart lurched. Poor Julie. This explained why she was so reserved at times, so closed off. What must it be like to live like that? And no wonder Julie never wanted anyone to meet her at her house.

  A few moments later, all the girls hurried in. Ava watched as Julie stumbled inside last, looking exhausted and puffy-eyed. She’d clearly seen the article, too. Ava stepped forward, wanting to say something to her—that Ashley Ferguson was a horrible bitch, maybe, and that karma would get her someday.

  Instead, all she could say was, “I don’t care where you live or what your situation is. I’m glad we’ve become friends.”

  Tears filled Julie’s eyes. Her mouth wobbled. She ducked her head and stumbled forward into Ava’s arms. Ava hugged her tightly, noticing Mac’s and Caitlin’s sympathetic glances. They must have seen the email, too. Maybe the whole school had.

  Then Julie pulled away and wiped her eyes. “So, um, do you have it?” she asked, looking at Caitlin, who had kept the flash drive with her overnight.

  Caitlin nodded and patted her canvas bag. “I checked on it about fifty million times. It’s here.”

  A junior-looking officer walked past, and Ava cleared her throat. “Um, we’re here to see Detectives Peters and McMinnamin.”

  The officer looked at the girls skeptically, but before he had a chance to respond, the two detectives appeared from the back of the precinct. McMinnamin led the way, clearly the senior of the two partners.

  “Okay, girls,” Detective McMinnamin intoned, running a hand through his thinning blond hair. “Follow me.”

  Ava took a deep breath and snaked past a series of messy desks piled high with intake folders and cardboard coffee cups. They turned down a long hall, passed a water fountain and doors for the men’s and women’s bathrooms, and settled into the same interrogation room she’d been brought to last week. It seemed like much longer.

  Just as before, the venetian blinds were open, revealing a long mirror. Ava glanced at them nervously. Was someone on the other side of the mirror watching them?

  “So,” Peters began, lacing his enormous fingers together on the table. “The officer on duty said you had information about Nolan Hotchkiss. Are you ready to share?”

  The girls looked at one another. Julie nodded encouragingly. Then Caitlin pushed the flash drive across the table. Her clammy fingers left sweaty marks on the dark surface.

  “It belonged to Nolan,” Julie explained in a halting voice. “W-we found it at Lucas Granger’s house. It proves that Nolan knew Granger was hooking up with students.”

  “And that he was blackmailing Granger,” Ava jumped in. “Asking him to give him better grades, write letters of recommendations, pay for things—you name it.”

  “Granger did it,” Mackenzie said. “He killed Nolan . . . and now he’s trying to frame us.”

  Peters turned to face Ava, his brown eyes unreadable. “And how did you girls come by this flash drive. Did he just hand it over?” There was a smirk on his face.

  Ava blushed. Julie shifted in her seat. Caitlin leaned in, her eyes blazing. “Well, he tried to seduce Ava. She took it when she escaped from him.”

  McMinnamin sighed and rubbed his temples. “So you . . . stole it?”

  Ava’s mouth dropped open. “Well, I . . .”

  “And what time of night was this, ladies?” Peters asked, his brow furrowed.

  Ava glanced at the others. She wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. “Um, I don’t know. Evening, I guess.”

  “Eleven? Twelve?”

  “Why don’t you actually look at the content on this drive?” Julie interrupted, sliding it toward them. “And then make your decision. Because I think it proves that Granger is the murderer. And it proves you should arrest him.”

  “I don’t doubt that Granger was doing something illicit,” McMinnamin said smugly. “But there’s no way we can arrest him.”

  Ava blinked, suddenly deflating. “What? Why?”

  The detective’s gaze was steady. “Because he’s dead.”

  Ava gasped. “What?” she asked faintly.

  “There was a nine-one-one call to his house last night,” Peters said. “When the ambulances came, there were signs of a struggle.”

  Blood rushed to Ava’s head. This wasn’t making any sense. And all at once, she understood what the detective was getting at. “I didn’t do anything to him,” she said very slowly.

  “Be careful what you say next,” Peters growled. “Because we have a witness who places you all at the crime scene at ten PM—right around the time of death.”

  Ava’s heart was beating so furiously she was surprised it hadn’t leaped out of her chest. “Who?” And then, suddenly, it hit her. She remembered the figure on the lawn. The look of betrayal and disgust and horror on his face. Her heart broke into a million pieces.

  “Alex Cohen,” Peters said, looking at her. “He lives on the same block, I understand? And I believe he said you were his ex-girlfriend?” Peters smiled grimly. “I guess he didn’t want to be dating a girl who is now under investigation for murder.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  PARKER HURRIED FORWARD TO THE entrance of the police station, where the other girls were stepping out into the sunshine. They all looked like shit. Julie had been texting her updates the whole time it took Parker to get here on the bus—that the cops were letting the girls go, saying there wasn’t enough evidence to charge them with Granger’s murder until they’d completely searched his house; that they’d taken their fingerprints and done DNA cheek swabs. They’d even taken their photographs under the harsh fluorescent lights. Parker couldn’t imagine Julie took that very well. She and Julie exchanged a look, and then Parker ran forward to pull her best friend into a hug.

  “Don’t try pulling anything stupid,” Detective Peters called out from the front entrance. “We’re watching you—all of you,” he added, looking at Parker and frowning. Parker shivered. Her prints were already in the system, from what had happened with her dad. She was as much a suspect as the other girls.

  Parker looked at the others after the cops left. Ava was sobbing. Caitlin clenched her jaw. Mac looked like she was going to throw up. “My parents are going to murder me,” she whispered.

  “I can’t believe they called our parents,” Ava said miserably. Julie’s mouth twitched, and Parker took her hand, thinking of that horrible message that had gone around just an hour ago. But really, compared with this, did Julie’s secret really matter? Did anything matter?

  Julie hung on to Parker’s hand as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. “They’ll realize they made a mistake,” she said in a level voice. “The police will realize we were framed.”

  “Will they?” Ava’s eyes were wild. “We were there, Julie. Alex saw us. And our fingerprints are all over that house.” Tears streamed down her face. “I thought this would be over. I thought Granger was doing this to us. So now it’s someone else?”

  Parker shivered. That thought had crossed her mind, too—they didn’t have this solved at all. She squeezed her eyes shut and reached far into her brain, trying to put together the pieces from last night. If only she could remember someone lurking outside Granger’s property. A mysterious car parked across the street. Something. But when she groped for the memory, there was only emptiness. All she could recall was running out of Granger’s house, her heart pounding hard. And then a chasm of darkness—she was probably curled in a ball some
where, shutting down like she always did. And then meeting Julie a little later at the diner, groggy and spotty.

  “Who was watching us last night?” Parker whispered.

  “And is Granger Nolan’s killer?” Caitlin asked aloud. “Or did Nolan’s killer kill Granger, too—and make it look like us again?”

  Ava frowned. “But why would Nolan’s killer need to kill Granger?”

  Parker swallowed hard, considering this possibility. “Maybe Granger knew something about Nolan’s murder.”

  “So we were looking for the wrong thing at his house all this time?” Ava asked.

  “I don’t know,” Parker said slowly. She looked around the group. “But maybe everything we thought we knew isn’t true at all.”

  Everyone shuddered. Caitlin tipped her head up, her brow furrowing. Julie looked as if her brain had just exploded. But Parker wondered, suddenly, if it could be true. Memory was a tricky thing, but reality was even trickier. Once you made up your mind about something, it was hard to comprehend that the truth could be something else. But what if it was? And how could they figure that out?

  And what if they were too late?

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I AM SO PLEASED AT how this book came together. Alfred Hitchcock said, “Always make the audience suffer as much as possible,” and this series truly does that in the best of ways! I want to thank the brains at Alloy Entertainment for helping to put all the puzzle pieces in the correct places: Josh Bank, Les Morgenstein, Sara Shandler, Lanie Davis, and Katie McGee. Once again, for seemingly the millionth time, you guys are amazing and masterful. Many thanks to Natalie Sousa, Liz Dresner, and Elaine Damasco for designing the perfect cover for our perfectionists.

  Big thanks also to HarperCollins for green-lighting this book project and going along on our crazy ride, namely Jen Klonsky, Kari Sutherland, and Alice Jerman. Thanks also to the brilliant filmmakers of yore who inspired not only part of the premise for this story but whose dark, twisted, devious dramas helped to create its ambience. And a huge, huge, HUGE thank-you to Jen Graham. You are a true talent, and this book wouldn’t exist without you!