Revelation

was just about to start reading when I noticed the items that had been propping up the page. Both

  my hand and the paper fell.

  A small white place card with my name handwritten in pink calligraphy sat in the center of the

  desk. It was my place card from Cheyenne's last official meeting as president of Billings. And in

  front of that was a tiny velvet bag with pills spilling out of it. White pills with a blue dot design. The

  pills that Cheyenne had OD'd on. No--the pills that someone had used to kill her.

  I staggered back a few steps and slammed into the bit of wall between the closet and the

  doorway. Pain radiated up my spine, but I barely felt it. My heart was going ballistic, pounding in

  my ears. Who had done this? And what did it mean? Did it mean I was next? Cheyenne had died

  the night she was kicked out of Easton. I had just been kicked out of Billings. Had the person who

  had killed Cheyenne left these here for me as a warning? Did this mean I was going to die?

  Tonight?

  I wildly checked the room as if someone was going to pop out of nowhere horror-movie style, but

  there was nowhere for anyone to hide. Still, my mind reeled as I clutched the pink paper in my

  sweaty palm. No one had known I was moving into Pemberly aside from the Billings Girls. Had

  someone in my old dorm left these here for me? And if so, who? Why? Why was this happening?

  Why couldn't whoever was doing these things just leave me alone?

  "Well, well. Look who's slumming it."

  28

  A cold chill raced through me. I whirled around to find Ivy Slade leaning against my open doorway,

  a satisfied smirk on her witchy face. Instinctively, I backed up until I was blocking her view of the

  place card and pills. The very sight of her on top of what I'd just found was not good. I suddenly

  felt light-headed and had to clutch the desk chair behind me to keep from trembling.

  "I am just so psyched we're going to be neighbors!" Ivy said with false exuberance.

  "What... what're you talking about?" I said, somehow finding my voice.

  Ivy took a couple of steps into the room, which left about three feet between us. At least she was

  toothpick-thin in her skinny jeans and flowy black top, so she didn't take up much room. As I stood

  there paralyzed, she looked around, her raven ponytail swinging.

  "All year I've been pissed off that there was an empty single next door," she said. "I asked

  Cromwell to let me have it, like, a dozen times, but he refused." She paused and her black-eyed

  gaze flicked over me. "Maybe he knew all along that you'd end up here."

  Inside, I fumed at the comment, but I couldn't seem to find a comeback nestled among my

  paranoia and confusion and fear.

  "Actually, now that I see it, I'm glad he didn't give it to me," she said, wrinkling her nose. "It looks

  like no one's cleaned this place in forever. And what's that smell? " She sniffed and looked me in

  the eye, her own as black as pitch. "It smells like something died in here."

  I almost choked on my own tongue.

  Died. Died, died, died. Her eyes continued to bore into mine. Was

  29

  it her? Had she left the pills? Was Ivy Slade going to try to kill me just like she'd killed Cheyenne?

  "Well, sweet dreams!" she said merrily.

  Then she turned and strode out of the room, giving me one last amused look before slamming the

  door behind her. I couldn't move. Could hardly even breathe. About two seconds later, loud rock

  music shook the wall right next to my new bed. The bitch lived right next door. Right. Next. Door.

  The girl who had committed herself to making my life a living hell. The girl who had snagged the

  love of my life. The girl who might have just subtly threatened to murder me. Right. Next. Door.

  Spurred by a sudden rush of fear-tinged adrenaline, I grabbed my desk chair and shoved it under

  the doorknob as I had seen done in so many movies. Then I backed away, wiping my sweaty palms

  together, wondering if there was anything else I could do to protect myself. Even if I was wrong--

  even if Ivy hadn't just threatened me and her comment had been a coincidental insult--there was

  still a killer on campus. A killer who had just left their murder weapon in my room. There was no

  way I was going to sleep tonight. No way in hell.

  Why was this happening to me? Why couldn't I be safely tucked into my bed in Billings right now,

  with Sabine just a few feet away? There was safety in numbers, right? And suddenly, I was

  completely alone.

  Finally, the unfairness of it all overcame me. The sadistic unfairness of it all. I sat down on the cold

  floor, my back up against the

  30

  side of my bed. Ivy's loud, angry music jolted my senses and forced the tears right out of me. I

  pulled my knees up and buried my face between them, clinging to my legs with both arms as I

  sobbed. At least with the music on, Ivy couldn't hear me. At least she wouldn't know that she'd

  won.

  31

  * * *

  As predicted, there was no sleep that night. Earlier I had sneaked out of the room for all of one

  minute to flush the pills and the place card in one of the toilets in the communal bathroom (after

  all, if the police were going to be investigating a murder, I didn't want to be caught with the cause

  of death), but they still haunted me. Every noise I heard--every creak, every whistle of wind, every

  footfall--brought my heart to a screeching halt and my eyes to the door. And between these

  excruciating moments, there were too many thoughts swirling in my mind. Too many humiliating

  memories popping up to replay themselves and make my heart and stomach clench. Too much to

  regret. Too much to wish away.

  I wished I had never started e-mailing with Dash at the beginning of the school year.

  I wished I hadn't had all those drinks at the Legacy.

  I wished I had never gone up on that roof.

  32

  I wished Josh had never found us.

  I wished I had told Noelle the truth from the beginning.

  I wished I had seen Ivy taking that stupid video so that I could have bitch-slapped her right then

  and there and nipped this whole thing in the bud.

  I pulled my pillow over my face and groaned into it. At that moment Ivy's laugh, clear as day, filled

  my room. I tossed the pillow aside. It wasn't just that the walls in Pemberly were paper thin--

  which they were--but there was a vent right beneath my bed, through which I could hear almost

  everything Ivy and her roommate, Jillian Crane, said to each other. At least, that is, when they

  were being loud and I was listening. I glanced at the clock on my desk. It was after midnight. What

  the hell was Ivy laughing about over there?

  Her laugh was followed by a giggle and some quietly murmured words. My hands curled into fists.

  I recognized that tone. She was talking to a guy. Flirting. And not with just any guy--with my guy.

  Josh was, right now, whispering sweet nothings to cold, evil Ivy.

  Suddenly filled with ire, I flung my covers aside and sat up straight. It was still frigid in the room, so

  I had worn sweatpants, a turtleneck, and a sweatshirt to bed, along with some thick socks, which

  now protected my feet from the icy floor as I paced in a teeny, tiny circle. I had to think. I had to

  figure this out once and for all. Several lives might depend on it, including my own.

  Okay. Deep breath.
Think. What do I actually know?

  First, according to the police, Cheyenne was definitely murdered. So what did this mean exactly? It

  meant the suicide note had

  33

  been faked. It meant that both suicide notes had been faked. I stopped in my tracks, suddenly

  seeing it all with a cold clarity. The night she died, Cheyenne hadn't sent me that haunting "Ignore

  the note. You did this" e-mail. She hadn't blamed me for her death. Because she hadn't intended

  to die at all. Whoever had sent me that e-mail was the murderer. For some reason, the murderer

  had wanted me to feel responsible for Cheyenne's death.

  Instantly, this bizarre feeling of relief overcame me. For months I had been walking around feeling

  guilty, thinking that Cheyenne's last thoughts before she killed herself had been of me. Thinking

  that she had gone to her grave cursing me. But it wasn't true. None of it was true. Cheyenne

  hadn't blamed me. The very thought was like a huge boulder being lifted off my shoulders.

  But of course the relief was short-lived, replaced instantly by a new and intense fear. Did this

  mean that my stalker was also the murderer? It made sense. The murderer had sent the e-mail,

  then backed it up by leaving all of these things around to remind me of Cheyenne. To torture me.

  To make me feel even more guilty. The pills and the place card weren't the only thing the

  murderer had left for me. There had been the Billings black balls, Cheyenne's pink sweater, her

  perfume, and all those other awful things.

  My stalker was definitely the killer. Had to be. It couldn't all just be some terrifying coincidence.

  I dropped back down on my bed again and clutched my comforter to my chest. The killer had been

  in my room at Billings several times. Had been in my closet, my drawers, my overnight bag. And he

  or she

  34

  had been in this room too. This very day. Leaving the most horrifying message yet.

  Once again I heard Ivy laugh, and my blood ran cold. It had to be her. She'd had opportunity and

  motive. And now I was living right next door to her--and Josh was dating her. I shoved the covers

  aside, pulled my chair out from under the doorknob, and sat down at my desk. I was not going

  down without a fight. Hauer wanted evidence? I'd find him some evidence. This bitch was going

  down.

  I whipped a pad and pen out of my bag and wrote Ivy's name at the top, then jotted down all the

  reasons I was sure she was the bad guy. Her motive (her grandmother's stroke), her behavior

  (trying to exclude us from the Legacy), her not-so-subtle remarks (about hating Billings and

  Cheyenne). My hands shook the whole time and my writing looked like that of a serial killer--

  different from one line to the next--but I kept on going. When I was done, I took a deep breath. If I

  showed this to Hauer, would it be enough?

  Probably not. Everyone knew Ivy was dating Josh now. He would probably see these as the

  psychotic ramblings of a teenage girl who was heartbroken that her boyfriend had moved on.

  Which I was, but still.

  What could I do to make it look more legit? The answer hit me almost immediately. I needed more

  suspects. I needed to make it at least appear like I was being fair. Unbiased. I drew my knees up

  and sat back in my chair to think. Part of me felt it would be a waste of time, but in all honesty,

  there were a few other potential suspects. Reluctantly, I listed them and their potential motives

  beneath Ivy's entry.

  35

  First, Trey Prescott. He was an incredible guy, and I seriously doubted he was capable of hurting a

  fruit fly, but he had been so angry at Cheyenne at the beginning of the year. Why had they broken

  up over the summer? Maybe it was something worth killing over.

  Then, of course, I had to consider the other girls in Billings. They always say the people closest to

  the victim are the prime suspects. All the classic murder motives--jealousy, passion, anger--are

  stronger with people you're close to. Just look at Ariana and Thomas. She had loved him. But when

  it came down to it, I couldn't think of many girls with real motives for killing Cheyenne. She had

  been a total dictator, but most of the girls in Billings kind of liked that. The only girls with any kind

  of motive were the three she had targeted--the three she had wanted to kick out.

  Sabine, Constance, and Lorna.

  Of course I disregarded Sabine and Constance right away. They were two of my best friends and

  were both totally guileless, sweet, and honest. And Lorna was too big of a wuss to murder anyone,

  let alone spend weeks stalking me. Unless she had help from Missy, her best friend. Missy was a

  hell of a lot stronger than Lorna, plus she hated me. What if she had helped out Lorna by offing

  Cheyenne, then decided to get her own jollies by stalking me? It made a twisted kind of sense. I

  added "Missy/Lorna ???" to my list.

  After much thought I also added Astrid. It pained me to do it, but the girl was kind of an enigma.

  No one knew why she had been kicked out of Barton School last year. She had told me she'd been

  caught smoking, but would that really get a person kicked out of school?

  36

  Maybe it had been for some insidious crime. Plus she had known Cheyenne forever. Maybe, like

  the drama Ivy and Cheyenne had at Ivy's grandmother's house, there was something in their

  shared past that had set Astrid off. They had definitely been at odds with each other at the

  beginning of the year, and I had assumed it was because Astrid refused to fall in line with

  Cheyenne's plans to keep Constance, Sabine, and Lorna out of Billings. But who knew? Maybe it

  had been something larger than that. Still, I put two extra question marks next to Astrid's name. I

  didn't want it to be her. Not remotely.

  I looked over my list and took a deep breath, feeling calmer now that I was taking some sort of

  action. Tomorrow morning, after everyone had left for breakfast, I was going to search Ivy's room

  for something concrete. I knew it was risky, but I didn't care. If I could prove that Ivy was the

  murderer, that she had been working to destroy me for months, at least I might actually be able to

  sleep at night. Then I could concentrate on earning Noelle's forgiveness for what I'd done, getting

  back into Billings, and maybe even winning Josh back too.

  I could concentrate on reclaiming my life.

  37

  * * *

  "Thank you so much for fixing my computer last night," Jillian said as she and Ivy walked out of

  their room on Monday morning. I listened from the other side of my door, my breath coming quick

  and shallow. "I thought the thing was fritzed, and I totally forgot to back up my world civ paper."

  "Not a problem," Ivy replied. They were in the hallway now, passing just outside my door. "But

  how many times have I told you, always back up everything? "

  "I know, I know, Bill Gates," Jillian said with a laugh. "I promise I will never again question your

  computer geek ways."

  "I prefer computer diva," Ivy joked.

  I closed my eyes as a wave of realization came over me. Ivy, a computer geek? No wonder she'd

  been able to rig Cheyenne's e-mail to keep sending me that suicide note over and over and over

  again. No wonder she'd been able to get through to my accounts no matter how I

  38

  tried to block
her or how many times I changed my address. The more I learned about the girl, the

  more certain I was that she was my tormentor. I made a mental note to add this new bit of info to

  my suspect list.

  The moment I heard the elevator ping and Ivy and Jillian's laughter fade, I slipped out of my room.

  It was getting late, and the hallway was deserted. Taking a deep breath and saying a quick prayer

  that Ivy and Jillian wouldn't double back for anything, I grasped the cold bronze doorknob and

  pushed. Ten million times I had cursed the powers that be for deciding we didn't need locks on our

  dorm room doors. For once, I couldn't have been more grateful.

  Ivy and Jillian's room was about twice the size of mine, and they had made it cozy by draping

  colorful scarves across the ceiling to hide the ugly stucco. The walls were papered with full-size

  posters, magazine tear sheets, and framed photographs; not an inch of graying white paint peeked

  through anywhere. Their beds, pushed against opposite walls, were littered with throw pillows,

  and their desks stood back-to-back in front of the window so that they could both see out when

  they were studying. And so that they couldn't see each other and get distracted. Not a bad little

  system. I'd have to remember that if I ever had a roommate again.

  Okay. What was I doing? This was not an episode of Pimp My Dorm. I was here for information.

  Glancing around, I identified Ivy's side of the room by a square frame holding a photo of her and

  Josh, clearly taken out on the quad. They were smiling and hugging.

  39

  Gag, heave, gag.

  Part of me wanted to smash it, burn it, tear it to shreds, but instead I quickly sifted through a short

  stack of papers next to her computer. It was all college brochures and copies of the applications

  she'd sent: Harvard, Dartmouth, Tufts, Wesleyan, Boston College. Clearly the girl wanted to stay

  close to home. I yanked open the first drawer of her desk. Nothing but pens, pencils, pads, and

  printer ink. The second drawer was all old notebooks, which I paged through quickly, finding

  nothing interesting other than a couple of doodled hearts with Ivy's and Gage's names in them.

  Ew.

  Why hadn't those two just stayed together? They were so perversely well-suited for each other.

  The bottom drawer of her desk was filled with snack food and feminine products. A weird

  combination, but I had a hunch it wouldn't be of interest to Detective Hauer or Josh.

  I stood up and looked around. Only the dresser and closet were left, and I was getting tenser with

  each passing second. There had to be something here. Something...

  And that was when my eyes found the photo. Hanging on the wall above Ivy's bed was a full-color,

  eight-by-ten picture of four girls with their arms draped around one another. It wouldn't have

  been remotely out of the ordinary, if not for the totally eerie and creepy lineup. Ivy was on one

  end, then Cheyenne, then Noelle, then Ariana.

  A killer, a victim, a friend, and a killer.

  Just looking at Ariana's openly smiling face gave me chills, and I had to turn away. The girl had

  tried to murder me. Had succeeded in

  40

  killing Thomas Pearson. Why would anyone want a picture of her up in their room, let alone Ivy--