The Betrayal of Natalie Hargrove

  "You've got a pretty face, Tal," he said. "And a pretty obscene body."

  I had only been kissed twice before, never by someone whose name I didn't know, and I'd definitely never been spoken to like that. Now, there was this kid, who was younger than the rest of the guys by a few years--maybe my age--acting like he'd written all new rules.

  "What do you say I show you my boat?" he asked. "I think you'll like it."

  I glanced over at Sarah, who was splashing one of the guys playfully, her head thrown back in the air. She caught my eye and winked.

  "Okay," I said to Justin.

  He took my hand underwater, and we swam toward a marina where a row of shiny motorboats were docked. Justin pulled himself out of the water and onto the side of the boat. I couldn't help watching the way his body looked as he lifted up a seat compartment to grab a towel. He caught me staring, and when I dropped my head, he said, "It's okay. Get a good look. I plan to do the same when I help you up in a minute."

  I was still blushing when he reached down and took both of my hands in his, pulling me up on the boat. I gasped from the feel of the cold air on my wet skin and from the realization that I was very naked and very alone with a stranger on the other side of town.

  "Hmm, where is that extra towel?" he joked, scratching his chin.

  "Oh my God," I said, covering myself with my hands, half terrified, half ecstatic. "You'd better give me your towel right now."

  We wrestled for the one towel until I slipped, and Justin landed on top of me with a thud. He kissed me again, stroking my cheek with two fingers.

  "So where do you go to school?" he said.

  "You really want to talk about school?" I giggled. "Now?"

  "I guess I want to get to know you. I dunno." Now he was the one who was blushing. Water churned under the boat, making me feel dizzy. But it was a good kind of dizzy.

  "Christ," a voice muttered from behind us. "I guess we'd better warn lover boy over there."

  I jerked away, pulling as much of the towel over me as I could. Two of the other guys were standing over us, both dripping wet, both with snide looks on their faces. Suddenly, it felt anything but okay to be naked on this boat.

  "These girls aren't here to make conversation with, little bro," the tall one said. He looked like Justin but a few years older. He must be Tommy. "They are here to screw and then go home."

  I gasped and all three of the guys turned to me.

  "Aww," the other guy said. His dark wet hair hung down over his eyes. "Trailer trash is cute when she plays innocent."

  Tommy nodded. "She might look better in the face, but she's no different from Slutsky over there."

  I looked over to where I'd left Sarah. I could hear her having-the-time-of-my-life laugh ringing out across the water. And here was the guy we'd come all twenty miles to see, calling her Slutsky behind her back.

  "Whatever," Justin said. "We're just hanging out, okay?"

  "Turn around, trailer trash," Tommy told me.

  "Her name's Tal," Justin said.

  "I said turn around, trailer trash," Tommy said louder. "I want to see your tramp stamp."

  "What?" I asked.

  "Every bitch from Cawdor gets the same slut tattoo right above her ass. It's how guys like us know where to aim when we've got you--"

  "Easy, Tommy," the other guy said.

  "If he's going to hang with the big dogs, my little brother needs to understand a few things," Tommy insisted. "Let's see exhibit A."

  "I don't have a tattoo," I said.

  "No, shit?" Tommy asked, sizing me up. "Did Slutsky bring us a baby? How novel."

  "Well, it's only a matter of time," the other guy sneered, fist-bumping Tommy.

  He turned to Justin. "Just remember, these girls are good for three things." As he spoke, Tommy held up his fingers. "Taking it off, taking what you give them, then getting taken back across the bridge."

  Justin looked at me then, and his eyes were different, like he blamed me for both of us being here, getting this lecture.

  "Yeah," he said coldly. "I know."

  "What?" I whispered.

  "When you do get that old tramp stamp, let me know," Justin said, earning a cheer from the older guys.

  I started toward him, without a plan, just knowing that everything Justin Balmer had said to lure me in had been a lie. But before I reached Justin, Tommy grabbed my wrists.

  "Ohhh," he taunted. "Baby's getting feisty. Don't you worry, sweetheart," he cooed, his voice dripping condescension. Then he grabbed a fistful of towel at my waist and started pulling. "Here, let me show you how it's done."

  In a panic, my eyes shot up at Justin. He looked away. Before Tommy could tug the last of my towel away, I channeled all the fear and humiliation in me and shoved it at him.

  I didn't even stick around to watch him stumble back. I dove, naked, into the lake, letting the cold, black water flush away my tears. I forgot about Sarah; I forgot about my clothes. I just wanted to swim all the way back home.

  By the time I started freshman year at Palmetto, I'd been through a whole lot worse than that frozen moment on the dock. I had longer hair, thicker skin, the right zip code and wardrobe, and a different nickname to prove that I had fully put that past behind me.

  But the first time I saw J.B. in the halls of my new school, I was right back at that marina, totally exposed, totally worthless.

  He passed me in the hall, then doubled back around. "You look familiar," he said, squinting. "Have we met?"

  Epilogue

  Once, you used to envision your final exit from high school, some fairy-tale ending to your story. You were so easily won over by honest trifles. You succumbed so quickly to the instruments of darkness, snapping your Juicy Fruit, thinking you were on top of the world.

  They spent nearly a week searching for Natalie Hargrove's body, and Dotty Perch spent that long praying for her soul. She went through box after box of tissues, flanked on either side by Darla and the Dick on the couch at the hacienda by the lake. The Dick combed through her hair with his fingers, brewed her fourth pot of decaf hazelnut coffee. He could never erase what had happened to Dotty's only daughter. The deed was done. The battle was lost and won. But she had someone to take care of her at last, and a house built from a lifetime of coveting. She would eventually find happiness. You would, too, if you were her.

  The Double D was another story. She treated Natalie's old locker like her own personal wailing wall, her nubby fingers peeling at the poster taped across its red metal door.

  The poster read: Kate Richards, from Handmaiden to Princess. Discover Palmetto's brightest new star.

  As easily as Kate Richards filled the hole left by Natalie Hargrove, you might expect to find our bright new star on the arm of a certain reigning King. But no one at Palmetto had seen or heard from Mike since Natalie's tragic accident. Perhaps that one-way ticket out of town got put to use after all. . . .

  Back at Palmetto, Officer Parker was making a personal discovery of his own. The cops had finally gotten around to cleaning out Justin Balmer's locker. Inside it, they'd found a football helmet, socks, jock straps. And a small zipper case.

  Tucked into the case, were a handful of pictures.

  Of Natalie Hargrove.

  Natalie serving lemonade at the freshman fund-raiser.

  Natalie by the flagpole tossing her head back to laugh, so that the sun sparkled in her long dark hair.

  Natalie's jeweled lilac dress glinting in the light from the snow globe at last year's winter formal.

  And more. Photos of Nat across all four years they'd spent at Palmetto.

  Proof that there was more to J.B. than anyone knew, buried truths behind his emerald-green eyes. Proof that things aren't always what you think they are.

  Once, you imagined you could be anyone you wanted to be. That you could make the right guy love you and rescue you from your fate. That you could outsmart everyone and leave your past behind for good.

  How hard you worked for
what you wanted.

  How cruelly fate betrayed you in the end.

  Turn the page for a chapter from the new Razorbill series by NANCY HOLDER:

  POSSESSIONS

  one

  October 28

  possessions: me

  Tibetan prayer beads

  Mem's UCSD sweatshirt

  used black leather boho bag (thrift shop in Poway)

  Converse high-tops (from Target)

  Dad's socks (too big, but they're his)

  tattered jeans (origin forgotten)

  tortoiseshell headband (plastic)

  NO makeup

  five single-subject notebooks

  regulation Madwood Academy planner

  ditto binder

  six #2 pencils, one missing eraser (panic attack)

  pens (unlimited)

  cell phone (no bars, no reception here AT ALL)

  Jason's St. Christopher medal (thanks, Cuz!)

  me, Lindsay 2.0 (or so I hope)

  haunted by: my past

  listening to: my heartbeat-too fast again! don't forget to breathe.

  mood: frozen to death (not a mood?!)

  possessions: them

  oh.

  my.

  God.

  is there anything they DON'T have???

  haunted by: not seeing any haunting

  listening to: each other

  mood: excited? they can pay for any mood they want.

  Fog had crawled up the mountain, like a wounded animal on pine-tree claws, and bled all over the campus. I stopped and squinted at my map with its handy printed stats--a hundred developer acres that included hiking paths and bike trails; thirty buildings, including a brick gym with a plaster frieze, which really needed updating, of ancient Greek athletes (male)--who could also have used some underwear, if I remembered the picture correctly.

  The campus was rolling in white mist, and I want sure of the way to the classrooms, which were clustered on the north side of the campus. I had thought there was a shortcut through Academy Quad, my quad, but it was hard to be sure when I couldn't see more than ten feet ahead of myself

  Then a stiff wind blew, thinning the fog. Sure enough, my building loomed on top of the small hill to my left. Grose was a araky, scary-looking rectangle made out of brick, with a date roof. Another dorm, Jessel, crouched at the bottom of the hill like it was waiting to pounce. It was three stories tall with a slight-L-shape, where a back porch jutted out like a hunchback.

  Jessel was prettier than Grose. It had towering stone columns on either side of its brightly painted red front door, and four turret rooms, one on each corner, covered in slate shingles. The windows of the turrets were arched, completing the castle-tower effect.

  Everyone else in both Grose and Jessel had already moved in, made friends, and started right on schedule--September 5th. I couldn't believe they'd let me start so late. Maybe nervous breakdowns came with benefits.

  I was here to reinvent myself in a major way. No one here knew I had gone bonkers. No one here knew me at all. I could be, anyone--Lindsay Anne Cavanaugh 2.0. I really hoped I would like the remix better. I was optimistic; I had started out well as a person--had normal friends, liked animals,did pretty well in school. I used to kick butt on the cello. Okay, my mom died. And Jane Taylor seduced my boyfriend. In our houses. On the throw I knitted for my mom in the hospital.

  And yeah, I'd pretended I didn't care. I'd acted like it was no big deal. Because I wanted to be one of Jane's cool chicks.

  That was called cognitive dissonance, when you wanted two opposing things--such as self-respect and popularity. A broken heart and a shot at riding in Jane's limo to Homecoming.

  A second chance and all my insecurities begging me to get the heck out of here. . . .

  Sometimes, wanting those two opposing things made you fracture, like two tectonic plates crashing together beneath the surface of the ocean.

  "So what do you think, Botox? Or a deal with the Devil? I heard Ehrlenbach's sixty-eight." A girl's voice wafted out of the billows of horror-movie white. I placed her at maybe twenty yards to my right--my Jessel side, where a private hedge hid their front yard from view. Dr. Ehrlenbach was our headmistress, and I had yet to meet her.

  "Did you spend your summer in rehab? No one does Botoe anymore," someone else shot back. "But if she's really that old, my money's on the Devil. My dad would do her in a heartbeat. I've heard him say so. All right, blindfold her."

  I blinked. Slowed. Waited to hear more.

  "That's too tight. Ow," a third voice protested.

  "You know, Koeks, you don't have to do this," the second voice said, but there was a silent but you'd better tacked on the end, sharpened with the familiar edge of an accomplished bitch. I knew then and there that I was eavesdropping not only on a mean girl, but a leader of same--a queen bee. I was an expert on queen bees. Unfortunately.

  Nothing to see here, Lindsay, I told myself, as my face prickled from memories and apprehension. Move it along. Even better, run.

  They could have their fun. I was not there to have fun of any kind, especially that kind.

  "I'm not so sure about this." That was Keeks again,.

  "Tie her hands." Her Majesty.

  Yow.

  "Maybe we'd better wait." The first girl I'd heard. Not in charge.

  "just do it, Lara. Oh, forget it Give me the rope and--"

  "God, Mandy, chill. I'm on it."

  Mandy. How typical. I wondered if Mandy was half as mean as Jane; and if she was, I pitied Lara just for being there almost as much as I pitied Keeks, whoever she was, for agreeing to be blindfolded and tied up in the middle of a fog bank when they should be in class. Obviously, Keeks had to prove herself to get into their exclusive little club. So not worth it.

  By then I was at the hedge. Just a peek, I told myself, just to make sure she's okay.

  The privet leaves were wet and small, covering branches that grew together as dense as an actual fence. I smelled wet earth and my own sugar-free cinnamon gum. Wind toyed with my crazed ringlets as I raised myself up on my tiptoes in an attempt to peer out of a thinned-out space above my head. I'm only five-foot-two, and it was out of my reach. I crept to my left, still unable to see anything.

  "Let's get started. Breathe in, breathe out, center We gather to welcome you. Kiyoko, let go, let go of yourself and become one of us. "Nervous laughter drifted from a thinned section in the hedge, a circle of broken branch endings that looked as if someone had clipped them, like wire cutters on a chain-link fence. The opening emitted fog-as if it were breathing--and it creeped me out. I hugged my UCSD sweatshirt around myself as I moved in quietly and peered through. My high-tops sank into mud

  "Come to me, come to me," Mandy urged.

  The fog rolled and churned; then I saw therm. Two girls flanked a third, who was blindfolded. The tallest wore her light, nearly white-blonde hair in a messy bun. She had to be Mandy. Her full lips were curved in a smile I knew well--calculating, cruel, enjoying the distress of her victim.

  Maybe-Mandy's neck was fashion-model long, and she was wearing glittering diamond earrings as big as pencil erasers. I assumed they were real. Her clothes were so fine-a long black coat hung open, revealing a knee-length black cashmere sweater-dress over black pencil-leg woolen trousers above his heeled boots--and I saw a thick gold bangle around her wrist as she smoothed a wisp of hair away from her cheek Everything looked designer and real.

  "Become one of us," Mandy said again, her voice papery, and she exhaled, sending condensed breath all over the blindfolded girl's face.

  "Become one of us," the other girl--Lara--chanted. She was grinning like a coyote that had stumbled on a nest of baby rabbits. Her emerald eyes (definitely contacts) gleamed as Kiyoko stood statue-still. Lara was a classic oedhead with ivory skin and a few cute freckles, her hair short and her clothes, tasteful but boho--a man's plaid suit jacket in olive green and chocolate-brown, an extra-long white shirt, and the skinniest of skinny dark jeans.
r />   Standing blindfolded in the center, Kiyoko's hands were tied behind her back, which was the part that made me extra-uneasy for her. It was going a little too far.

  Kiyoko was rail-thin, the kind of thin that was too thin even for a model, and black silky hair cascaded over her shoulders. A gorgeous silvery sweater grazed the thighs of her gray jeans, but it hung too loose on her. Her legs were like stick. She was chewing her lower lip; her golden-hued features displayed her concentration and eagerness.

  "Become one of us," Mandy and Lara whispered together, their breaths spiraling up toward the sky.

  Fog rushed all around me, wrapping me up in cold sheets of blank whiteness, and I couldn't see a thing. The chill seeped through my clothes straight through to my bones, and I shivered, hard. It felt as if the cold were creeping under my hair, straight into my brain.

  I shuddered, and for a few seconds, I couldn't even think. For a quick moment, I thought I smelled . . . smoke? Then the sensation passed. Another strong wind whipped through the fog and thinned it out again--just as Mandy and Lara both stiffened and quickly inhaled Their faces went slack. with their eyes still open.

  I wondered if they were having some kind of infectious seizure. I waited for them to exhale, but it wasn't happening. Then I realized I was holding my breath, too, and forced myself to let it out. I felt shaky and weird.

  I almost called out to see if they needed help. Before I went nuts, I had done some lifeguarding, and I was still certified in CPR.

  Slowly, Mandy turned her head in my direction, as if she knew I was there. Probably not a good thing, spying. Before I realized what I was doing, I stepped to the right, where the branches grew closer together, blocking her view, although I could still see her sick little game.

  Mandy's forehead creased in apparent frustration. I squinted as more fog rolled between us; when it wafted out of the way, her eyes looked completely black. No pupils. No white. No color. Just black.

  Whoa, how high was she?

  "Number Three," she intoned, and her voice sounded diffeoent. "Come to me." Higher, shriller, with a little Southern accent. Her laugh was high-pitched, and a tad OOC . . .

  "Number three, come to me," Lara added, and her voice didn't sound the same either. Maybe a little lower . . . meaner . . .