I slide inside and, keeping my eyes on the door, gently push it shut. My breath releases with a whoosh and I lean my forehead against the door, shutting my eyes.
God, it feels wrong to be in here. My stomach does that alien-gut-twist thing again. It’s the smell. Mr. Werner’s cologne hangs heavy in the dead air, reminding me that this is his space and I’m not supposed to be here.
Okay, never mind that. Focus. I need to get moving. But before I even turn around to look at the office, I hear footsteps from the hallway. My heart jerks painfully. Calm down, it’s probably the janitor. He’ll walk past this door, I’m sure of it. But whoever it is doesn’t walk past Mr. Werner’s door. They stop right outside. There’s a pause, during which my mind screeches at a million miles an hour. Then the doorknob starts to turn.
There’s no time for me to hide before the door swings open. Light floods the office, blinding me for a second, and when my eyes adjust, I find myself face-to-face with Stacey.
“What the hell?” I blurt out.
“Shut up,” Stacey hisses as she shuts the door. “Do you want the whole school to know we’re here?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” I whisper.
“None of your business. What are you doing here?” she snaps.
I gape at her for a second too long. She shoulders past me with a sigh and says, “Just stay out of my way, okay?” She takes a few steps into the deep gloom of the office and stops with a gasp.
“What is it?” I hurry over, and that’s when I see it. Shoes. Attached to someone’s legs. Lying on the floor, the rest of their body hidden behind Mr. Werner’s desk. My chest seizes. I feel as though I’m having a heart attack. But somehow, I keep walking, as though whoever is behind Mr. Werner’s desk is calling out to me.
“What are you doing? Stop, Lia!” Stacey hisses at me, her voice cracking with fear, but I can’t. My feet are moving on their own accord.
Another step, and another. I understand now, why people say “my heart was in my throat.” It genuinely feels as though my heart is lodged in my neck, like I’m being slowly strangled from the inside. And when I finally reach the other side of the desk and I see the small, limp shape, the face shining sickly pale from moonlight streaming through the window, I think I might faint.
It’s Sophie Tanaka, the girl I’d seen my first day here, the one who had punched Mr. Werner in the face, the girl I’d replaced. And from the way her eyes lie open, staring unblinking at the ceiling, one thing becomes excruciatingly clear.
Sophie is dead.
Chapter 12
I have to give it to Stacey. While I stand there, frozen in shock, she takes out her cellphone and dials 911. She sounds scared but somehow manages to tell the 911 operator that we’ve found a dead body at our school. She even retains enough lucidity to tell them exactly which building we’re at and what room we’re in.
“Come on,” she says after hanging out. “We should wait outside.”
“But.” I can’t tear my eyes off Sophie.
Stacey takes my arm gently and starts to tug me away. “No,” I say, my voice coming out surprisingly loud. I pull my arm away. “We can’t just leave her. She’ll be alone then.” Tears spring to my eyes, hot and stinging. Sophie looks so helpless and tiny, like a child. I don’t want to leave her here, in the office of the man she blamed for everything. It feels wrong, somehow.
“Seriously,” Stacey says. “They said to wait outside. It might be dangerous here.”
That shakes me out of my daze. Dangerous? I stare at Sophie with renewed horror. I’d assumed she’d taken her own life, but what if I was wrong? What if it was murder?
Suddenly, I can’t get the hell out of the office fast enough. Stacey takes my hand again, and together, we rush out of the office and hurry down the stairs, not stopping until we’re outside. The cold air feels sharp on my skin, and I take deep, shaky gulps of it. God, did that really just happen? Did we really just come across a dead body? Stacey walks a few paces away, hugging herself and shaking her head, muttering something like, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” She does not sound okay. A small voice inside my head whispers that I should go comfort her, but I do not have it in me to comfort anyone right now. My mind’s a mess. My breath is coming in a high-pitched wheeze, and I can’t seem to stop my hands from shaking.
“What the hell happened in there?”
It takes a second to realize that I’ve spoken out loud. Stacey’s head jerks up, her face looking haunted. “I don’t know,” she mutters.
“Was she—did someone—”
“I don’t fucking know, okay? Stop asking such fucking stupid questions!” With that, Stacey buries her face in her hands and utters a strangled cry.
I focus on trying to breathe. Just inhale. Exhale. Inhale. I keep seeing Sophie’s thin legs sprawled on the floor. Bile rushes up my throat. Maybe she was just passed out. No, not with her eyes open like that. Oh god. She’s dead. She’s DEAD. And that’s when it hits me. She’s not just dead, she’s dead in Mr. Werner’s office. Mr. Werner, the man who has a really shady business going on. The man whose house I’ve sent Danny to snoop into.
It’s as though every cell in my body has exploded. I feel hot, like I’m suddenly running a high fever. I need to get a hold of Danny. I yank my phone out of my pocket and my palms are so slick with sweat that I immediately drop it. I grab it, my fingers all thumbs, unlock it, and call Danny. There are two rings before it abruptly goes to voicemail. My stomach drops. I hit Dial again, and this time, it goes to voicemail right away. Oh shit. What does that mean? Did he get caught by Mr. Werner?
But just as I’m about to freak out, Danny sends a text: Can’t talk now, will call in a bit.
I’m in the midst of typing out a reply when lights flash in the darkness. A few feet away, Stacey gasps, “Thank god, finally!” The ambulance has arrived.
***
A crowd has gathered, hungry eyes watching as Sophie’s body is carted out on a stretcher by paramedics. My gaze keeps straying from the cop who’s taking my statement to the stretcher. The paramedics have covered Sophie with a blanket, but I can’t stop imagining her underneath that white cloth, her face so blank, devoid of any expression. As they load the stretcher into the ambulance, a boy breaks through the crowd, his eyes wild. I vaguely recognize him as the boy who tried to help Sophie that first day.
“Logan! Stay back!” someone shouts.
He ignores them, making a beeline for the stretcher. Before he can get to it, a police officer steps in his path. “Calm down, son,” the cop says.
“Fuck you!” Logan shouts. “Let me see her!”
The cop lays a heavy hand on Logan’s shoulder and gently but firmly leads him away. The other kids are all aiming their phones at him, recording him as he shouts and struggles and begs the cop to let him see Sophie. My insides twist with sympathy and fear and what feels like every emotion there is.