The New Girl

Bile rushes up my throat. I push Stacey and Danny aside and lurch into the nearest bathroom, barely making it into the first cubicle before I start heaving into the toilet. My kris pendant slips out from under my top and dangles underneath my face, getting splashed by vomit, which just makes me cry because the sight of it makes me miss Ibu.


Someone knocks on the door. “Lia, you okay?” Stacey says.

Obviously not.

“Open the door. I’ll give you a hand.”

A hand. Like the one they found in the national park. My stomach twists again, and I go back to dry heaving into the toilet. Something nudges my foot, I turn to see Stacey pushing herself through the gap under the door into the cubicle.

“Jeez Louise,” she says, gathering my hair behind my head. She tugs at a hair band on her wrist and uses it to tie my hair back. “What’s going on with you?” Her eyes narrow. “Is it…morning sickness?”

“No! God.” I wipe my eyes and nose and flush the toilet before pushing past Stacey and coming out of the cubicle. I find Grace there, openmouthed. Great.

“Are you okay?” Grace squeaks.

“I’m fine.”

There are a couple of women at the sink area, and they both subtly edge away from me. Can’t blame them. I’m a mess. My face is puffy and colored with red splotches, and there are flecks of vomit stuck to my hair. The two women finish reapplying their lipsticks and walk briskly out, their noses wrinkling. I turn on the cold tap and splash water onto my face. It’s freezing cold and feels wonderful.

“When was the last time you had your period?” Stacey says.

Grace’s mouth opens even wider. “Oh my god, you mean—”

“I’m not pregnant,” I snap. I take a mouthful of tap water, swill it around, and spit it out. “Danny and I haven’t. You know.”

Stacey’s brows disappear in her hairline. “Seriously? Damn, I thought Danny has more game than that.”

I gargle more water.

“So what’s going on?” Stacey says.

Grace raises a hand to her mouth. “I think I know.”

“You do?” I say, looking at Grace. She has this horrified expression on her face. Oh my god. I think she does know. “Wait. Please, don’t—”

“We need a moment alone,” Grace says to Stacey and actually grabs Stacey and starts pushing her toward the door. “Give us a minute.”

I’ve never seen Grace so decisive. She knows something. Maybe she saw me stealing inside Mr. Werner’s car on Friday. Maybe—

She closes the door and rushes back to me.

“Grace—”

“Throwing up doesn’t work, you know,” Grace says.

I stop. “Huh?”

“Throwing up. The whole bulimic thing. You’ll still get fat.”

“I—what?”

She opens her purse and takes out a pen. “Give me your hand.”

I’m way too dumbstruck to resist as Grace grabs my hand and writes something on it. I glance down. She’s written two words: Blueseed.com and Woot1212.

“Go to this website. It’s a handicraft shop, sort of like Etsy. Look for this particular seller. He sells bracelets, key chains, that kind of crap. Each item represents a different drug. Like, if you see a key chain with Mary Jane shoes, that means it’s marijuana. Cuff links with the letter E is for ecstasy, and so on and so forth. You’ll figure it out.”

“What—” What the hell is going on, and what does this even have to do with my supposed eating disorder?

“Get the necklace with the little Coke bottle pendant. That’s cocaine,” Grace says. “It’ll suppress your appetite. You’ll lose weight in no time. Not that you need to lose weight.”

I can’t help myself. I look at Grace, and this time, I feel revulsion. Rage. Sophie’s just died on campus from a drug overdose, and here she is, telling me to go take drugs so I can look skinny. A huge part of me wants to shriek at her, grab her by the shoulders, and shake her.

“I don’t think you should be doing drugs,” I manage to bite out after an eternity. The words thud out dully. “I mean, after Sophie…”

Grace’s eyebrows rise, her eyes going wide. “Oh, don’t worry, this seller is legit. Their drugs are so pure. They’re totally safe.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear? Sophie died from taking laced drugs. Whoever sold her the drugs had cut them using some bad shit. I think they said it was like, meth or laundry detergent or whatever. Really bad street stuff. That’s why if you’re gonna do drugs, be smart. Only buy from sellers you can trust. This shop is run by someone in town. So it’s basically a local business. You just pay for the stuff, then the seller will drop it off somewhere on campus. Totally convenient.”

What the fuck? Be smart? Drug dealers you can TRUST? Grace isn’t even operating on the same wavelength as I am. I blink down at my hand, wondering if I’m dreaming.

Luckily, a knock on the door jerks me out of my swirling thoughts. “There’s a huge line out here,” Stacey calls out.

“We’re done,” Grace chirps.

I close my hand into a fist and hide it behind my back as we walk out. The last thing I want to do is to continue having a conversation about freaking drugs. I think I might actually lose it then. I know Grace is only trying to help, but I can’t shake off the feeling that there is something really messed up about Draycott, something that goes even deeper, beyond Mr. Werner selling grades to students. Something tells me that Draycott is rotten, all the way to the core, and nothing I do can ever fix it.





Chapter 19


I’m running hard, my feet pounding the track like they have a personal vendetta against it. Halfway through my third lap, someone calls out my name and I see Stacey, still dressed in her tracksuit, crouching into her stretches. She waves at me and I jog over.

“You’re here early,” she says.

“I only got here a few minutes ago,” I lie. I can’t possibly tell her that I’ve been here since four a.m., because when I tried to sleep, all I could think of was Mr. Werner’s hand. How a wild animal must’ve gotten to his body and severed—

Oh god, I can’t. It’s been less than forty-eight hours since Vegas, and there are no words for just how much I cannot. And so, I do the only thing I can: I run. When we came back from Vegas on Sunday afternoon, I immediately headed for the track to run. And now, so early on Monday morning that it’s not even light yet, I’m running again.

“You’re lyiiing,” Stacey says in this singsong voice. “God, you’re so competitive.” She straightens up and we do a couple of laps together, and she keeps nagging at me to slow down, it’s “just the warm-ups, dude,” and I want to yell at her that I’m not warming up, I’m trying to outrun Mr. Werner’s ghost, but that’s kind of hard to explain, so I don’t say anything.

I shouldn’t be pushing myself this hard, especially not with Mandy around. She’ll think I’m showing off, and I’m not doing that at all, I just need to outrun this cursed voice in my head.

Dirty, lying, murdering bitch.

Did I mention that the voice is mean AF? But the thing is, it also has a point.

I put on a burst of speed for the final lap. Break the sound barrier. Outrun the voice.

My calf suddenly turns into a scream of pain. I thud to the ground, almost biting through my tongue, and clutch at my leg, gritting my teeth so hard, they crack against each other.

Mandy and Elle laugh as they jog near.

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