She placed the firework on the ground and struck the match. The wick lit immediately, burning down faster than she expected. She stepped back just as the rocket launched into the sky with a high-pitched wail. It crackled in the air, sending a shower of sparks toward the ground.
The elves cheered and slapped her hands. Emily’s heart thumped with adrenaline. It was kind of amazing to send a sparkling, booming stick of dynamite careening into the sky. What was even better were the looks the elves were giving her, clapping her on the back and grinning broadly at her. It was like she belonged.
The back door swung open once more, and a frizzy-haired guy stuck his head out. “Your neighbor’s on the phone, Cassie. He sounds pissed.”
“Shit.” Cassie looked at the other elves. “We’d better get inside. If it’s Mr. Long, he’s already called the cops.”
The elves nodded and headed for the house. Everyone at the party was staggering drunkenly for the door, the festivities winding down. Every counter, tabletop, and shelf was littered with red cups and empty bottles, and the house smelled like the bottom of a moldy keg. Emily told Cassie she should probably be going, and Cassie and the elves walked her to the front room.
“Thanks for inviting me tonight,” Emily said when she reached the porch.
“No problem.” Cassie twisted the doorknob. “It was fun.”
“Maybe we can do it again sometime?” Emily asked eagerly. She’d relished their time in the backyard. It had been ages since she’d talked with a group of girls like that.
Cassie’s face clouded. She exchanged an ambiguous look with the other elves. “Uh, we’ll see about that, Santa.”
Chapter 8
Mission Impossible
“Emily Fields?” crackled a voice over the Rosewood Day PA system on Monday afternoon. “Can you come to the office?”
Emily looked up from the English quiz on the themes of A Farewell to Arms. A couple of kids swiveled around and stared at her curiously.
“You can go after you’re finished with your quiz,” Mrs. Quentin, the English teacher, said. She was sitting at her desk reading a tattered copy of To the Lighthouse, her glasses perched low on her nose.
“Actually, I’m done.” Emily rose from the desk and dropped the quiz in the wire box at the front of the room. She had no idea why she was being called to the office, and a nervous pit formed in her stomach. Had someone found out she’d set off fireworks at the party last night? Could she get in trouble at school for that?
Every footstep on the marble floor sounded like a bomb exploding in Emily’s head. Her vision was slightly blurry, as it often was when she hadn’t gotten enough sleep. Perhaps that was because of how she’d tossed and turned until almost 5 A.M., trying to make sense of why Cassie and the elves had been so welcoming one moment and so cold the next. We’ll see about that? What was that supposed to mean?
The Rosewood Day hall was empty of students. A bunch of posters for a holiday dance from three weeks ago still hung on the wall, and a cracked glass ornament lay on its side next to the door to the girls’ bathroom. Through classroom door windows, Emily could see harried-looking teachers trying to keep their students on task. There was a jovial, let’s-not-do-any-more-work mood in the air—the two-week break was only four days away.
She passed through the lobby, where a memorial to Ali’s death still hung near the auditorium. It was a huge collage of photographs, old drawings, and memories from students, the words WE WILL MISS YOU in silver lettering around the perimeter. Emily was in quite a few of the pictures in the collage, her elbow linked with Ali’s, her head resting on Ali’s shoulder, the two of them laughing loudly in the auditorium.
She touched the display case with the tips of her fingers, her own ghostly reflection blinking back at her. Ali’s school picture from fifth grade was in the middle of the montage; for a moment, it looked like she was making eye contact with Emily from inside the glass. Suddenly, a second reflection behind her caught her eye. She whipped around fast, sure she was going to discover someone standing in the lobby, watching her, but the lobby was empty. The front door eased shut slowly, though, as if someone had just run away.
The principal’s office was on the other side of the lobby. Emily slipped inside and stood there silently until Mrs. Albert, the woman at the front desk, looked up. “Oh, Emily.” She shuffled a few papers. “Your mother’s in there.” She pointed to a small office the guidance counselors normally used.
Emily’s heart started to hammer. Her mom was here? Her mind scattered in all kinds of terrifying directions. Something had happened to one of her siblings. Her grandmother’s melanoma had come back. Ian was on a killing spree.