Lyla hasn’t said anything in a while. She’s staring at the saltshaker with scientific interest, as if she’s trying to count the individual grains.
“I’m sorry, Lyla,” I say. “I know this is hard to hear.”
“It’s okay.” She forces a wobbly smile. “I mean, I knew we must have had some sort of settlement, because Mom wasn’t struggling for groceries anymore.”
I don’t know what to say, where to look. The tension at the table is palpable. Farrah looks as though she’d rather be donating her body to science than sitting here having this conversation.
“So it’s definitely Nikki, then,” Ethan says.
“Looks that way,” I say.
I can’t believe it. Nicole Morgan. Class president, a member of every club and committee St. Beatrice offers.
Lyla blows out a breath that flutters the small hairs that have come loose from her ponytail.
“So what do we do now?” Farrah asks. “You have a plan, right?”
I still.
“Of course she has a plan,” Ethan says. I look at him sharply. He raises his eyebrows.
“We trap her,” I say. “We have an advantage over her right now,” I add, gaining momentum. “We know what she’s up to, but she doesn’t know that we know. She hasn’t been to the last two dares, at least not anywhere we can see, so next time an invite comes, we’ll have to beg her to come with us. I’ll confront her with my theory, and hopefully she spills the truth. We can even air it live to a YouTube channel or something if one of us has a cell phone on, recording. Ethan can be close by with the cops.”
“That’s your plan?” Farrah’s forehead is puckered.
“You have a better one?” Ethan says.
“Why would she come?” Farrah says. “Just because we asked her nicely? She’d know something was up.”
“Then we send her a text from a blocked number,” Ethan says. “Threaten to expose her secret unless she goes. Fight fire with fire.”
“Think that’ll work?” Farrah asks.
“It worked for us.” I lean across the table, steepling my fingers together. “Look. This is our best chance at catching her.”
“She’s right,” Lyla says. She straightens, and the booth vinyl creaks. “We need evidence to go to the police with. If we went to them ranting about a secret dare club and revenge plots with nothing but theories and rumors to back us up, they’d laugh us out of the station.”
“And what if she turns on us?” Farrah says. “What if she has a system in place to reveal our secrets if we step out of line? What if she has other puppets besides Tucker helping her? Then what? We’re a bunch of dead girls walking. Or, I dunno, maybe we already are. Dead Girls Society. Has a nice ring to it.”
“I’m not denying any of that is a possibility,” I say. “But if we don’t do this, she just gets to keep controlling us. She can make us do whatever twisted things she wants until one of us dies. Do you want to live like that? Look, Farrah. If you don’t want a part in this, then fine. But do you really think no one’s going to find out about you?”
“Hope,” she warns.
“One day this is going to get out there,” I say, and I know from the look in her eyes that we’re talking about something else besides the fire. “So you can either make this something you come forward with, something you’re not ashamed of, or it can be something the press ferrets out and exposes you for. It’s up to you whether you want to be a coward or not.”
The clatter of plates in the kitchen comes into hyperfocus. A knot of tension coils in my stomach, and I’m not sure whether I want to scream or cry or throttle Farrah until she can see the sense in what I’m saying. But none of those things will help me—it’s up to her if she wants to stand up to Nikki or not.
“I’m in,” Lyla says suddenly.
Farrah presses her lips into a hard pink line. “Fine,” she blurts out. “I’ll do it.”
The knot unfurls. I look at each of them, these two girls I’ve come to know so well in such a short amount of time. Even though we’re all afraid, I feel better having them with me.
“Okay,” I say, “one last dare.”
We don’t wait long for the next invite to arrive. When I get home and open my laptop, there’s one new message in my inbox, sent today at 11:07 a.m. Just minutes after we left the diner.
I click it, and the screen goes black before a pixelated image of a rose comes into view. Words slash across the screen:
You’ve made it this far—now it’s time to win. Come to 291 Schilling Road at midnight tonight. And come alone.
If you dare.
“Let’s go over the plan one more time.”
I shoot a glance at my bedroom door, then lean in closer to Ethan.