Kacey stopped twirling. Studied the end of her hair as if it weren’t attached to her.
“The drugstore sells that shade,” Jade said. “I can re-dye it for you. Or not. It’s whatever.”
“No…” Kacey resumed twirling. “It’s just that I kind of want it gone.”
“Jade cuts my hair,” I piped up. “She could just trim the bottom off, right?”
I looked at Jade, who just shrugged. Kacey kept fiddling with her braid, nervous, as if I’d suggested an appendectomy and not a haircut.
But she was waiting by my car after school, a let’s do this look on her face. We went to Jade’s; freshman year Jade gave me bangs in my bathroom and my mom bitched for weeks about finding my hair under the sink, so I knew better than to do it at my house.
Once we were nestled in Jade’s bathroom, Kacey started looping the tail of her braid over her finger again. Jade grabbed it from her gently. “I’ll only take the purple off. It’s, like, two inches.”
“Okay.” Kacey sat on the toilet, knees up to her chest, while Jade produced a pair of silver scissors from beneath the sink. I sat in the corner of the bathroom, shifting around the loose tiles at my feet like they were puzzle pieces. Jade’s dad had started the renovation project months ago and lost steam, like the pothead he is. He and Jade would eat nothing but Oreos and instant noodles if she didn’t do the grocery shopping.
Kacey flinched as the shears closed around her hair. Snip, snip. Purple locks fell to the floor like a My Little Pony getting a hack job. Jade patted Kacey’s back. “Mirror.”
Kacey got up and stared at herself, water spots on the mirror forming a circle around her face. She hesitated: “Can you cut more? I want it all gone.”
I’d only ever seen Jade do trims, so I didn’t want to be around for the inevitable train wreck. “I’m gonna grab a Diet Coke,” I said. “You guys want one?”
Jade nodded, her tongue poking out between her lips as she rearranged Kacey’s hair.
I lingered in the kitchen for a bit, lamenting the empty cabinets—it meant Jade was probably eating all her meals at the taqueria on her lunch and dinner breaks. I’d have to sneak some ramen and mac and cheese into the cabinets. I grabbed three Diet Cokes from the fridge and arranged them in my arms pyramid-style.
That was when I noticed Kacey’s bag, just sitting there on the kitchen table, next to mine. I shot a glance down the hall; Jade and Kacey were quiet.
I eyed the notebook sticking out of the bag, the one she was always sketching in during history. I set the cans down and ran a finger along the exposed spine. Without removing it from the bag, I lifted the front cover.
Inside was an ink drawing on the cardboard. Intricate calligraphy. I had to turn the book slightly to make out the words: I WAS BORN WITH THE DEVIL IN ME
Jade’s voice rang out: “Bay! I’m thirsty!”
A chill ran through me. I shut the cover and arranged the notebook exactly as it was before I touched it. The words rang in my head as I padded down the hall. I was born with the devil in me.
What the fuck?
“So what do you think?” Jade was beaming in the bathroom doorway, spinning Kacey around like a rag doll on display. Kacey came to a halt, a blush creeping into her cheeks. Jade had given her a shaggy bob, the now freshly blond ends of her hair grazing her chin at a jaunty angle.
“You look hot,” I said.
Kacey smiled, no teeth, and tugged the ends of her hair along her jaw. She looked innocent. She looked transformed from the girl who walked into history last month. The girl with the dirty hair with purple tips and the stud in her nose.
Later, when I got home, I Googled that quote: I WAS BORN WITH THE DEVIL IN ME. You know who said it? H. H. Holmes. As in, the serial killer.
Kacey’s face took shape in my mind as I tried to sleep. I thought of the Markhams, asleep in their beds, while Kacey stayed awake, inking over those disturbing words in the front cover of her notebook.
What are you hiding, Kacey Young? And who are you trying to convince everyone you are?
CHAPTER SEVEN
I have two new emails when we get home from Pleasant Plains: one is from the school, informing us of “two separate yet unrelated incidents in the Broken Falls community.” The first: the burst pipe in the high school from the blizzard, and an assurance that crews are working around the clock to get the building “up and operational so school can resume as normal.” The second issue is Bailey.
We are deeply concerned by the situation regarding one of our seniors. When normal school days resume, our guidance counselors will be available to students to help process any difficult emotions. Anyone with information regarding Bailey Hammond’s whereabouts is encouraged to call the Broken Falls Sheriff’s Department. This is a very serious matter and all emails with tips sent to this address will be forwarded to the police.
I haven’t even gotten the chance to strip my sweaty socks off when the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it,” I shout.
The deputy from yesterday—Ellie Knepper—is standing on the front steps. I unhitch the lock latch and open the door.
“Hi there. Is your mom home?” She removes her gloves and breathes into her bare hands.
“Stepmom,” I say, but Ashley is already in the foyer.
“Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m Deputy Ellie Knepper.”
Ashley steps forward, tentative, and shakes Ellie’s hand. “Ashley Markham.”
“Oh, I know. I see you around the café when I come in for my cinnamon latte fix.”
Ashley puts two fingers to the pendant on her neck. A small smile. “Really? Most of the force is loyal to Pete’s Dinette.”
“Yup. Personally, I find Pete’s food so greasy it’ll give you an ulcer. Could I trouble you for a cup of coffee now, actually?” Ellie shifts, looking uncomfortable. Like asking for a cup of coffee is part of a script.
It makes me dread what the next scene is going to be.
Ashley smiles. “Sure. I have regular and dark roast,” she says.
“Dark sounds great.” Ellie breathes into her hands again and invites herself into the dining room. I guess I am supposed to follow.
Ellie plops onto one of the chairs and unzips her parka while Ashley fusses around in the kitchen. I sit across from Ellie, happy she’s here but irritated it took her so long. “So you’re taking this seriously now?” I press. “It’s already been almost forty-eight hours.”
Ellie’s mouth forms a tight, chastised smile. I wonder if this is her punishment for dismissing Jade and me yesterday: trekking out in the cold to interview a bunch of high school brats.
From the kitchen, I hear the single-cup coffeemaker gurgle and spit into a mug. Officer Knepper gets out a small yellow legal pad and uncaps a pen.
Ashley comes up behind me and nudges me, hands me a steaming mug of coffee. I hand it to Ellie, who holds it up to her nose. Inhales and smiles like I’ve given her liquid gold. “Oh. This is great.”