“Hey, Ivy. Do you remember that time freshman year when you had to take a pregnancy test? Wasn’t that hilarious?”
Ivy’s former best friend, Klaire, grinned at her from across the table.
Ivy’s father coughed and thumped his chest.
“Ivy?” Mrs. McWhellen asked, touching her daughter’s arm. “Is that true?”
Ivy glared at Klaire. This is what the hussy chose to bring up at a family dinner. The absolute worst thing that Klaire could have come up with.
But then, Klaire had never been creative. That was why she’d been Ivy’s second-in-command.
Klaire shouldn’t have even been allowed to set foot in Ivy’s home, but Ivy’s older brother, Daniel, was engaged to Klaire’s older sister, Laila, and the McWhellens had decided to invite the Petrusky girls over to celebrate Daniel’s recent promotion. Apparently he was a Big Deal down at the precinct.
The whole thing made Ivy want to vomit. Why did Laila have to invite Klaire? Certainly Klaire must have told her that Ivy wasn’t her friend anymore.
Everyone knew by now.
“Sure it’s true,” Klaire poked, smiling at Ivy. “Remember? You used the girls’ locker room. We skipped PE.”
Ivy had underestimated her. Klaire was clearly willing to go further than she had ever imagined. Further than almost killing her beneath a vending machine.
She’d advanced to full-on character assassination. In front of Ivy’s entire family. The last people in the entire city who believed that Ivy was worth something.
Ivy glared. She stared at the cheap horse-hair extensions that they’d bought together at a shop on Woodrow. She stared at her stupid, too-flat nose that Ivy had always lied and said was cute. She stared at her former best friend.
It was so on.
Poor, poor Klaire.
But really, Klaire should have known better. Ivy had been Queen for a reason.
Ivy turned to her mother and laughed. “Yeah. We were good friends back then. I actually peed on a pregnancy test just so Klaire wouldn’t have to take one alone!”
Klaire’s eyes bulged. A forkful of lasagna fell back onto her plate with an audible plop.
Maybe Klaire had thought that Ivy had some sort of desire to be her friend again. Maybe Klaire had thought that since she was Queen Bee now, no one would dare touch her. Especially not lowly, fallen Ivy McWhellen, the easiest target of all.
“Klaire!” Laila said, turning to her little sister.
Ivy shook her head and began cutting her lasagna with her fork, like they were discussing grades and the weather. “Yeah. It’s a pretty crazy story, Klaire. I guess I wasn’t sure you were ready to talk about it. I mean, I told her that Eric Langforter was bad news, but no, she had to go under the bleachers with him during a basketball game.” Ivy laughed and leaned forward, like she was recounting a fond memory. “Cut to a month later—poor Klaire! I had to cut gym with her just to get her to take the test.”
Klaire flushed. “Well, Ivy—” she said.
Ivy paused to listen.
“Yes?” she asked. The entire family was silent. Laila stared at Klaire with disgust. Daniel became very, very busy with spearing lettuce on his fork. And Mr. and Mrs. McWhellen—they were statues in their chairs, waiting to hear what horrible crime Ivy had committed.
But Klaire didn’t say anything.
Ivy raised an eyebrow. She knew Klaire had just realized how Ivy had kept her title as Queen Bee all those years.
She knew everyone’s secrets.
But no one knew Ivy’s.
For a few moments, the only sound was silverware clattering over nice plates.
“It was negative,” Klaire said finally, her voice stuck somewhere between hysterical and wheezy. Her face was a blotchy red-white. “The pregnancy test. It was negative.”
No one said anything. Laila pursed her lips.
Finally, Mr. McWhellen cleared his throat. “Girls, I think that’s enough. Daniel, would you pass me the pitcher of water, please?”
Daniel handed over the pitcher. “So, uh, I get an office at the police station,” he offered. “I mean, I have to split it with Detective Wilkes, but he’s hardly ever there. And, uh, I’m just helping out on stuff for now. But my boss says he’s letting me take the lead on the next big thing that comes up. He thinks I’m ready.”
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart,” Mrs. McWhellen said, eagerly latching on to anything that didn’t have to do with teenage pregnancy. “Are you working on any interesting cases now?”
“Yeah,” Daniel said. He took a sip of water. “Honestly, you wouldn’t believe what goes on around this city. People suck.”
“What’s the most interesting case?” Mr. McWhellen asked. “What’s taking up most of your time?”
Daniel fidgeted. “I can’t really talk about them, you know? It’s all very hush-hush. Legally, I mean.” He said this with Much Importance.
“We understand.” Mrs. McWhellen tried to smile, her face still pinched from the pregnancy conversation.
Klaire was a mottled tomato. “I need to use the restroom.” She stood up from the table, her chair scratching across the hardwood floor. Mrs. McWhellen winced at the noise.
“Certainly,” Mr. McWhellen said. “Who wants dessert? I have cherry pie and ice cream.”
“The cherry pie from the bakery on Fourth?” Daniel asked.
“The very same.”
“I’m in.” Daniel grinned. “Laila, baby, you have got to try this stuff. I know you’re trying to lose weight for the wedding, but this is worth five pounds.”
Normally, Ivy would have agreed with him. Her mother had been picking up the cherry pie for as long as Ivy could remember. But right now, she didn’t want pie. Her stomach was turning.
“Can I be excused?” she asked. She stood up without waiting for a response.
Instead of going to her room—which is where she really wanted to be, but it was on the way to the guest bathroom and she didn’t want to chance running into Klaire—she slipped through the kitchen and into the backyard.
She needed a few quiet minutes to herself. A few minutes to think about how in the hell her perfect corner of the world had gotten so irreversibly screwed up. This was not supposed to be Ivy McWhellen’s Life, that was for sure.
The night air was sticky-hot and wet—strange for so early in the summer. It felt a little like rain—except that the sky was almost clear. She wished, not for the first time, that she had a pool, like their neighbor. Her family lived an empty lot over from a giant, rather odd mansion with one of the best pools she’d ever seen. It was gorgeous.
It wasn’t that her house was small, or not nice. It was actually pretty big, and her mom was a great decorator. It was that living next to the mansion was like living in a Polly Pocket house in a Barbie’s Dreamhouse kind of world.
Ivy wondered if she could sneak over for a swim. The woman who lived there usually went to bed early. Ivy crossed the empty lot separating the homes and wedged her feet between the slats of the fence surrounding the mansion. She hoisted herself up, just like she’d done a million times—but someone was there. Someone Ivy recognized.
The boy from her psychology course.
The one who Dr. Stratford had locked out.
“Hey!” she shouted, hoisting herself the rest of the way and dropping over the fence.