ON FRIDAY EVENING, A SIX-FOOT-TWO-INCH fuzzy white bear slammed into Mac and clumsily swiped at the spilled beer on her shirt with a giant paw. “Oops, sorry!” he crowed with a muffled giggle. Mac could tell it was Sander Dennis, who was in her chem class. His girlfriend, a junior named Penelope Steward, cackled in her pink tutu, then sauntered around the DJ table toward the keg.
“Where’s your costume?”
Mac looked up. Thad Kelly, a senior, was wearing a blue bird costume and a sash with “Insert 140 characters here” printed on it. He stared at Mac drunkenly, even though the party had started, like, five minutes ago.
Mac looked down at her boyfriend jeans, rolled up at the cuffs, and her thick cable-knit sweater. “I didn’t really have time to think one up,” she said.
“Lame!” He laughed and boogied away.
She sighed and scanned the room again. If only she could tell him she wasn’t here to celebrate Halloween—she was here to save a life. A horrible premonition told her that tonight was going to be the night that the killer was planning on hurting Claire. It was the perfect environment: a loud, chaotic party, lots of alcohol, lots of suspects.
The exact thing they’d said when they were planning to prank Nolan at his party.
Mac shuddered. She had to find Claire. She was definitely coming to this: Earlier today, she’d posted on Facebook about her top-secret costume. Mac had also noticed a post about her from Claire on Facebook—a picture of her and Oliver, kissing, with a nasty caption—but she’d quietly deleted it from her page and decided not to dwell on it or on the fact that Claire had apparently snuck out of the restaurant that night and spied on her and Oliver while they were kissing. It couldn’t get in the way of Mac trying to save her.
Mac had checked other people’s sites, too. Ashley Ferguson’s Facebook was still silent, though a lot of people had posted that they were praying for her. People had posted to Ava’s account offering their condolences for Ava’s stepmom, though Ava hadn’t added anything in a long time.
Julie’s page was just as silent. The last time she’d posted was before the whole hoarding email thing, when she’d uploaded a link to an article called “The Ten Best Pandora Downloads to Kickstart Your Weekend.” There was certainly no mention that she was attending the party.
Mac closed her eyes and remembered the image of Julie driving past Claire’s house. Maybe there was an explanation for it. Maybe Julie knew someone else on that street. Maybe she was driving slowly because she was looking for a particular house—just not Claire’s house. Because why on earth would Julie be behind all this? Why would she risk so much? In fact, maybe Julie had the same reason Mac did: to check on Claire to make sure she was safe. That had to be it.
A Katy Perry song came on, and a bunch of kids screamed and started dancing. Mac took another spin around the patio, circumnavigating the pool, where a horde of juniors were playing an aggressive game of co-ed water polo, the girls holding tight to their string bikinis as they hurled themselves up and out of the water.
Then Mac saw her. There was Claire, sitting with Maeve Hurley, who played violin. Claire was dressed as a sprinkle candy from Candy Crush and holding a beer. Mac was so thrilled she almost cheered.
She marched over. When she was a few feet away, Claire looked up at Mac and narrowed her eyes. She started whispering something to Maeve. Maeve looked at Claire and giggled.
But that still didn’t deter Mac from her mission. “Hey, Claire,” she said, approaching her ex-friend.
Claire looked at her confusedly, then wrinkled her nose. “Nice outfit. Or lack of outfit. This is a costume party, dork. Or is that your costume—a dork?”
Then she and Maeve exchanged a look, stood up, and headed toward the house. “Wait!” Mac cried.
But Claire didn’t turn.
Well, whatever. Mac would just tail them all night. She followed closely behind them, studying the costumed faces in the crowd to see if anyone else was watching Claire, maybe plotting to hurt her. All she saw were slutty Marilyn Monroes, disheveled rock stars, a couple of Daft Punk robots, and about a dozen of the requisite slutty cat/slutty witch/slutty nun costumes. All of them were paying attention to their drinks or taking pictures of one another on their phones.
She followed Claire and Maeve through the sliding glass doors into the kitchen, where a painfully realistic decapitated head rested on a carving platter. Next to it was a display of candy eyeballs and something that vaguely resembled human brains. A couple of giggling, red-eyed, guilty-faced jocks in totally unoriginal Seahawks jerseys bolted out of the pantry, jars of peanut butter and boxes of crackers spilling out of their hands. They careened into Mac, and she bumped into the girl in front of her. Who, actually, was Claire.
Claire swung around. “Watch it.”
“Sorry.” Mac cast her eyes down at the floor.
Claire crossed her arms, her candy-colored head cocked to one side. “What’s your deal, Mackenzie? Why are you stalking me? Isn’t it clear I don’t want to be your friend again?”
Mac thought again of the Facebook post. This probably did seem weird. “I’m sorry. I just—”
“You just what?” Claire snapped. “You just are going to leave me alone now.” Then she swung around and headed up the stairs.
Mac lunged forward to follow Claire once more, but then a hand appeared in her line of vision, stopping her in her tracks. Mac was suddenly face-to-face with Blake, dressed as Anthony Kiedis from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, complete with his shirt off. He had, Mac couldn’t help but notice, amazing abs.
Blake looked at Mac, then at Claire, climbing the stairs. “I know you think making amends is the right thing to do,” he shouted over the music, “but maybe it’s a lost cause.”
Mac pulled away from him. “You don’t understand.”
“Yeah, I do.” Blake shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re trying to be a good friend. You guys have been tight forever. But she’s changed, Macks. Claire isn’t the girl you remember.”
“I don’t care about that,” Mac said tightly. “I have to make sure she’s safe.”
“Safe from what?” Blake grinned. “Safe from booze? It’s probably too late for that. Safe from making out with a random guy?”
Mac blinked. There was no way she could explain this to Blake. But maybe she was overreacting. What could really happen to Claire while she was inside Nyssa’s house? After all, she had said that she would kill Claire by hitting her with a car—and that couldn’t happen as long as she was indoors. She began to breathe out. All she needed to do, she realized, was make sure Claire didn’t leave.
She turned back to Blake just as he was stepping toward her. It was weird—she’d avoided him at school for weeks now, scurrying away if she saw him in the halls or in the parking lot. And now, up close, he seemed different. Taller, perhaps, than she remembered; broader, cuter. He was standing so close to her, too, that his bare chest was almost touching hers.
He reached out gently and touched Mac’s hair. “You look really pretty tonight.”
Mac scoffed. Now she was sure Blake was lying, considering how un-dressed up she was.
Blake took a step closer to her. All at once, Mac could smell that sugary, bakery smell he always gave off. “I miss you so much, Macks.”
She lowered her eyes. “Blake . . .”
“And I’ve been hoping—praying—you’ll at least talk to me again. I’ve been miserable, Macks. Life isn’t the same without you. Did you read my card?”
She wanted to shake her head no. She wanted to tell him she didn’t care about some stupid card. But she felt her lips tremble. She couldn’t get the right words out. Then he touched her chin, tilting it up. He didn’t say a word, just looked deeply into her eyes, and Mac felt herself crumble. A thousand thoughts competed for attention. Could she trust him? He seemed sincere . . . but he did last time, too. How did she know he meant what he said?
Mac felt herself leaning toward him anyway. She wanted to trust him—she needed to trust him. And maybe she could.
The sounds of the party slipped away. She tipped her head up toward his and closed her eyes, excited to feel his lips on hers again.
“Mac!” Someone gripped her upper arm, snapping Mac back into the loud, raucous present. Ava stood next to her, looking both hurried and a little sheepish. “I’m so, so sorry to interrupt,” she said, her gaze darting from Mac to Blake, “but we have to talk.”
Mac had never seen Ava look so frantic. Her heart started to pound. She turned back to Blake, her lips parting. “Um, sorry, I—”
But Ava cut her off and grabbed her arm. “Now.”