Ava’s brow knitted in concentration. “Well, Leslie’s always drunk,” she said slowly. “Maybe she could fall off her balcony after she finishes her nightly bottle of chardonnay.”
Parker looked at Mackenzie. “And you? How would you take out Claire?”
“Oh,” the musician squeaked. “Well . . . maybe a hit-and-run. Something totally accidental.” She reached for her water bottle and took a nervous swig, then glanced around the classroom. Claire was in this class . . . but she seemed to be paying no attention. Only Mr. Granger was looking at them from his desk. But when Mackenzie met his stare, he smiled at her and looked back down at a yellow legal pad, his paper of choice.
“Parker’s dad could get his ass kicked in the prison yard,” Julie volunteered in a small voice. “That happens all the time, doesn’t it?”
Caitlin, who hadn’t said a word, inched her chair closer to the others. “You know who I’d get rid of?” she said suddenly. She glanced across the room, her gaze cutting through group one and then Mr. Granger, who was peering at them again, until it finally landed on a guy in group three. The hottest guy in the room, actually. But his handsome mouth was twisted into a cruel smile, and his eyes narrowed dangerously.
Nolan Hotchkiss.
“Him,” Caitlin said gravely.
Each girl sucked in a breath. It was clear why Caitlin hated Nolan so much—her brother’s tragic death said it all—he’d been tormented to his breaking point by Nolan. Each girl’s own frustrations with Nolan began to surface. He’d started nasty rumors about Ava after she had broken up with him last year. Mackenzie felt her cheeks redden as she thought of how she’d fallen for his Casanova act—and sent him some seriously embarrassing pictures. Julie hated Nolan for the same reason Parker did—if he hadn’t drugged Parker that night, maybe her dad would never have hurt her like this. Maybe Parker would still be her old self, glittery and happy and full of life.
It was true, each of them thought: The world would be a much better place without Nolan. He was a monster, not just to them, but to Beacon as a whole. But even thinking these things felt dangerous. Nolan could ruin any of them with a snap of his fingers—and he had.
“How would you do it?” Ava asked, looking down. “If you were going to kill him, I mean?”
And so they talked it through—just for fun. They hypothesized a way to kill him, with cyanide, like in all the old movies. Not that they’d ever do that.
But then they came up with something they would do: prank Nolan. They could use Oxy, his drug of choice, to spike his beer. And then when he was passed out, they would write embarrassing messages on his face in Sharpie and post the pictures online. They’d make a fool out of him, just like he’d done to all of them.
At one point during the discussion, Nolan looked up at the girls, an eyebrow raised. His gaze flicked to each of them in turn, and then he rolled his eyes and looked back at his group. It was clear he thought he didn’t have a thing to worry about.
But that was just it. He did. Because a week later, Nolan was dead—of cyanide poisoning. Exactly the way the girls had originally planned.
After Nolan’s death, the girls called one another and spoke in panicked whispers. What had happened? All they did was prank Nolan, with a single Oxy pill and some dumb stuff written on his face. How had cyanide ended up in his system? This wasn’t their fault, they told one another. They were good girls, every last one of them. Not killers.
But they couldn’t help wondering: Had someone heard them in class and decided to take advantage of their plan? Someone else who hated Nolan, too, maybe? That was truly the perfect crime—Nolan was dead, and the girls were built-in suspects.
At first the girls thought it was Mr. Granger. Hadn’t they noticed him watching them carefully in class that day? But when Granger turned up dead, too, they were back to square one. The killer was someone else.
But how far would that someone go? What about all the other names on the list?
What if one of them was next?
CHAPTER ONE
ON SUNDAY MORNING, MACKENZIE WRIGHT stood outside the Beacon Heights police station, staring morosely at the curb. Storm clouds hung low in the sky. Six squad cars were lined up in the parking lot. The other girls from film studies had all already left, either with their parents—Mac’s would be there any minute now—or on their own.
As if summoned by her thoughts, her parents’ sedan turned into the parking lot. Mac’s stomach flipped. She’d caught a ride with Ava here this morning, but after the cops had called her parents, they’d insisted on coming to get her. Mac couldn’t imagine how her family was reacting to the news that she’d broken into the house of a teacher who’d been killed last night—stabbed with his own kitchen knife. She, Mackenzie Wright, first chair cello, was a murder suspect.
The car slowed, and her mother bolted out of the passenger seat, enveloping Mackenzie in a firm hug. Mac stiffened, surprised. “Are you okay?” Mrs. Wright said into Mac’s shoulder, her voice tinged with sobs.