“Someone’ll be here to serve food and stuff,” said Scott. “A waiter or something?”
“It looks like they already did.” Diego motioned to the covered trays lining the table. “But why would they serve dinner before we got here?”
Scott lifted the lid on the tray closest to him, revealing a whole roasted chicken and steamed veggies. “Is it just me, or is this kinda weird?”
“For once, it’s not just you,” Robbie muttered, uncovering a salad platter.
“Well . . .” Priya licked her lips, eyeing a bowl of roasted yams. “We might as well eat, right?”
“I guess so . . .” I bit my lip.
Robbie dropped the lid on the floor behind him. “Whatever. Let’s get this party started, shall we?” He uncovered another chicken platter. “They got any booze in this joint?”
“Yeah, but it’s all at the bar out there,” said Sasha, uncovering a platter of deviled eggs. “Gross. How long have those been sitting out?”
I stood and lifted the lid from the biggest platter in the center of the table.
Sasha and Priya both shrieked, making me almost drop the lid. My heart fell into my stomach as everyone gaped at the contents of the tray.
A syringe.
An envelope.
And something that looked an awful lot like a bomb.
“What the actual fuck?” said Robbie. A shiver coasted down my spine as I stared at the syringe. It was filled with a pale beige liquid, and the needle was uncapped, glinting from the chandelier lights overhead.
“What the hell is that . . . that thing?” Sasha cried.
A couple of plastic canisters the size of milk cartons were strapped to half a dozen brown logs wired to a small digital clock and stack of batteries. Each canister was half full of some sort of yellow liquid. The clock faced the ceiling, its red numbers counting down from fifty-nine forty-five. Fifty-nine forty-four. Fifty-nine forty-three. Fifty-nine forty-two.
“Looks like a bomb,” said Robbie, clenching his jaw.
“I started the timer . . .” I said to no one in particular, gripping the lid in both hands. “When I lifted the lid, I must have started the timer.”
“That can’t be real,” said Priya. “Can it?”
“And what’s with the syringe?” asked Sasha.
“It’s labeled.” Diego leaned over to read, “‘Botulinum toxin’—holy shit.” He blanched.
“What’s butool—what’s that?” asked Priya. She clutched his arm so hard her knuckles turned white.
Diego kept reading. “It says, ‘Warning: Avoid contact with skin. A single drop can be fatal. Full injection causes immediate death.’”
We all exchanged baffled expressions. “What’s in the envelope?” asked Robbie. Nobody moved.
Fifty-nine thirty. Fifty-nine twenty-nine.
I set the lid under the table and plucked the envelope from the tray, opened the flap, and pulled out a sheet of paper. Unfolding it, I cleared my throat and read aloud.
“‘Welcome to dinner, and again, congratulations on being selected. Now you must do the selecting. Within the hour, you must choose someone in this room to die. If you don’t, everyone dies.’”
1 Year, 1 Month Ago
JANUARY OF JUNIOR YEAR
I’d spent the last three years avoiding bitches like Sasha Harris.
But I had a favor to ask of her, and my future depended on it.
As director of the drama club, she chose each semester’s play, and I wanted to compose the score for the next one. It was my only shot to get into USC’s film score program. Dad had recently broken the news that he couldn’t afford to fly me to auditions in the fall, so I had to think of some way to impress the pants off the college admissions officers—something the other two thousand virtual applicants wouldn’t attempt. With only three undergraduate film score programs in the country, the competition was fierce. Scoring our school play set to a live orchestra and sending in the recording was the best plan I could hatch.
But it meant I had to talk to her, Sasha freaking Harris, basically royalty at Brewster High—haughty, pretentious, and intimidating as hell, yet inexplicably revered. We hadn’t met until freshman year; our town had two middle schools that merged into Brewster High, and Priya and I had gone to Crompond while Sasha and her friends went to Hampton. But I’d heard whispers of her mean streak, how cutthroat she could be. Had I witnessed her nastiness myself? No. Had I gotten close enough to? Don’t be ridiculous. I wasn’t about to risk being her next victim.
Until now.
So here I was on the first day back after winter break, watching her cross the cafeteria, plotting my approach. Her besties, Amy and Maria, hovered around her like gnats, wasting away the minutes by chewing over the latest gossip. I wasn’t sure what scared me more: rejection from USC, or Sasha.
“My hands are shaking.” I raised my hand to eye level, showing off trembling fingers. “Dammit, I can’t do this.”
My best friend Priya’s posture relaxed. “Oh, thank God. Let’s get out of here.” She spun to leave, her long, shiny black hair whipping my arm.
“Wait!” I grabbed her wrist. “You’re gonna let me wimp out that easily?”
“You’re not wimping out—you’re coming to your senses,” she rationalized, darting a glance at Sasha and her crew. “You don’t need to score the stupid play. I’m sure your recordings will get you into any music program you want.”
“All the other applicants will have recordings, too.” I wiped sweat from my upper lip as the trio finally settled at an empty table in the middle of the cafeteria. “But they’ll all submit the standard stuff—you know, tracks for commercials, movie trailers, that sort of thing. I have to do something epic. Something to stand out.”
Priya raised her eyebrows. “What, your ten thousand YouTube followers won’t make you stand out?”
“Ten thousand’s nothing. Some other kids have way more. I have to do this.”
“What makes you think Sasha’s even going to consider it? They always pick some Broadway play, and the music’s already done. Asking Sasha to compose new music for the play is like asking if I could join the freaking cheerleading squad. It won’t happen.”
Priya had always wanted to be a cheerleader. Problem was, she never had the guts to try out. “If I get her to agree, you’re so trying out for the cheerleading squad.”
Her eyes widened like saucers. “I am so not. Sasha’s captain now. She’d never let me in.”
I glanced at Sasha again. How had she hooked her talons into everything? It was like the girl was determined to be the center of attention at all times. And nobody said no to Sasha Harris.
Now I had to make sure she didn’t say no to me.
Taking a deep breath, I paused before tugging out the earbud lodged in my right ear, soaking in a last bit of energy from an epic fantasy battle scene track. Some people needed liquid courage, but I only needed a shot of music. The powerful chords and crescendos made me feel like I was bravely facing my foe, ready for combat.
“I’m doing this.”
“I’m officially not letting you.” Priya clutched my elbow as I started toward them. “As your best friend, I can’t let you put yourself in Sasha’s warpath. Right now she barely knows we exist, and we should keep it that way. Remember what happened to your sister? Remember what people like Sasha can do?”