“Is that what he told you? Hmm. He seemed very interested this morning. He's taking me out Saturday night.”
“Because you're making him.”
“Making him? Are you suggesting a big boy like Jeffrey can't say no when he wants to?” Faye shook her head. “And why isn't he here now to speak for himself? I'll tell you something, Sally,” she added, her voice dropping confidentially. “He didn't fight hard this morning. He didn't fight hard at all.”
Sally's hand drew back as if she wanted to hit the bigger girl, but she didn't. “You think you can do anything, Faye-you and the rest of the Club! Well, it's time somebody showed you that you can't. There are more of us-lots more-and we're getting tired of being pushed around. It's time somebody took a stand.”
“Is that what you're planning to do?” Faye said pleasantly. Sally had been circling her like a bulldog looking for an opening, and now the wiry girl had ended on the edge of the landing with her back to the steps leading down.
“Yes!” Sally cried defiantly.
“Funny,” murmured Faye, “because it's going to be hard to do that flat on your back.” With the last words she flicked her long red fingernails in Sally's face.
She never actually touched Sally's skin. Cassie, who had been watching intently, desperately waiting for an opportunity to flee, felt sure of that.
But it was as if something hit Sally. Something invisible. And heavy. The wiry girl's entire body jerked back and she tried frantically to regain her footing on the edge of the landing. Arms flailing, she teetered for an endless instant and then fell backward.
Cassie could never remember what happened then. One minute she was behind her rock, crouching and safe, and the next she had flung herself out across the falling girl's path, knocking her sideways onto the grass. For a heartbeat Cassie thought they were both going to roll all the way down the hill, but somehow or other they didn't. They ended up in a heap, with Cassie underneath.
“Let go! You ripped my shirt,” a strident voice exclaimed, and an unkind fist planted itself in Cassie's midriff as Sally pushed herself to her feet. Cassie stared up at her, open-mouthed. Talk about gratitude…
“And as for you, Faye Chamberlain-you tried to kill me! But you'll get yours, you wait and see!”
“I'll get yours too, Sally,” Faye promised, smiling, but the sleepiness in her smile wasn't genuine anymore. She looked as if underneath she were grinding her teeth.
“You just wait,” Sally repeated vehemently. “Someday they may find you at the bottom of those stairs with a broken neck.” With that, she marched to the landing and up the steps, bringing her foot down on each as if she were stamping on Faye's face. She didn't even look back or acknowledge Cassie's existence.
Cassie slowly got up and glanced down the long, winding flight of stairs that led to the foot of the hill. She couldn't have done anything differently, she realized. Sally would have been lucky to break nothing more than her neck before she reached bottom. But now…
She turned to face the three senior girls above her.
They were still standing with careless, unstudied elegance, but underneath their easy demeanor was violence. Cassie saw it in the sullen darkness of Deborah's eyes, and in the spiteful curve of Suzan's lips. But most of all she saw it in Faye.
It occurred to her, quite incidentally, that these were probably the three most beautiful girls she'd ever seen. It wasn't just that each had perfect skin, free of the slightest trace of teenage blemishes. It wasn't their gorgeous hair: Deborah's dark disordered curls, Faye's pitch-black mane, and Suzan's cloud of reddish gold. It wasn't even the way they set each other off, each one's distinctive type enhancing the others' instead of detracting from them. It was something else, something that came from within. A kind of confidence and self-possession that no girl at sixteen or seventeen should have. An inner strength, an energy. A power.
It terrified her.
“Well, now, what do we have here?” Faye said in a throaty voice. “A spy? Or a little white mouse?”
Run, Cassie thought. But her legs wouldn't move.
“I saw her this morning,” Deborah said. “She was hanging out in front of the bike rack, staring at me.”
“Oh, I've seen her before that, Debby,” Faye replied. “I saw her last week at Number Twelve. She's a neighbor.”
“You mean she's-“ Suzan broke off.
“Yes.”
“Whatever else she is, she's dead meat now,” Deborah said. Her petite face was twisted in a scowl.
“Let's not be hasty,” Faye murmured. “Even mice may have their uses. By the way, how long were you hiding there?”
There was only one answer to this, and Cassie fought not to say it. This was no time to come up with a devastatingly witty remark. But at last she gave in, because it was the truth, and because she couldn't think of anything else.
“Long enough,” she said, and shut her eyes in misery.
Faye descended slowly to stand in front of her. “Do you always spy on other people's private conversations?”
“I was here before you came,” Cassie said, with as much spirit as she could manage. If only Faye would stop staring at her like that. Those honey-colored eyes seemed to glow with an eerie, supernatural light. It was focused on Cassie like a laser beam, draining away her will, causing the strength to flow out of her. It was as if Faye wanted her to do something-or wanted something from her. It made her feel so disoriented-so off balance and weak…
And then she felt a sudden surge of strength that seemed to come up from her feet. Or, rather, from the ground beneath them, from the red New England granite that she'd felt buzzing with life earlier. It steadied her, sweeping up and straightening her spine, so that she lifted her chin and looked into those golden eyes without flinching.