“I can’t believe it,” Emma whispered. Her fingers shook as she scrol ed down the page. These tweets weren’t nearly as mindless. Every post she read made the room spin just a little bit faster. First, she read their tweets from August 31:
@GABBYPONYBALONEY: Do you think we should?
@MissLiliTal ywhacker: Definitely. No turning back now. It all falls into place tonight.
And just last week, the night of Charlotte’s sleepover, when someone crept down and strangled Emma:
@MissLiliTal ywhacker: She thinks we’re so stupid.
@GabbyPonyBaloney: She’ll know the truth soon enough.
@MissLiliTal ywhacker: She’d better be careful. . . . And the night of Sutton’s birthday party:
@GabbyPonyBaloney: She has no clue what’s
coming. I can’t wait to see the look on her face.
@MissLiliTal ywhacker: Let’s hope this works. And the tweet Gabby sent just that afternoon:
@GabbyPonyBaloney: Less than an hour to go. That bitch is going down.
A locker door slammed in the hal , shaking the nursingstation wal s and making the thick green contents of a big bottle of cough syrup wobble back and forth on the shelf. That bitch is going down. A vision of the hurtling light fixture swam through Emma’s mind. She stared at Ethan. “They’re talking about me.”
The argument I’d had with Lili the night of Gabby’s accident flashed through my mind. I’d told her she’d better keep her mouth shut, or I’d ruin her life. But maybe instead, she and her sister ruined mine.
“Do me a favor and email these to me,” Emma said to Ethan. “Al of them. I can’t risk losing these like I lost the snuff film.”
“Done.” Ethan grabbed the phone back from Emma and started copying and pasting al of the tweets. Muffled classical music from orchestra practice in the next room echoed through the wal s. Suddenly, Emma’s body ached as though she’d run back-to-back marathons.
“What a nightmare,” she said, slumping against the flat mattress on the cot. “Knowing there are two of them just makes this feel even more impossible. And were they trying to scare me? Or kil me? And if they were trying to kil me, how long before they try again?”
Ethan murmured a note of sympathy, but didn’t offer any advice. “What I wouldn’t give for a day off from this,” Emma murmured. “A couple of hours off.” She thought about Friday night. It was hard enough navigating broad daylight with the Twitter Twins. But dealing with a dark Homecoming dance with a haunted house theme, al by herself? She snuck a peek at Ethan. “I have an idea.”
Ethan dropped his phone into his pocket. “Let’s hear it.”
“What if you went to Homecoming with me?” Emma gestured to the Hal oween Homecoming flyer that hung on the nurse’s wal . It was of a skeleton and a witch doing the tango.
Ethan took a step back. “Emma . . .”
Emma cut him off before he could give her an I-hatedances spiel. “We could look into the Twins together. I won’t have to handle everything myself. And it could even be fun. We can dress in goofy costumes, OD on the amazing cupcakes the caterer is bringing, dance—or not dance, if you’re real y opposed. We can laugh at al the people who are real y into it.”
Ethan’s hands twisted together in his lap. “It’s not that I don’t want to go. It’s that . . . wel , I’ve actual y asked someone else.”
Emma blinked. It felt like he’d just dumped a bucket of cold water on her head, and for a moment her brain was fil ed with nothing but static. “Oh!” she said, a few moments too late. “Oh, wel , great! Good for you!”
The look that crossed Ethan’s face was comical y grouchy, almost petulant. “I mean, you said you just wanted to be friends. You said you weren’t interested.”
“I know! I did!” Emma’s voice took on the annoying chirpy quality it always got when she tried too hard to sound upbeat. “I mean, it would have been as friends. But this is total y for the better. I’m so happy for you! You’l have so much fun!”
The room suddenly felt too smal to fit both of them. Emma leapt to her feet. “Um, I should go.”
Ethan stood, too. “What? Where?”
“I-I should get back to the auditorium.” Emma fumbled for the door. “They’re stil holding the party. I should help out. Plus, al my stuff is stil there.”
“But . . .” Ethan slung his bag over his shoulder and fol owed her, but Emma did not want to discuss it any further. She gave him the most carefree wave she could muster. “I’l cal you later,” she promised, even though she couldn’t imagine doing so. She speed-walked into the hal , turned a corner, then col apsed against a bank of lockers. The hal was quiet, the final bel of the day not yet having rung. Emma could hear her own ragged breathing. A sob rose in her throat, but she quickly swal owed it down. “You had your chance,” she whispered furiously. “You made your choice. It is for the best.”
A cackling sound floated down the hal . Emma froze, listening. There was another sharp exhalation of breath around the corner, a second triumphant-sounding snort. A shadow spread across the floor. Had someone been watching her? Listening?
She sprinted down the hal , but when she rounded the corner there was no one there. When Emma breathed in, she could detect the faintest scent of coconut in the air. And when she looked down, she saw a few tiny, glittering shards of glass on the ground.
She crouched down to touch one of the pieces. The amber-colored glass perfectly matched the glass in the light fixture that had nearly shattered her skul .