The Perfectionists

Chapter 10

AFTER SCHOOL ON TUESDAY, EVIE sat in her sleek, spotless bedroom, wedged between two cushy throw pillows with a faux-fur blanket wrapped around her legs. Light poured through the window, making the room look clean and cheerful and, most of all, normal. Like the nice, normal bedroom of a normal girl, who had a normal mother and a normal house. A normal girl who had not possibly accidentally killed a classmate in a prank gone terribly wrong.

Don't think about it, she commanded herself. It was a coincidence. A horrible, awful coincidence that they had written on him just before he died. But nobody would believe that if she didn't believe it herself.

Police officers had popped into classrooms yesterday, asking questions. A few kids said they'd already been interviewed about the night of the party, though Evie hadn't been called in. What if someone had seen her go upstairs? What if someone had heard their conversation in film studies? Someone must have, right?

Only...who? Now, all Evie wanted to do was lie in her bed with her head under the covers, but she had to be normal, perfect Evie. And normal, perfect Evie was happy and popular. So she had Freddie on her phone and her friend Jordan on hold. CJ was IMing her on her MacBook Air, she had fifteen Facebook messages to read, and she had three hundred "likes" on an Instagram selfie she'd posted only last night.

"And someone told me they were making out in the photography darkroom," Freddie was saying in Evie's ear, punctuating the gossip with a snicker. She was talking about Rebecca Hallswell and Corey Grier, the newest couple at Auradon, scandalous because they'd both cheated on their exes. "I mean, get a little creative, Corey! The poor girl's hair is going to smell like fixer for the rest of the day!"

"Seriously," Evie said, rolling her eyes. "Although there is something romantic about the darkroom, you know? That dim lighting. And all those black-and-white photos hanging on clothespins... "Evie!" a voice called. "Weirdo," Freddie joked. "Although I'd go to any darkroom with Mr. Jay. Photography is hands down the best club ever."

"Evie!" said the voice again. Then she heard a hacking cough. "Who's that?" Freddie asked, sounding a little grossed out. "Um, our cleaning lady," Evie said, her heart beating hard. "You should send her home. She sounds sick," Freddie said. Then she groaned. "My mom's calling me. What are you doing this afternoon?" "Julie!"

"Um..." Evie needed off the phone fast. "Actually, I gotta go, too. Call you later." She hung up. Then she stood from her desk, her heart beating harder and harder. Her mother called her one more time, her voice rising with urgency. "Coming," Evie said, her voice choked with a sob.

And then she opened the door. Every square foot of carpet was crammed with boxes or furniture or Rubbermaid crates full of random collections. She squeezed through the hallway, shoving her way through a maze of boxes. Plastic garbage bags were piled so high they blocked out the sconces. Her heart thudded against her sternum, a familiar nausea blooming in her stomach.

Every step she took she felt cats brushing her shins, swarming around her ankles. In the kitchen, broken appliances cluttered the floor, old stand mixers and ice-cream makers nestled between paper sacks full of the fragments of shattered dishes. An unusable vintage stove Evie's mother had scavenged from somewhere sat under the window, piled high with stained and swollen cookbooks. Stacks of old newspapers and magazines tied with twine stood five feet tall against the walls. A dingy white cat was curled sleeping on top of one pile, while another sharpened its claws on the stack, leaving tendrils of newsprint drifting across the floor. Cat hair hovered in the air around them, swirling up in eddies every time Evie moved.

Calm down, Evie told herself. She began to count. One, two, three...

"A cat's tail brushed against Evie's bare leg. She thought she might lose her mind. Four, five, six. . ."Evie? Are you coming?"