The Good Girls

Chapter 17

EVIE SAT ATOP THE LIFEGUARD stand, twirling her whistle. She was at the Auradon Rec Center, where she worked, watching a pool full of kids below. Suddenly, a little girl in a pink tankini looked up at her and pointed. "Cat lady!" she cried.

Evie flinched. How did that little girl know about her?

"Cat lady!" a boy joined in, climbing out of the pool and standing at the bottom of the lifeguard chair. "Dirty, dirty cat lady!"

All at once, the whole pool was in an uproar.

Everyone was laughing, from all of the kids to the people swimming laps to the other lifeguards patrolling the space. When Evie looked down at herself, she wasn't wearing her Juicy tee and Adidas shorts but a nightgown seemingly made of cat hair. And what was she doing here, anyway? Hadn't she vowed not to leave the house ever again, even begging off sick from work? And when she looked across the pool, a girl stood there, her mouth open in a loud, mean laugh. It was Crystal. She was rounding up the kids, pointing at Julie. "There's the cat lady!" Crystal taunted. "Go get her!"

"No!" Evie screamed. She looked around for Mal, whom she understood, inherently, must be close by. "Mal, help!"

Just as the kids ran for Evie, she woke up, shooting up straight in her car. She looked around. It was Tuesday, late afternoon.

Her phone, which was somehow clutched in her hand, was ringing. She stared at it, still disoriented. The dream felt way too real. She hated when that happened.

The phone bleated again. It was a local number, one that Evie had seen before but couldn't place. "Hello?" she mumbled into the phone, her head still fuzzy.

"Ms. Grimhilde?" a stern voice intoned.

She blinked hard. The voice was familiar, but her brain was too muddled to know why. "Yes?"

"This is Detective Peters. I understand you were not in school today."

"That's right," Evie replied cautiously, growing more awake and wary. Since when did homicide detectives care about truancy?

"Ms. Grimhilde, I'm going to need you to come down to the station. Your friends are on their way as well. I can send a patrol car over for you if you need me to. I'm assuming you're at home?"

"Uh, thanks. I mean, no, that won't be necessary." She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. "What's this about?" she repeated.

"I'll explain everything when you get here. Which I suggest you do quickly." He paused. "And Evie. . ." His voice had suddenly shifted from professional and firm to dark and threatening.

"Yes?" she asked nervously.

"Don't even think about not coming." He hung up before she could reply.

Thirty-five minutes later, Evie stumbled into the police station in sweatpants, a bulky hoodie, and running shoes. Her hair was twisted into a loose bun piled on top of her head. She had no makeup on, and she couldn't have cared less. What did it matter anyway? All anyone saw when they looked at her was cat hair, like in that dream.

Detective Peters stood in the lobby, scratching his pointy chin, a serious look on his face. He had deep bags under his eyes and fast-food crumbs on his shirt. He looked haggard, like he'd been pulling all-nighters ever since Ben died.

The other girls huddled together nearby, looking as confused and worried as Evie felt. Evie was relieved to see Mal there, her hoodie pulled down over her face. She seemed less upset than she had been in the school parking lot the day before, after Crystal had pranked Evie, but Evie could tell from the way she shifted from one foot to the other and clenched her jaw that she was tense. Evie met her friend's eye, and Mal looked back. Evie wondered where Mal had spent last night—she hadn't ever shown up at Evie's. In fact, Evie hadn't spoken to her since the kitty-litter prank outside school. Mal had turned her phone off again. It was beginning to get pretty frustrating.