Dear Diary

38. DIARY THIEF

S A M A R A

I view myself in the mirror of Cassie's vanity, running fingers through my locs. Cassie has a few name brand foundations, concealers, makeup brushes, eyeliners, and nail polishes, but it's not a lot, which makes sense. I've never seen her wear a lot of makeup. My eye catches a brown jewelry box about the size of an average shoebox near the edge of the table. I figure since I'm here picking outfits, we might as well look for some accessories.

I reach over and open the box. I'm met with several compartments on an organizer tray. There's an assortment of rings, necklaces, bracelets and earrings in a given compartment. I pick it up intending to place it in front of me, when I notice something off about the weight. It's not heavy, but it's packing more of a load than the amount of jewelry inside would have one assume. I give it a gentle shake and something shifts, like there's a block sliding around inside. I set the box down again and remove the organizer tray to look beneath it.

My heart plummets.

The stickers are a giveaway. Fairies, ponies and butterflies on the cover of a pink, childlike book that resembles a diary.

Sidney's diary.

In Cassie's room.

Panic arises within me as I put the tray back in place, careful not to drop any of the jewelry. My thoughts scramble for what to do; make an escape, or maybe call someone, or—

My phone rings. It's Gio's name on the caller ID when I look at it. I put the phone to my ear. "Gio—"

"Are you okay? Where's Cassie?"

"She's downstairs. I think I found Sidney's diary in her room."

"Fuck! Samara, get out of there now! We figured it out. It's her. Cassie's D.T."

My mind runs wild. I can't focus on a single thought. My breaths become shallow as the anxiety creeps up and wraps its gnarled fingers around my throat. "Should I meet you back at Rome's?"

"Yeah, come back this way. Play it cool. Don't tip her off."

"Give me thirty seconds."

"Please be safe."

I hang up and put the box back where I picked it up from. Then I look up in the mirror. Cassie's walking into the room with two glasses of lemonade.

I spin to face her. "Hey, Cassie. Um, something came up, so I have to go."

She doesn't respond, eyeing me with a stoic expression. Then she sighs. "Such a shame. I really wanted to like you."

I almost stop breathing. "I'm not sure what—"

"Don't play dumb," she says, walking over to her desk and setting the drinks down. "Next time, you might wanna ensure your bad guy isn't within hearing distance."

"So it's really you."

She casually crosses her arms as if the accusation means nothing, leaving me disconcerted. "Guilty."

"But the handwriting," I say, remembering her writing her phone number down for me. "It wasn't the same as in the notes."

"Neat trick, right? It's not hard switching it up. It's all in how you control your wrist."

"Why? My friends and I—"

"Deserve everything you got for allowing your leader to run around terrorizing whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted, with no regard for those on the receiving end."

"I understand you were hurt, and you have every right to be angry, but we know better now," I say, attempting to appease her while I formulate an escape route. She's too close to the door. No way I'll get past her. "This is too much."