The Wrong Girl (Return to Fear Street Book 2)

“Mom!” I cried.

“I forgot my house keys,” she said. She narrowed her eyes at me. “Did you go out? You don’t have any lights on.”

“I . . . was in my room.” I stepped aside so she could come in.

She flipped on the entryway light, then the living room lights. “Poppy, you went out?”

Yes, I went out, and I killed a man during a fake robbery.

“Yeah. For a little while.”

I knew I had to tell my mom what happened. But I wanted to talk to Jack first. I know it was completely irrational, but I still clung to the idea that Jack could help me.

Mom dropped her purse and briefcase on a chair. She shook her dark hair out, like a dog shaking itself dry. “Whew. I’m toast.”

I followed her toward the kitchen. “How come you’re so late, Mom?”

“We had an emergency at the lab,” she said, pulling open the fridge and taking out a bottle of coconut water. She practically lives on coconut water. “Some of the hornets escaped, the ones we were experimenting on today.”

I groaned. “Ugh. Don’t remind me of those hornets. That day Keith and I visited your lab, we couldn’t believe how big they are. It was like a horror movie.”

Mom tilted the bottle to her mouth and took a long drink. “Well, today really was like a horror movie,” she said when she finished. “Rounding up hornets is a nightmare job. Much harder than just killing them.” Mom finished the bottle and began rummaging in the fridge. “I didn’t have dinner. Is there anything in the house?”

“I think there’s some egg salad,” I said. “And maybe some ham.”

I can’t believe we’re talking about egg salad when a few minutes ago, I killed a man.

Where is Jack?

I glanced at my phone. No text. No call.

My mind began to spin again with all kinds of frightening thoughts.

The police were alerted about the live stream. They hurried to the store. Jack was arrested.

Or . . . the police burst in. They shot Jack before he could explain.

Jack was dead because of a stupid joke.

No. Stop it, Poppy. Don’t get carried away.

But where was he? Did he think he could run off by himself and get away?

Didn’t he care what was happening to me?

I thought hard, picturing everything again. How we pulled on our masks and burst through the front door. And how Jack shoved the gun into my hand. My hand. He gave the gun to me.

Why?

Why didn’t he keep it? Why did he want me to be the one with the gun?

A question I couldn’t answer. My brain was filled with questions I couldn’t answer. My head suddenly felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

I knew I had to tell my mother what I had done. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I had to let the whole story out.

She was pulling cold cuts and cheese from the fridge, trying to put together a dinner for herself, carrying it to the kitchen counter with the tall stools.

I took a seat at the table with my back to her. I guess I didn’t want to look at her when I told the horrible news. I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t want to see her face when she heard what I had done.

Where should I start?

“Mom . . . uh . . . I need to tell you something. I’m afraid something very bad has happened.” She didn’t react, so I continued. “My friends and I, we have sort of a club. We pull off stunts. You know. Pranks. And we put them online so everyone can be in on the joke. We’re not the only ones who do it. A lot of people have the same idea. So tonight . . .”

I took a deep shuddering breath. This was harder than I’d thought. But I had no choice. I needed my mother to know. I needed her to understand and to help me.

So I told her everything. The whole night from beginning to horrible end. Once I started talking, it just burst out of me, like a waterfall. It just flowed. I couldn’t have stopped even if I’d wanted to. It didn’t feel good to tell the story. I kept my eyes on the wall cabinets in front of me. I didn’t dare turn around to face her.

But I managed to get the story out. My voice cracked when I described how Mr. Harlow had grabbed his head and fallen to the floor. And by the time I’d finished telling her everything, my mouth was dry and my hands were wet and ice cold.

“It was just a prank,” I finished. “It wasn’t supposed to hurt anyone. It was a joke, Mom. A joke that went terribly wrong. Jack told me the gun was filled with blanks. That’s what he told us all. But it wasn’t.”

My voice tightened to a harsh whisper. “What do we do, Mom? Please—help me. What do we do now?”