The Wrong Girl (Return to Fear Street Book 2)

“I know the hornets came from my lab,” Mom said. “I need an explanation from you, Poppy.”

My mouth dropped open. I stared at her. I suddenly felt as if she was a stranger, someone I’d never seen before. “Are you . . . Are you accusing me?” I stammered.

“Are you denying it?” she replied, challenging me.

I felt so hurt and angry at the same time. “Mom . . . I never . . . I wouldn’t . . .” I stumbled over the words. “Jeremy is d-dead,” I stuttered. “Do you think I’m the one who killed him?”

She uttered a sigh and rubbed her forehead as if she had one of her migraines. “I don’t know what to think, Poppy. I know that those hornets could only have come from one place. I know that the police won’t have any trouble tracing them to my lab.”

She kept her eyes covered, massaging her temples. “The truth is, I should tell them. I should tell them right now where the hornets came from.”

“Mom, look at me,” I said. I grabbed her arm and pulled her hand away from her face. “Look at me. Read my lips. I didn’t take the hornets. I didn’t put the acid in Ivy’s shampoo. I didn’t do those things, Mom. And you should know me well enough not to accuse me.”

A sob escaped my throat. “Do you have any idea how much you have just hurt me?”

She thought for a moment. I could see her eyes sliding back and forth as she concentrated. “I know you have a temper, Poppy. We’ve talked about it. We’ve had to deal with it several times. We both know—”

I let go of her arm and stepped back. “You’re not going to stop—are you? You’re going to keep on accusing me? Even though I told you I didn’t do those things to my two friends.”

“Okay, okay.” She gestured with both hands. I suddenly saw fear in her eyes. “Let’s deal with this, Poppy. Let’s think about this.” She pulled me to the couch and pushed me onto the cushion. She didn’t sit down beside me. She started pacing back and forth in front of me.

“Mom, please—”

She waved a hand for me to be quiet. “Listen Poppy, if you didn’t do it, someone else is out to hurt your friends, right?”

“Right,” I whispered.

“They’re out to hurt everyone in your group,” she continued, crossing her arms in front of her. “So what makes you think you won’t be next?”

“Huh?” The thought hadn’t occurred to me.

“You could be next,” Mom said. “Don’t you see? We . . . we have to lock all the windows and doors. You have to be careful when you go out. Maybe . . . maybe you should quit your job.”

I jumped to my feet. “Quit my job? But, Mom—”

“Someone killed Jeremy. Someone attacked your best friend. Do you think they’ll stop there? Don’t you think you’re on the list? Why didn’t you think of that?” She narrowed her eyes at me, suspicious. “Why aren’t you . . . scared?”

“I—I don’t know,” I stammered. A chill rolled down my back. “I guess you’re right. I guess I should be afraid. And Manny. He should be afraid. And Jack.”

Jack . . .

He hadn’t said a word to me since the night of the fake robbery. I’d seen him at school, hanging all over Rose, teasing her and kissing her, and draping himself all over her and not caring who was watching. Whenever he passed me in the hall, he pretended he didn’t see me.

What a creep.

Was Jack afraid? Was he afraid he might be next? I hoped he was afraid. I guess it was sick, but I hoped he was totally afraid.

That kind of thinking didn’t help, I know. But you can’t control what you think about when you’re under such terrible strain and pressure.

“Did you call Ivy?” Mom’s voice broke into my thoughts.

“No. I . . . uh . . . texted her. I tried to call, several times, but she won’t take my calls.”

“You should try again, Poppy.”

“You don’t get it, Mom. She thinks I did it. She thinks I tried to kill her. I’m sure she thinks I killed Jeremy. She’s not going to take my calls. Not ever again.”

I spun away from her and stomped to my room and threw myself on my stomach onto the bed. I shut my eyes and pressed my face into the bedcover.

I tried to get my thoughts in order. I tried to clear my mind and think, just think. I had to force my swirling emotions into the background. All the anger and fear and confusion—it all had to go so that I stood a chance of figuring out what was happening here.

I thought about the hornets. The big insects that Mom was studying. She told me they were more aggressive than normal, and she was trying to find out why. I pictured them. And then I pictured a swarm of them.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to open my eyes and find them buzzing and swirling and flying around my room, hovering low, circling me with their loud anger. And then attacking me. Attaching themselves to my body, my skin, and stinging . . . stinging . . . stinging until every part of me throbbed with unbearable pain.

I had only seen the hornets once, that day I visited Mom’s lab. That day I visited Mom’s lab with Keith.

Keith.

Wait a minute. Keith was there that day.

I pushed myself up from the bedcover. I sat up with a shivering jerk. Keith was with me. Keith saw the hornets, too.

Did this mean anything? My thoughts were sending chills down my back.

I pictured quiet, careful Keith. Could he be the one who’d attacked Ivy and Jeremy?

Keith?

I knew he’d never liked my friends. But that was no reason to go after them.

Keith . . . He’d acted so weird when I broke up with him. At first, he acted as if his life was over. Then he became angry. So angry he frightened me.

Yes. Yes. I’d put it out of my mind. But Keith had even threatened me. Nothing specific. I couldn’t really remember what he’d said.

Then he’d looked about to cry. He’d hurried away. Afterward, he kept calling and texting. He hadn’t given up. I had to be really mean to him to convince him to stop and leave me alone.

Was Keith getting revenge now? Revenge on me by attacking my friends and making it look as if I was the culprit?

Suddenly, the thought didn’t seem so crazy.

I woke with a start. I glanced at the clock. Where had the day gone? It had whirred by in a blur. I must have fallen asleep. I didn’t even realize it.

The phone was in my trembling hand before I even noticed it. I was shaking so hard, it took three tries to punch Keith’s number. It rang and rang, and no voicemail message came on.

It was late. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe he couldn’t hear his phone. I let it ring for a long time. Then I clicked off, squeezing the phone in my hand, my thoughts flying crazily around me.

It’s late, but I have to see him. I won’t sleep tonight unless I confront him.

A few minutes later, I was in the car. My hand trembled as I started it up. I took a deep breath, hoping to stop my heart from beating so hard.

Was this an insane idea? Thinking of Keith as the attacker?

I didn’t care how insane it sounded. I had to know the answer.

I left the headlights off. Mom and Heather had gone to bed, and I didn’t want either of them to know I was going out this late. I didn’t want to hear the millions of questions Mom would ask.

I released the brake and let the car back slowly down the driveway—and almost backed into a dark car parked directly across the street.

I braked hard and avoided a collision. There usually wasn’t a car parked there. I turned the wheel and maneuvered away from it. Switched on my headlights.

And in the sudden bright light I saw someone in the parked car. I saw a face behind the steering wheel. And recognized him immediately.

Lucas.

Lucas, pale in the circle of light from my headlights. Lucas, staring out at me, not moving, just staring. Parked in front of my house . . . Lucas . . . Waiting for what?