Cutting Up The Competition (Horror High #2) by Carissa Ann Lynch Page A

not to be alone.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Sixteen
     
     
    I slept till nearly noon on Sunday, too cold to get out of bed and too comfortable to give a damn.
    “Ready to eat something?” My mom was sitting on the edge of my bed, making me nostalgic. I turned away from her, squeezing my eyes shut.
    When I was little, she and Dad made breakfast every Sunday morning. You wouldn’t know it by looking at them, but they never got married.
    “I don’t need a piece of paper to prove my love,” my dad said more than a few times while I was growing up.
    “If you love me, don’t leave this time.”
    I don’t know where it came from, but there it was—my pathetic plea to be loved.
    “I promise. I won’t,” she said, despite her earlier claim not to make promises.
    She sat beside me, wrapping me up in her arms. It felt good, as much as I wanted it not to.
     
    ***
     
    School was called off on Monday. And then it was called off Tuesday too. I can’t say that I minded. I wasn’t ready to go back yet. It poured rain both days, the drizzly, blue-black skies fitting my mood completely. I stayed inside, watching reruns of old corny soaps with my mom and helping Grandma Mimi cook dinner and clean.
    My grandma seemed happier than I’d ever seen her, and I couldn’t help wondering why—it had to be my mother coming back because nothing else good had happened, that’s for sure.
    I expected Tuesday to be quiet and calm, but then I got a visitor. It was Coach Davis, and seeing her standing on my front porch dressed in jeans and a frayed t-shirt was strange, to say the least. She seemed so out of her element, less mythical.
    “I’m just stopping by to check on you, Amanda. Your cell goes straight to voicemail…” I let her in. We took seats in the living room, both of us feeling awkward. 
    “I’m totally fine. Eager to get back to tryouts,” I lied.
    “Good. I don’t want to be disrespectful to Genevieve or Brittani, but the show must go on, as the saying goes. I’m going to accelerate tryouts. School is back in session tomorrow. I want everyone to meet after school. We’ll practice for an hour and then tryouts will be held. I’ll announce the girls who made it on Thursday.”
    Surprised, I asked, “What about the individual cheer?”
    “I think I can make my decision based solely on the group routine. It’s not ideal, but it’s necessary. We’re already behind. The season will be starting soon and I need cheerleaders on game night.”
    I nodded. It made sense. “I’ll be there tomorrow,” I promised. With that, Coach left, using her purse as a shield from the unrelenting downpour.
    I stood at the screen door, watching the rain pound the thick black pavement and grass, creating muddy pools all over Grandma Mimi’s yard.
    Grandma was napping and Mom was in the shower, so I climbed the creaky, twisted staircase and locked myself in my room.
    I crawled back into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. I couldn’t get the chill out of my bones. Was it the weather or just the creepy sensation that a killer was on the loose in Harrow Hill?
    Sighing, I reached for my cell phone. It’d been sitting on my nightstand—turned off—ever since Detective Simms returned it.
    As much as I didn’t want to, I turned it on. Instantly, it chimed again and again, an endless reminder of my negligence. Some of the messages and calls were from Sydney and Dakota, no doubt. Plus the usual influx of social media notifications.
    I waited for them all to come in then started swiping through each notification, eager to get this over with and take a nap. I had a couple missed calls from Coach Davis and Sydney. I also had a few texts:
     
    Dakota: Are you okay? I was going to come over but you weren't answering your cell and I thought you might be spending time with your mom…
     
    Sydney: Are you okay? Phone going straight to V-mail.
     
    Winter: Hey, girly. I still can't believe what happened. Wow, this new school is