Good Girl, Dead Girl

Table of Contents Title Page Also by Emily Kazmierski Emily Kazmierski Copyright © 2023 Emily Kazmierski Dedication Untitled Questions with No Answers Lies I Tell Myself The Universe Throws a Vicious Curve My Brain is On Fire As God is My Witness I am Not as Slick as I Thought Not in the Mood for Pancakes Sweet Potato of Fortune After the High You Must Be Joking I Did Something Stupid The Pissing Contest Frenemies with Benefits One Door Opens and Calling in My Favor The Lick Test Yields Mixed Results One Off Protocols Suck Liar Like Pinocchio All That’s Left to Do is Jump Fine, I’ll Talk to McCandles Sticky Fingers Between Rock and a Hard Place Rock Almost Gets His Kisser Kicked Burning a Couple Bridges My Boyfriend is an Idiot Playing Chicken Folly and Ignorance You Seeing This? Way Too Much Puke Too Soon Janice Catapults the Crap Keeping Pace Not Going Out Like That Pouring One Out for Agatha Christie Valencia and Rock Acknowledgements Also By About the Author Also by Emily Kazmierski Don’t Look Series Don’t Look Too Close (a prequel novella) Don’t Look Behind You Don’t Close Your Eyes Embassy Academy Trilogy Deadly First Day Lethal Queen Bee Killer Final Exams Ivory Tower Spies Series For Your Ears Only The Walk-in Agent (a Julep Short Story) The Eyes of Spies Spy Your Heart Out Spy Got Your Tongue Over My Dead Body Other Novels Malignant All-American Liars Emily Kazmierski Copyright © 2023 Emily Kazmierski California, United States Cover Design: Andrea Fodor, Creya-Tive Book Cover Design All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Printed in the United States of America First Printing, 2023 www.EmilyKazmierski.com Dad, Thank you for your everyday example of what unconditional love looks like. Questions with No Answers I enter the classroom balanced on the bladed edge of a hush, and then the whispers and dirty looks begin. My classmates are backlit by the morning sun brushed over the windows, pressing closer as if keen to hear their muffled palaver. Heady glances cut my way, lambent eyes drawn toward a vulnerable member of the herd. No one has moved on from what happened six months ago. It’s still the first topic on the tip of everyone’s tongue. But no one will come out and ask me about it. Instead, they coil and hiss like rattlesnakes, warning me not to step too close. Staring right back, I stalk past the first column of desks to the back of the room. Janice Hill sticks her foot out, catching my brown booties. My body staggers forward, heart jumping between my ears as gravity flexes its muscles. Is this what a mouse feels like after the initial strike? A pair of hands grabs my flailing elbows to arrest my momentum. Those sturdy hands withdraw as soon as I have my feet under me. My stomach doesn’t get the memo, lurching downward until it lands with a jolt. “Cool it, Jan,” a low voice says, then grumbles into the back of my head, “I got you.” That voice makes me go rigid. Oh no. No, no, no. Tensing to spring, I whirl away. Pointedly ignoring a snarl from my very favorite person Janice, my eyes train on the guy who spared my nose from what would have been a bloody break. Tie strewn around a tanned neck. I sweep my attention up to expressionless walnut brown eyes set against bronzed skin. Rock Agani. Perfect. With a muttered “thanks,” I brush past him and slide into an empty desk along the back wall. Pull my uniform jacket tighter around my torso and do the buttons to hide my embarrassment. Portia, my Shakespeare-obsessed best friend, leans over from the next desk. “You okay? That was close. I can’t believe that wench tried to trip you on the first day of school.” Rock takes the seat next to Janice’s. Reaching across the aisle, she slides her hand into his. He mirrors her when she leans in to whisper in his ear. That girl rubs me in all the wrong ways. I grimace at the back of Janice’s perfectly styled, slick ponytail before canting my head toward Portia. “You can’t believe the most popular girl in school hates me because she’s pissed about her best friend’s murder, and I’m an easy target? Come on, Porsh.” “It’s been six months.” “Doesn’t matter.” “Want me to talk to her? I’m pretty sure she knows, deep down, it’s not your fault.” My other best friend, Destin, slides into the desk on my other side, propping his skateboard against the wall. “Thanks, Des, but no. And I’m pretty sure she doesn’t.” “Maybe someone will throw up in class and everyone will forget you’re the daughter of the town’s infamous disappearing sheriff.” The naked hope in his eyes is sweet. That’s part of why we’re such good friends. Destin’s optimism balances my cynicism. That, and he’s useful for reaching stuff that’s too high for me. Short person problems. “Hasn’t happened yet.” We attend St. Vivian’s Catholic school. No, the teachers aren’t nuns. For some reason whenever I tell someone I go to a Catholic school they think we’re taught by nuns. For the record, I’ve never even met a nun. Our teachers wear dark slacks or skirts with a blue button-down emblazoned with the school’s emblem. “Welcome back from summer break, everyone. Who’s ready to have a great senior year?” Miss Wayne asks, standing beside her desk and smiling at all of us bright-eyed, bushy-tailed students. She’s been our first period teacher since freshman year, so she knows everybody pretty well. Too bad she didn’t see Janice’s little stunt. She’s a teacher who would actually do something about it. Janice deserves a whole lot of… something unpleasant for pulling that stunt. Garbage duty in the