Free The Cutting Room Floor by Dawn Klehr

scatter. The volume control is another one of my moves. Yeah, it’s immature and silly, but also extremely entertaining.
    The Devlins continue to mess with the TV, and that’s when I see it. I take Libby’s binoculars and zoom in. There on the shelf is a ballerina. Little Dancer.
    Ms. Dunn’s missing Degas.
    My breath catches and I lose the Degas in the lenses, but something else comes into view. It’s Devlin in the window, staring back at me.
    He’s figured it out.
    “Run,” Libby whispers.
    We leap off the picnic table and Libby motions for me to follow. We head through the neighbors’ yards until we’re almost a block away.
    Libby deftly navigates our route. “Watch out for the rose bushes,” she whispers.
    Too late. The branches graze my arms, taking quick bites from my shoulder down to my wrist.
    In the distance, I hear a light trickling sound. It’s running water. The creek.
    The creek leads to the Clay Hole, a small pond that developed after clay diggers hit a spring about a million years ago. It’s our only real swimming area in town, but only the lower end of the food chain uses it. Dez and I lived there when we were kids.
    As we run through the woods, we close in on the creek. “Time to jump,” Libby whispers back to me.
    We take a running start and leap across the water, clearing it with ease. We’re officially on the other side of the tracks now. The creek separates Devlins’ neighborhood from the rest of our city’s riffraff.
    “There’s a shed back here,” Libby says. “Come on.”
    How does she know what’s back here?
    Libby seems oddly familiar with the area. That’s when I realize we’re almost at Ms. Dunn’s house. We start running again. Branches and leaves skim our bodies as we fly through the trees. As we slow down, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. I hear footsteps getting closer.
    We slip into the decaying shed. I crouch down behind an old bench and Libby hides under a table in the back. There are gardening tools and old pots leaning against the walls. I try to catch my breath but hold it again when the shed door squeaks and begins to open.
    The moonlight shines through the broken window and a shadow grows on the wall. A huge shadow. It’s like a scene from a corny old horror film. I can’t look. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lip.
    That’s when a hand clamps down on my shoulder.
    The hand grabs me and I jump, holding in a scream.
    It’s Devlin. The killer.
    The hand flips me around.
    I can’t make out the face, but Libby can.
    I’ve completely forgotten that she’s been here the entire time.
    “Jake,” she says, her voice low and quiet. “What are you doing out here?”
    We know Jake Noring from school, so my heart rate automatically slows, yet I have to remind myself that no one’s to be trusted.
    Libby’s had a crush on Jake since seventh grade, but nothing’s ever come of it. He lives on the nice side of town and spends his time playing traveling soccer on a city team. Libby doesn’t exactly run in the same circle and, despite what she says, I think she’d like to.
    Oh no. Was that Jake’s voice on the video? Libby’s partner in crime?
    “Shhh,” he whispers. “He’s coming. Let’s get out of here.”
    I try to remember the voice on the video, but I can’t tell if it was him. I don’t know if I should stay or run.
    Jake leads us out the door and within seconds we’re running through the woods again. We run until we’re out of breath, then duck down among the downed trees. I suddenly feel like I have to pee. We wait there, crouched in the woods, hiding.
    My legs are shaking so badly I have to lean forward on my knees. I can’t believe I’m stuck in the woods surrounded by murder suspects.
    “What are you doing out here?” I ask Jake, since he didn’t answer Libby the first time.
    “I saw you behind the Devlins’ house,” he says. “I live next door to them, ya know.”
    I didn’t remember that, but