Free Psycho Killer by Cecily von Ziegesar

homeless shelter on the way here?”
    “She didn’t even brush her hair,” Isabel giggled. “I wonder where she slept last night.”
    Mrs. Weeds ended the hymn with a crashing chord.
    Mrs. M cleared her throat. “And now, a moment of silence for those less fortunate than we are. Especially for the Native Americans who were brutally slaughtered in the founding of this country, of whom we ask no hard feelings for celebrating Columbus Day yesterday,” she said.
    What about the native Upper East Siders who were slaughtered?
    The room fell silent. Well, almost.
    “Look, see how Serena’s resting her hands on her stomach? She’s probably pregnant,” Isabel Coates whispered to Rain Hoffstetter. “You only do that when you’re pregnant.”
    “She could have had an abortion this morning. Maybe that’s why she’s late,” Rain whispered back.
    “My father gives money to Phoenix House,” Kati told Laura Salmon. “I’m going to find out if Serena’s been there. I bet that’s why she came back halfway through term. She’s been in rehab.”
    “I hear they’re doing this thing in boarding school where they mix Comet and cinnamon and instant coffee and snort it. It’s like speed, but it makes your skin turn green if you do it too long,” Nicki Button piped up from the seat in front of Blair. She tugged on the huge Swarovski crystal icicle pendant she’d brought back from her family trip to Russia this summer. “You go blind, and then you die. That kid Jeremy? He was totally addicted.”
    Blair kicked the metal legs of Nicki’s chair in annoyance. Comet and cinnamon? Try a maniacal blond bitch on a killing spree. Her friends could be so clueless sometimes.
    Mrs. M turned to nod at Serena.
    “Girls, I’d like you all to welcome back our old friend Serena van der Woodsen. Serena will be rejoining the senior class today.” Mrs. M smiled. “Why don’t you find a seat, Serena?”
    Serena walked lightly down the center aisle of the auditorium and sat in an empty chair next to a chronic nose-picking second grader named Lisa Sykes.
    Jenny could hardly contain herself. Serena van der Woodsen! She was there, in the same room, only a few feet away. So real, and so mature-looking now. And what was that on her shirtsleeve and spattered on her cheek?
Blood?
    Well, it certainly isn’t ketchup.
    Sordid stories about Serena had already trickled down to the ninth grade, along with the tale of Jeremy Scott Tompkinson’s messy demise. To a young girl like Jenny, nothing was more alluring than a scandal-ridden older girl who might also very well be a dangerous killer.
    She’s come back to rescue us from those mean senior girls
, Jenny mused.
She’s going to kill them and set us all free
.
    Still staring at Serena, Jenny uncapped her favorite black calligraphy pen and began to doodle a soaring blond angel in the margin of her hymnal. Blood dripped from the angel’s hands and from the knife tucked under her wing.
    How cool
, Jenny thought. Hands down, Serena van der Woodsen was absolutely the coolest girl in the entire world. Definitely cooler than any of the other seniors. And how cool to come in late, in the middle of the term, looking like that.
    Boarding school does have a way of grungifying even the most beautiful souls. Beautifully damaged soul, in this case.
    Serena hadn’t had a haircut in over a year. Last night she’d pulled her hair back for the Waldorfs’ party, but today it was down and looking pretty shaggy. Her blood-spattered white boy’s oxford shirt was frayed at the collar and cuffs, and through it, her purple lace bra was visible. On her feet was her favorite pair of brown lace-up boots, and her black stockings had a big hole behind one knee. But her new uniform was what stuck out the most.
    The new uniforms were the plague of the sixth grade, which was the year Constance girls graduated from tunics to skirts. The new skirts were made out of polyester and had unnaturally rigid pleats. The material had a