Free Social Suicide by Gemma Halliday Page B

from her pocket, checking the time. “I have a tutoring appointment in an hour and a half.”
    “I didn’t know you had a tutor.”
    She nodded. “She’s helping me study for the SATs.”
    I turned to her. “Sam, SATs aren’t until May.”
    “My dad believes in being prepared.”
    Clearly.
    I glanced at the kangaroo, still standing by his lonely self. “Go,” I said.
    She raised an eyebrow at me.
    “Just go. I’ll wait and watch for our cheat seller. I don’t want you to miss tutoring,” I said, even though the fact that our cheat seller was also likely a killer made me kinda shudder at the idea of facing him alone.
    Sam looked at her cell readout again. She pursed her lips. I could see a serious mental debate waging in the crease between her eyebrows. But finally, she put her phone away and shook her head.
    “No. I’m not leaving you alone. What if he tries to run, like Chris? You’re gonna need backup.”
    I gave her a quick hug. “Thanks.” As much as I didn’t want her to get in trouble for missing tutoring, I was definitely glad she was staying. Truth? I had no idea what I was doing. I totally needed backup.
    We settled in to silence again as we watched kids filter in and out of the playland, tired parents in tow. No one stopped at the kangaroo. Well, once a curly-haired little blond boy shouted at it and tried to bite its tail, but that was about it.
    I was just about to give up and concede that he wasn’t coming when a girl in a hot pink tank made her way to the entrance to playland.
    Without a kid.
    She had her back to us, so I couldn’t see her face, but from where we sat, I could tell she was about our age. Her hair was stick straight blond shot through with pale pink highlights, and she had on black skinny jeans, black slouching boots, and about a dozen silver bracelets on each wrist.
    She walked into the playland, then did a quick look over both shoulders before crouching down (with difficulty, due to the tight jeans), next to Mr. Kangaroo’s back left paw.
    Bingo.

Chapter Nine
    SAM AND I POPPED UP FROM THE BENCH AND CONVERGED on the girl. She stood and turned to go, and I recognized her face immediately. Drea Barlow.
    Drea was a cheerleader at our school, which meant she was constantly walking that fine line between sophisticated and slutty. Tight clothes, thick eyeliner, and padded bras were the uniform of all cheerleaders at our school, both on and off the field. Half the squad had tattoos, 90 percent had eating disorders, and every year they lost at least two of their ranks to unplanned pregnancies where serious calculations were needed just to figure paternity.
    While Drea was the last person I expected to be clever enough to be selling the cheats, her moral standards were just about right.
    “Busted,” I said as Sam and I approached her.
    Drea blinked at me. “Hartley? What are you doing here?”
    “Catching you in the act,” Sam answered for me.
    “In the act of what?” she asked, playing dumb. Or, honestly, maybe not acting all that much.
    “In the act of selling Sam the answers to next week’s history test.”
    “No way.” Drea shook her head. “I’m not selling anything. You’re totally wrong.”
    “Then what are you doing with my hundred bucks?” I asked, pointing to the cash in her hand.
    She looked down at it, then quickly shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans. Or it would have been quickly if they hadn’t been painted on. These were beyond skinny jeans. They were like a denim wet suit. She wiggled a little, struggling to hide the evidence as she continued shaking her head. “I found that money.”
    “We watched you walk right to it,” Sam pointed out.
    Drea bit her lip. “So? I can walk wherever I want. It’s a free country.”
    I gave her a “get real” look.
    “Get real,” Sam said, not content to stick with just a look. “Drea, you knew the money would be there because you’re the one who told us to put it there.”
    She shrugged. “Prove