They All Fall Down (10 page)

A few minutes later, I can practically taste all that stuff as I sit in the chair usually reserved for Blake, Molly’s eighteen-year-old brother, who left for Ohio State this fall. Of course, he was friends with Conner, so I’m always relieved when he’s
not here. I don’t like to imagine what Conner would be like now, in his first year of college.

Around the table, I’m joined by Hunter and nine-year-old Kayla and Molly’s amazing parents, who never pass each other without a quick touch or even a kiss.

Not going to lie: Molly’s family makes my shattered home look even worse than it is.

After we pray and the rush to scoop up lasagna and salad begins, Mr. Russell turns his attention to Molly. “A party, you say?”

I feel myself tighten; is he going to talk us out of going? That’s what would happen at my house. But this is the Russell home and the rules—and conversations—are different here.

“At Josh Collier’s house,” Molly says, a bit of pride in her voice, as if she’s longed to go to a party like that since we got to high school.

“Oooh,” Molly’s mom coos. “I’m jealous. That is a gorgeous house.”

“Is his dad loaded or something?” Hunter asks as he serves himself enough lasagna to feed a small country. “ ’Cause you should marry him, Molly, and have him buy me a Corvette.”

“Aww.” Molly angles her head and gives him a pitying look. “Did your anti-idiot pill prescription run out?”

“Molly,” Mr. Russell says softly.

“It’s his grandfather who’s loaded,” Mrs. Russell informs us. “His parents passed away many years ago.”

I look up from my plate. “Really?”

“Oh, yes, tragic accident.”

My first bite of lasagna threatens to lodge in my throat, so I grab a sip of milk.

“What happened?” Molly asks for me.

“Terrible boating accident while they were on vacation somewhere off the coast of Virginia. I don’t remember where, but it made the news because the whole family was on a yacht that sank.”

“Oh, wow,” I manage.

“Sad,” Molly says.

“Cool, a yacht,” Hunter adds, getting a vile look from Molly.

“Josh was a baby and his grandfather rescued him from drowning, as I recall. But both parents were killed. They never found the bodies, either. So awful.”

“I’ve heard Josh is really close to his grandfather,” Molly says.

“The better to get in the will,” Hunter jokes.

“You’re a jerk.”

“Molly …”

The teasing and chiding continue, but I just stare at my plate.
Accidentia eveniunt
.

“What did you say?” Hunter asks me.

I look up, not aware I’d spoken out loud.

“Kenzie talks to herself in Latin,” Molly explains.

As Hunter hoots, impressed, I smile. “I said ‘accidents happen.’ ”

Mrs. Russell sighs. “You know, I tried so hard to get the job to decorate that house a few years ago, but lost out to some big New York design firm. There aren’t many houses like that in Vienna.”

“Want me to take secret pictures so you can see what the other designer did?” Molly asks.

“Yeah,” Hunter says. “You could steal ideas for Mom.”

He earns a dark frown from his mother. “I don’t have to steal
ideas, young man. But …” She turns to Molly. “Yes. Take a ton. I never got into the house but I’ve heard it’s amazing, with an indoor swimming pool and a ten-car garage, adjacent to some of the prettiest parts of Nacht Woods.”

“So what banks did this guy rob?” Molly’s dad asks.

Mrs. Russell nods, clearly knowing her Collier family info. “The grandfather, who’s retired, of course, made a killing on Wall Street, as I understand it. Really hit it huge in the go-go eighties.”

“Where’d they go-go?” Kayla asks, making everyone laugh.

I eat quietly, listening to the banter, trying not to let it hollow me out because there isn’t anything like this at my dinner table, even on the nights Dad comes over.

“I still think it’s odd to have a party when a girl’s dead,” Mr. Russell says.

“Oh, Tim, they’re kids.” Mrs. Russell holds out the lasagna dish to me with a smile. “More, honey? And it’s probably very healthy for all of them to get together and remember this girl.” She shakes her head. “I can’t imagine what her mother is feeling tonight.”

Her mother! I suddenly remember mine. I haven’t checked my phone in hours, but since she hasn’t tracked me down here, I’m going to guess that my mother hasn’t heard the news yet. How will she act when she learns that a classmate of mine died in an accident?

Of course, I can assure her I’m not going to get drunk and jump off cliffs, but still, this will tilt Mom sideways.

“Has there been anything else about Olivia on the news?” I ask.

“They’re saying it was a freak accident and they’ll be
reinforcing the fencing around the quarry so kids can’t go there to party,” Mr. Russell says. “The No Trespassing signs apparently aren’t enough.”

“What about …” I push some salad around, looking down, thinking of Levi. “The kids who were there? Do they know who they were yet?”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Russell says. “They haven’t released any names. Those kids could get in trouble for trespassing.”

Was that all they could be in trouble for? “So they’re sure it was an accident?”

“So far,” Mr. Russell says. “I guess they’re still investigating.”

Mrs. Russell shakes her head, sending a warning look to Molly. “Those kids were drinking and smoking pot.”

“Duh,” Molly says with a sarcastic choke.

But her father is eyeing her just as hard. “Will there be drinking at this party tonight?”

“I don’t know, Dad,” she says. “But Kenzie and I don’t party. No worries.”

“It’s not you I worry about,” he says. “It’s the idiots who can’t handle the peer pressure. But, okay, you girls use common sense.”

“And call if you need anything,” Mrs. Russell adds. “Even a ride.”

The conversation is so foreign to me, I’m in stunned silence. My mother would have gone ballistic over the whole topic. This is so much better, so much easier and nicer and more normal. God, I want that. I know our family’s broken and we can never fill the void of Conner’s death, but couldn’t we at least try?

“We’re good, Mom,” Molly assures her, pushing away from the table. “Let’s get going, Kenz.”

I get up with her. For the moment, anyway, I’m at the Russell house and I’m going to a party and I just want to revel in the fun and normalcy of that.

“Hey.” Hunter grabs his sister’s arm. “Saturday is your cleanup day.”

Her face falls and she looks at her mom. “Can’t we switch for tomorrow?”

Mrs. Russell nods and shoos us away. “Come and say goodbye before you leave.”

Hunter starts to balk, but Kayla jumps up to offer to do Molly’s cleanup. A little chaos ensues while we slip out of the kitchen and I’m surprised at how much I’d love to just sit around that table for hours with a family that is so whole and happy.

But I have only myself to blame for that.

CHAPTER X

H
oly crap, the Colliers are rich. Molly parks her car at the end of what feels like a half-mile-long driveway, lit up by fake gas lamps. At least fifty cars are in the drive and along the street. Some I recognize from the lot at school, some I don’t. This “little gathering” has to have a hundred kids already, and we’re early.

“Hey, Kenzie!”

I turn at the sound of a girl’s voice and see one of them emerging from a group of kids, coming toward me. In the dim light, I can’t quite make out who it is.

“It’s Chloe Batista,” Molly supplies under her breath.

She’s wearing superskinny jeans and boots, her cropped top riding high on her bare midriff. She’s cute—and has to be freezing—but, really, nothing extraordinary to look at. “How did she ever get number two?” I whisper.

“Are you forgetting the blow jobs?”

Oh, yeah. “Hi, Chloe,” I call back to her.

“Hey, you,” she says, super friendly, as she threads long blond hair highlighted with pink tips through her fingers. When she reaches me, I can see a tiny nose stud and false eyelashes that she didn’t have on at the school today. Guess a lot of us tried a little harder for the party tonight.

“Hey, do you know Molly Russell?” I ask Chloe.

Forced to acknowledge my friend, Chloe barely nods. “Hey.” Then she takes me by the elbow and guides me a few feet away. “Can I talk to you, like, privately?” she asks.

I turn to Molly, ready to say
No, she’s my friend and stays with me
, but Molly nods. “I’ll see you in there, Kenzie.”

“No, Molly, come on,” I insist.

Chloe squeezes my arm and gives me a purposeful look. “We can’t, Kenzie. List rules.”

I open my mouth to say
Screw the list
, but Molly holds up both hands to stop me. “Seriously, Kenz, I’m fine. Come and get me when you’re done.” She gives a quick smile to Chloe, not quite hiding the disappointment in her eyes.

Before I can stop her, Molly takes off and Chloe slips her arm through mine, a whiff of lemon body spray emanating from her. “We’re going into the woods.”

“Why?” I ask, walking with her because curiosity has gotten the better of me and I’m still hoping for answers about what happened to Olivia.

“Because it’s where we meet.” She tightens her squeeze a little and checks out my confused face. “We, the sisters, hon. Except, of course, we’re missing one.” She snorts softly, as if she’s amused by the irony. “Number one.”

The complete lack of sadness in those words—so different
from the tears in the junior lot today—creeps me out and slows my step.

“Let’s go. I’ve been waiting for you,” she says, tugging my arm.

So I follow her across the vast lawn toward a dense forested area that’s more or less the everyday scenery in this part of Vienna. Nacht Woods is made up of miles of pine-filled paths, creeks, and cliffs. The woods are a haven for hikers and even hunters, as beautiful as any state park, but not a place I’d venture into at night.

Yet I’m venturing right along with my new friend, Chloe. Leaves crunch under my sneakers and the light grows dimmer as we get farther away from the Colliers’ house.

“You party, right?”

I just look at her, clueless at how to answer because the truth will be … uncool. I’ve never had a drink in my life.

“I mean you drink, right?”

No way I’m copping to my total geekiness, not at my first party with this crowd. “Once in a while,” I reply with a shrug.

“Well, this is once in a while, Kenzie.” She still has me by the arm and gives me another squeeze, pulling me along.

After an awkward silence, I say, “It’s so sad about Olivia.”

“Yeah, jeez. What an idiot.”

I hesitate again, and not only because we’ve reached the tree line and I don’t see anyone nearby. How far are we going into these woods? “Why would you say that?” I ask. “You were just singing her funeral dirge this afternoon.”

“And I meant it, I’m sad. But come on. Who does that? Drunk boys from West Virginia jump off cliffs, not normal girls like Olivia Thayne. But I guess I’m like the leader since
now I’m at the, well, top.” Her voice trails off as we round a thick group of evergreens, the needles scraping my jacket as she guides me in. “We’re at Meesha Mound.” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “Indian burial ground, you know. Cool, huh?”

“Very.”

She misses my sarcasm and takes me down a dark path. Almost instantly, I see the lights of a few cell phones and make out a small circle of girls sitting in a clearing at the foot of a hill.

“Guys, I got her,” Chloe says. “Number five.”

It’s weird to be introduced that way, but I fold down in the place Chloe indicates, right between Amanda and Dena, who are numbers four and six.

“Welcome, Five,” Dena says with a soft giggle, the smell of beer oozing off her breath.

“All right, we’re all here,” Chloe says, sitting down across from me. “The Sisters of the List.”

I can’t help snorting a laugh, figuring this
has
to be a joke.

But eight pairs of pretty damn serious eyes look back at me.

“Is that the name we picked?” Amanda asks.

“We picked a name?” I blurt out.

Chloe sighs as if she has to explain something to a child. “Every year, the list girls give themselves their own name. You know, like our secret club.”

“Okay,” I say slowly. How does she know that happens every year?

“I like Sisters of the List,” Kylie Leff says, leaning into Amanda. “We’ve been blood sisters since kindergarten.” She holds up a single knuckle and Amanda meets it with one of
her own in the most feminine and lackluster knuckle tap in history. “So it’s perfect.”

“Should we vote on the name?” Shannon Dill, number seven, asks.

“We don’t need to vote,” Chloe says. “I decided.”

Dena sputters. “Who died and left you in charge?”

Two girls gasp at the question; the rest of us stare slack-jawed at Dena. She throws both hands over her mouth and lets out a little cry. “Oh my God, I didn’t mean that.”

After a beat, someone laughs nervously. “It’s okay, Dena. We know you didn’t.”

Chloe produces a frosted bottle from a handbag behind her and holds it high. “We don’t need to vote,” she says again, ignoring Dena’s faux pas. “Tradition says you drink on it. And our tradition is now”—she turns to read the bottle—“Three Olives grape-flavored vodka, thanks to my sister’s boyfriend.” She unscrews the top and sniffs. “Thank God I’m allergic to peanuts and not grapes. Girls, you’re gonna like this tradition.”

“Tradition?” I say, unable to keep the derision out of my voice. “Why would there be a tradition?”

“I’m second generation,” Chloe says proudly, like that explains anything at all.

“You mean your mother was on the list?” Bree asks.

Chloe gives one confident nod. “She was number four in 1990. They called themselves the Babes of the New Decade.”

I laugh again, and Dena does the same, only her reaction is a loud guffaw.

“You think this is funny?” Chloe snaps.

All the others are looking at me, and I glance at Dena, who has somehow become my partner in this, courtesy of one hug this afternoon and a shared laugh tonight.