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Authors: Lisa Roecker
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all of Bethany’s friends were looking for her.
B, where are you? Return my texts, you biatch.
If you’re hooking up with you-know-who, I’m gonna kick your ass.
Bethany, CALL ME.
Um…is this a joke? Where are you? We’ve been waiting an hour.
I hope you got a ride home. Almost missed curfew and had to leave. Where were you?
Bethany, hellooooo? You there?
The messages spanned pages, and I felt the fear creep higher up the back of my throat. The scream from Obsideo rang in my ears again. If Bethany really was missing and the scream belonged to her…No. It was all just a misunderstanding. It had to be. Beefany was more than capable of taking care of herself.
My phone buzzed on my desk and I jumped. I had one new message from an unknown number, making my stomach muscles heave.
I closed my eyes for a second. If I opened the message, there would be no turning back. I’d be in. But if my finger slipped and hit Delete, it’s not like things would go back to normal. Another text would come, or someone would show up at my house, or I’d start seeing people who weren’t really there or getting emails from Grace. For whatever reason, I was involved.
My eyes opened and I clicked the message. I’d deal with whatever this was—for better or for worse.
For worse.
It was a picture of Bethany, her eyes wild, her mouth gagged.
End the Sisterhood, or lose another.
In that instant, a few things became clear as day despite my foggy brain.
Bethany could not take care of herself. What happened to Grace could happen to another girl. I had the power to stop it from happening. And more than anything else, I was going to need help.
Chapter 10
Unlike 99 percent of kids my age, I didn’t have to be dragged out of bed that Sunday morning. I’d spent what was left of the night watching the numbers on my clock dissolve into each other, waiting for a new day that I hoped would bring me answers. After packing my bag, I fabricated a class project and managed to score a ride to the library with my dad. There was only one person who would know how to handle a text with a picture of a missing girl and a ransom demand of ending a secret society, and that was Ms. D. (Officer D. if you pissed her off.)
Station 9, the PB library, was my favorite building on campus and like the clock tower was featured as one of Pemberly Brown’s most notable landmarks. The gigantic, repurposed Tudor mansion had been built for Pemberly’s original headmistress and featured all sorts of hidden passageways and secret nooks. Ivy blanketed the surface, even in the winter months, and the building stood proud at the highest point on campus. Since it was the only building open twenty-four hours a day, a constant stream of kids trickled through the front doors at any given hour. Most were armed with heavy bags stuffed with actual work and what I considered the luxury of being able to tell their parents the truth.
Two years ago, I might have walked in their shoes, but as I waved good-bye to my dad, I realized I’d never again be one of those kids. The kind who could look their parents in the eye and tell them exactly what they were doing, where they were going. Well, at least not until I dealt with the warring societies that seemed determined to destroy my life.
Ms. D. was not at her normal post reading the morning paper, and the quiet was unsettling as I breezed through the door. Normally she’d make a joke without looking up, welcoming me as if she’d been waiting all morning for the moment I’d arrive. Today, the silence just added to the already cavernous pit in the bottom of my stomach. I craned my neck to peer through the hallway back to her personal office and saw Ms. D. rubbing at her eyes, her glasses resting on the desk in front of her. It looked like she’d had just as long a night as me.
A former PB history teacher, Ms. D. was now in charge of campus security. She was what my mom referred to as “big boned,” and although she was in her
B, where are you? Return my texts, you biatch.
If you’re hooking up with you-know-who, I’m gonna kick your ass.
Bethany, CALL ME.
Um…is this a joke? Where are you? We’ve been waiting an hour.
I hope you got a ride home. Almost missed curfew and had to leave. Where were you?
Bethany, hellooooo? You there?
The messages spanned pages, and I felt the fear creep higher up the back of my throat. The scream from Obsideo rang in my ears again. If Bethany really was missing and the scream belonged to her…No. It was all just a misunderstanding. It had to be. Beefany was more than capable of taking care of herself.
My phone buzzed on my desk and I jumped. I had one new message from an unknown number, making my stomach muscles heave.
I closed my eyes for a second. If I opened the message, there would be no turning back. I’d be in. But if my finger slipped and hit Delete, it’s not like things would go back to normal. Another text would come, or someone would show up at my house, or I’d start seeing people who weren’t really there or getting emails from Grace. For whatever reason, I was involved.
My eyes opened and I clicked the message. I’d deal with whatever this was—for better or for worse.
For worse.
It was a picture of Bethany, her eyes wild, her mouth gagged.
End the Sisterhood, or lose another.
In that instant, a few things became clear as day despite my foggy brain.
Bethany could not take care of herself. What happened to Grace could happen to another girl. I had the power to stop it from happening. And more than anything else, I was going to need help.
Chapter 10
Unlike 99 percent of kids my age, I didn’t have to be dragged out of bed that Sunday morning. I’d spent what was left of the night watching the numbers on my clock dissolve into each other, waiting for a new day that I hoped would bring me answers. After packing my bag, I fabricated a class project and managed to score a ride to the library with my dad. There was only one person who would know how to handle a text with a picture of a missing girl and a ransom demand of ending a secret society, and that was Ms. D. (Officer D. if you pissed her off.)
Station 9, the PB library, was my favorite building on campus and like the clock tower was featured as one of Pemberly Brown’s most notable landmarks. The gigantic, repurposed Tudor mansion had been built for Pemberly’s original headmistress and featured all sorts of hidden passageways and secret nooks. Ivy blanketed the surface, even in the winter months, and the building stood proud at the highest point on campus. Since it was the only building open twenty-four hours a day, a constant stream of kids trickled through the front doors at any given hour. Most were armed with heavy bags stuffed with actual work and what I considered the luxury of being able to tell their parents the truth.
Two years ago, I might have walked in their shoes, but as I waved good-bye to my dad, I realized I’d never again be one of those kids. The kind who could look their parents in the eye and tell them exactly what they were doing, where they were going. Well, at least not until I dealt with the warring societies that seemed determined to destroy my life.
Ms. D. was not at her normal post reading the morning paper, and the quiet was unsettling as I breezed through the door. Normally she’d make a joke without looking up, welcoming me as if she’d been waiting all morning for the moment I’d arrive. Today, the silence just added to the already cavernous pit in the bottom of my stomach. I craned my neck to peer through the hallway back to her personal office and saw Ms. D. rubbing at her eyes, her glasses resting on the desk in front of her. It looked like she’d had just as long a night as me.
A former PB history teacher, Ms. D. was now in charge of campus security. She was what my mom referred to as “big boned,” and although she was in her
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