The Wrong Girl (Return to Fear Street Book 2)

Like a dream, what happened next didn’t seem to take place in real time. Some of it came at me so fast, I couldn’t take it in. And some of it was in painful slow motion so the unfolding horror had plenty of time to soak into my brain.

When the flames leaped from Ivy’s car, I gripped her hand and stared as if I’d never seen flames before. I saw Jack reach up, grab Manny, and pull him from the roof of the SUV, where he was recording the whole scene. Manny fell, landed on his knees on the pavement, and Jack pulled him to his feet.

Then Jack and Manny were both screaming and gesturing frantically, “Run! Get away!” And I saw Jeremy, his eyes wide with fright, push himself off the side of his car and start to run.

Hypnotized by the darting flames, Ivy and I lingered—too long—and when the flames reached the gas tank and the car exploded with a deafening roar, we felt the heat on our backs as we were running after Jeremy. I opened my mouth in a shrill animal scream as the force of the explosion shoved me into Ivy, and we both went down.

Am I on fire?

The horrifying question forced out all other thought. I rolled on the pavement, forced myself to sit up—and realized I was unharmed. My back still burned from the heat of the explosion. My skin tingled. My heart pounded so hard, my chest ached. But I wasn’t hurt.

Ivy and I helped each other up. We turned and watched the three cars burning. Flames rising high, clouds of black smoke curtaining the purple evening sky. The thunder-roar of the explosion fading in my ears, I began to hear the screams and shouts all around. And I saw the frightened faces as people ran from the burning cars, expecting another explosion.

“Here come the police.” Jack was at my side now, pulling me across the street, my legs not cooperating, stumbling, stiff.

“Is everyone okay?” I screamed. “Is everyone okay? Is everyone okay?” I don’t know how many times the cry escaped my throat. I couldn’t stop. Until I saw Ivy and Jeremy and Manny at the side of the old oak tree, the fat, gnarled trunk so familiar. I must have passed it a thousand times on the way to school. So solid and real while the screams and shouts and pounding footsteps were all a dream taking place across the street.

Someone else’s nightmare. No. Ours.

“Listen! Listen to me!” Jack desperately trying to corral us and get our attention. The flames were reflected on our faces, as if we carried them with us.

Jeremy leaned heavily against the tree trunk and lowered his head. He moaned. “I . . . feel sick.”

“Listen to me! Listen to me!” Jack still trying. I was so dazed, his voice sounded a hundred miles away. I saw dark-uniformed police circling the cars, moving the crowd back. And the high drone of fire-truck sirens, rising and falling as they came into view.

“This wasn’t a prank!” Jack screamed, trying to pull us together. I saw Jeremy being sick, hanging onto the tree trunk, turning his head away from us as he puked.

“Listen to me!” Jack was shaking Ivy by the shoulders, I guess trying to get the dazed-zombie expression off her face. Her hair was wild and tangled, but she made no attempt to straighten it.

All of us stood in wide-eyed disbelief, not talking, not looking at each other . . .

And this was my idea. This was all my fault.

I gazed at the crowd of people, the cars backed up along Division Street for miles. And a crazy thought flashed through my mind: At least Rose is standing there at school with no one in the audience.

Then I thought: dumb. Everything about this was dumb.

My idea . . . My idea . . .

And now, Jack, shaking his head, turned and crossed the street. I watched him step up to two police officers. They removed their caps and scratched their heads, almost in unison, as he talked with them.

A fire hose had been put into action. The flames were gone, and only the black smoke, the choking black smoke, remained, casting us in a dark fog. I could taste it, so bitter, on the back of my throat. Ivy began to cough. I pulled the scarf from around my neck and handed it to her to wrap around her mouth and nose.

Jack was gesturing to us, talking rapidly with the two officers. I waved a hand in front of my face, trying to clear a wisp of smoke away. Squinting across the street, I focused on Jack and the two cops. And I gasped when I thought I recognized the short, heavy one.

Was that the same cop who’d driven up beside me and stared at me from his patrol car?

“Oh, wow.” I realized he kept turning his head from Jack and glancing at me.

Yes. The same cop who wouldn’t answer me. Who’d just sat and stared. And now, here he came. He was trotting across the street toward us, his big stomach bobbing in front of him, his eyes on me.

Jack remained talking to the other officer. But this one was definitely coming for me.

What did he want?

What did he know?