The Wrong Girl (Return to Fear Street Book 2)

“I had to shampoo my hair three times, and I still can’t get rid of the smoke smell. It’s totally gross.”

I was in my room, a towel wrapped around my wet hair, stretched out on my back, fiddling with the belt on my bathrobe and talking with Poppy, who had called to share horror stories about having to confess to our parents.

She has only one parent. Her father is completely out of the picture, as far as I can tell. So I think that makes it easier for her.

When I phoned my parents and they came rushing to Division Street to see the smoldering remains of their car, they hugged and kissed me. Mom wiped away tears. They repeated again and again how relieved they were that I was okay.

Then they took turns saying how they would never be able to trust me again for the rest of my life. And they instantly teamed up in finding suitable punishments that would pretty much ruin every day of my life for at least my remaining days in high school.

“Listen, I can’t talk long,” I said. “My parents are downstairs waiting for me for another family conference. They’re busy dreaming up more ways to make my life a horror story.”

“My mom was very understanding,” Poppy said. Her words made me cringe. Understanding?

“Of course she was understanding!” I cried. “It wasn’t your car. We didn’t use your car—remember? Instead, we blew up my car.”

Silence at her end for a moment. Then, “Ivy, you don’t have to shout. You know I feel terrible—”

“How terrible?” I snapped. I could feel the anger burning through me. It started in my chest, a red-hot feeling that tightened my muscles as it traveled over my whole body.

I sat up straight. I felt like I was about to explode. Like my car. Waves of black smoke would come pouring out over my room.

I tried to hold myself back. I tried to fight the red anger down, but it was even in my eyes now. Poppy was my best friend. But I had to say it. I couldn’t hold it in.

“It was your fault, Poppy.” The words tumbled from my mouth.

“Ivy, wait—” she started.

But it was too late. Too late. “The smoke machine,” I said. “The smoke machine. What were you thinking?”

“I—I—” She could only stammer.

“You didn’t offer your car,” I shouted. “We took my car instead.”

“I know, but—”

“But what?”

“Ivy, you’re blaming me for everything?” Poppy’s voice caught on the words. I could hear that she was hurt, but at that moment, I didn’t care. I had to get it all out.

“No,” I said. “It’s Jack, too. If you hadn’t brought him around . . . If you hadn’t made him part of the group . . .”

“Then what?” I could hear her getting angry, too.

“Then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Listen, Ivy, you can blame me all you want. But you can’t blame Jack. I’m the one who wanted to teach Rose Groban a lesson. I’m the one who wanted to do something bad to Rose. It wasn’t Jack’s idea. It was mine.”

“He doesn’t belong in our group, Poppy.” I regretted the words as soon as I’d said them. I think I believed them, but I knew instantly it was a terrible thing to say.

“Jack doesn’t belong in our group?” Poppy’s voice went high and shrill. “Why? Because he’s fun?”

I took a breath. “No. Because he’s trouble.” With one hand, I rearranged the towel over my hair. I really had to get off the phone and dry it properly. This conversation had already gone on for too long. Way too long.

I wished I could rewind it and take out what I’d said about Jack. Because now Poppy was furious at me and even more upset than when she had called, which was plenty upset.

And now I was completely confused. Was I really angry at Poppy? Or was I just exploding because the whole night had gone so wrong and I was in so much trouble?

“Go ahead, blame me,” Poppy said, lowering her voice to a growl. “I can see you want to blame somebody. Well, fine. Blame me. The smoke machine . . . the revenge against Rose . . . using your car . . . it was all my idea. Blame me.”

“I . . . I’m sorry,” I said. “Listen, my parents are waiting downstairs to give me twenty lashes with a bullwhip and then boil me in oil. So I’ve got to go. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?”

Silence.

“Okay?”

“Good luck with your parents,” she said coldly. Then clicked off.

I sat there, suddenly numb. I didn’t want to lose Poppy as a friend. We’d shared too many good times together. I never should have mentioned Jack.

The room was spinning around me. I had the feeling that I was on a merry-go-round, and it was going too fast for me to jump off.

I stood up, holding onto the bedpost, and waited for the room to stop twirling. I started to the hall. Might as well face my parents and get it over with.

But as I stepped out of my room, my phone dinged. I raised it to my face and stared at the text message that had just appeared. Blinking, I read it twice. I gripped the phone hard to keep it from slipping from my hand. And then I cried out: “Manny did what?”