The Wrong Girl (Return to Fear Street Book 2)

My mask slipped and the eye holes moved. I couldn’t see a thing. I stumbled and bumped into Ivy and nearly knocked her over. Jack grabbed my shoulder and steadied me.

“Hands high! This is a robbery!” Jack screamed.

Manny leaped to the side of the counter and trained his phone lens on us. I pulled at the mask with my free hand until I could see again.

Harlow had been leaning on the counter, hair down over his forehead, typing on an iPad. As we burst forward, screaming, his eyes went wide, his arms flew up, and he backed up till he hit the cigarette display on the wall. A frightened squeak escaped his lips.

My brain was doing flip-flops. Jack said Harlow was in on the joke, I thought. He looks really frightened.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed that weird guy, Lucas. He was leaning on a broom by the door to the little supply room. His dark eyes were wide and his mouth hung open, but he didn’t move. He stood there like a statue, one hand on the broom handle, one hand suspended in air as if he was the one being robbed.

“Pull out all your cash. Hurry!” Jack ordered. His voice was muffled by the black mask. “Hurry!”

Harlow squinted hard and eyed him as if trying to identify him. He took a step toward the counter, but he didn’t make a move to open his cash drawer.

“You kids don’t want to do this,” he said quietly. He glanced from Jeremy to Ivy to me. “Trust me. You want to leave now and think later about how you almost ruined your lives.”

“Shut up!” Jack screamed. He sounded so angry he made me jump. I felt my heart leap into my throat.

“Listen to me,” Harlow insisted, returning Jack’s stare. “This isn’t worth it. You’re going to be caught. Your lives—all of you—will be wrecked.”

What is happening? I wondered. He’s supposed to be in on the joke!

I was there when Jack spoke to him. He was in on it. Was he just a good actor?

“If you turn around and leave now, I won’t call the police or make any complaint,” Harlow continued. He tapped the counter with his fingertips, the only sign he might be nervous. “Do you hear me?”

“Shut up!” Jack screamed again. “Shut up, shut up, shut up! I’m warning you, old man.”

He and Harlow continued their staring match.

“Just hand over the cash,” Jack ordered. “Hand it over—no more crap!”

Harlow nodded. His expression changed. He tightened his lips and his eyes grew cold.

“Hurry!” Jack screamed.

Harlow reached for the drawer in the counter and began to pull it open.

Jack bumped my shoulder hard. I cried out, startled.

“He’s going for his gun,” Jack shouted. “Shoot him! Shoot him—fast—Poppy!”

I raised the pistol. I couldn’t think. Everything went bright white, as if there was some kind of electrical surge. I felt a surge in my brain, too. As if a powerful charge was burning away all thought.

“Shoot him!” Jack cried.

And the gun went off. I didn’t even mean to pull the trigger. The gun went off with a powerful explosion, powerful enough to make my arm jerk behind me. So loud. So loud.

The gun went off—and Harlow grabbed his head with both hands.

I shot him in the head!

A long horrifying groan of pain escaped Harlow’s open mouth. His eyes rolled up in his head. His hands fell away from his face, and he slumped behind the counter, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

“Nooooooo!” I shrieked. “Noooooo! I shot him. I shot him.”

I spun away, the floor tilting and swaying. I waved frantically at Manny. “Turn it off! Turn it off, Manny. I shot him. I shot him in the head!”