Dead Popular by Sue Wallman

Author:Sue Wallman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic UK
Published: 2019-09-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

The day of the party I woke feeling uneasy, but I went downstairs with Lo for breakfast anyway, as a distraction, even though it was Saturday and I didn’t need to.

There’d been no reply from Sasha. I hoped she’d changed her number, and hadn’t received any of Lo’s texts, or mine.

Sitting next to Lo, and hearing her say how excited she was at the possibility Sasha might turn up, made me incapable of eating my Saturday pancakes and maple syrup.

Most students seemed to know about the party even though only a fraction of them had been invited. Zeta wished me luck as we left the hall, and I almost told her she should drop by the beach house later to see it.

We waited until my godfather had forwarded us the code for the beach house’s key safe before we woke Meribel. As we left Pankhurst with bulging shopping bags of decorations and party food, Calding stepped out of her office. She was with the Furball, who did random shifts when the Ghost wasn’t around. The Furball often had a hacking cough, hence her name.

“Morning, girls.” Calding eyed our bags. “What on earth have you got there?”

We’d thought of our answer in advance, but it made us sound like we were from the eighteenth century when Meribel said it. “Picnic stuff and art things. We’re going up on the cliffs.” We opened the bags to show her. The decorations were hidden at the bottom; the fireworks were being delivered by Bernard and Tessa, and the alcohol by Monro.

Calding glanced into them briefly. “I see. Have a good time.”

“It’s marvellous you girls are getting some fresh air,” said the Furball.

Bernard and Tessa were waiting for us outside the beach house, next to a large cardboard box that was covered in FRAGILE stickers.

“The deluxe assortment,” said Bernard with pride, as if he’d given birth to the fireworks.

“Just make sure you don’t blow up the house,” said Meribel.

Bernard tutted.

“This is so exciting,” squealed Tessa.

I fumbled with the code on the key safe, my hand shaking a little. If I couldn’t get to the keys, everything would be an utter disaster. The box sprung open, and a single key on a plain grey keyring sat there. It slid into the lock smoothly, and the door opened into an empty hall with white walls and light wood flooring. I let out my breath and hoped nobody had seen how tense I’d been.

The house had the thick, stuffy smell of a space that needed airing. Meribel went ahead of me, opening doors, exclaiming loudly at the size of the place and the stripped-back style, telling us it was going to look incredible in everyone’s photos.

The large living room led to the kitchen in a big open-plan area. Everything was white, metal or smoothed driftwood. The Airbnb people had left a grey vase of white roses on the central island and two champagne flutes. In the American-style fridge was a small bottle of Moët. Nice touch.

We dumped our bags by the huge bi-fold doors.

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