Cheerleading Can Be Murder (Horror High #1) Read online

  Cheerleading Can Be Murder

  Horror High Series: Book One

  By Carissa Ann Lynch

  Cheerleading Can Be Murder

  Copyright © 2016 by Carissa Ann Lynch.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: April 2016

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-558-2

  ISBN-10: 1-68058-558-4

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  Dedicated to: Violet, Dexter, Tristian, and Shannon. You guys are the best cheerleaders a girl could ask for.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Epilogue

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  Prologue

  The Sociopath

  Do you want to know what death smells like? What it really smells like?

  Take a pound of raw meat—I recommend ground chuck. Stick it in a vacuum-sealed container. Place the container in the fridge and leave it there. A few months later, take it out. Remove the lid.

  Nothing can prepare you for the brick wall that smacks your face, filling every orifice of your body simultaneously.

  That smell…not only will it blow you away, but smells like that, they stick with you.

  Lifeless meat in a tight, confined space produces a smell sharp enough to burn the lashes off your eyelids.

  So, for the rest of the day you’ll be moving along…and then some small thing reminds you—little Tommy’s Happy Meal or a dump truck rolling by on garbage day—and your nose twitches, remembers, and the hairs inside your nostrils stiffen. Your throat tickles in the back, bile rising, and your belly rolls uncomfortably. You try to push the thought aside, to forget that smell, but…you can’t.

  Like I said, smells stick with you. Even months—maybe years—later, you’ll be walking along, minding your own business, when something—anything, really—reminds you of that smell.

  I know what death smells like…

  The house is empty, silent. The quiet consumes me, a welcoming blanket…a sign that it’s finally time.

  The mini-fridge was my grandma’s idea. A teenager now, she thought I deserved my own little space for drinks and snacks.

  I squatted down in front of it, listening to its hum. My heart pumped, excitement building. Today was the day.

  It’d been nearly six months now since I started my little “experiment.” I’d kept a journal, taking notes on my observations regarding the specimen. A disciplined endeavor.

  I’d done a lot of monitoring, but today was the day to really observe, up close and personal.

  I opened the fridge, enjoying the sticky “smooch” sound of the rubber seals on each side separating. A couple cans of soda sat on the top shelf. Generic cola, probably expired. On the bottom was my Tupperware container, its red cap securely fastened in place. Keeping all the smells inside…

  Carefully, I slid the container off the shelf, carrying it to the center of my bedroom floor, tiptoeing like a gymnast on a balance beam. I plopped on my belly, burning my bare knees across the carpet. I pressed my face to the plastic, looking inside like it was a tiny window. I made a funny face, pressing my lips to the side and blowing, exposing my teeth.

  Two eyes, wide and frozenly frightened, stared back at me through the plastic container. The eyeballs mushy now, there were tiny bits and pieces of egg-white eyeball chunks floating in the fluids surrounding its face. The once shiny black coat faded now to a murky brown color.

  Excitedly, I lifted the lid. Taking in the smells of death.

  “Meow.” I grinned at my stinky friend.

  It was a smell I’d never forget…hopefully.

  Chapter One

  Dakota

  In exactly six minutes, the morning bell at Harrow High will ring, inducting me in as a new freshman. Considering it was my first year of high school, I should have been excited about so many things, like hot senior boys, invitations to unchaperoned parties, and getting my driver’s license in the spring. Alternatively, I should have been worried about mean older girls, finding my classes, and remembering my locker combination. But there was one thing, and one thing only, that I was excited and worried about—Harrow High’s varsity cheerleading tryouts.

  I cheered in elementary and middle school, but what I’m talking about now is the Big Leagues. Harrow’s varsity cheerleading squad was one of the best in the nation for cheerleading competitions, and the basketball team they represented on game nights wasn’t too shabby either. I wanted it so bad I could taste it, and I’d been preparing for this my whole life with dance lessons and intense gymnastics training. I was skilled and peppy enough to deserve a spot on the team, but it simply wasn’t that easy. There were so many fa
ctors standing in my way of getting a fair shot at my dream.

  Here’s the deal—only six girls could make it, and for the past few years, the same six girls had held tightly to their positions. This year was different though because two of the six had graduated, leaving two vacant spots. Everyone who tried out was supposed to have an equal advantage, including the four returning cheerleaders, but I had no doubt that those same four would get their spots back.

  The first of the four returning members was Tasha Faraday, a lovely senior with dirty blonde hair, killer legs, and double D breasts despite being perfectly petite. Looks aside, she was a brilliant tumbler, the designated flyer for all pyramids and stunts, and an all-around terrific cheerleader. Her attitude and personality? Well, let’s just say those qualities paled in comparison to her cheerleading abilities and attractiveness.

  Tasha’s two sidekicks, Tally Johannsen and Teresa Darling, made up spots two and three. They were great cheerleaders too, but nobody could steal Tasha’s spotlight, not even her two blonde co-stars. Everyone at Harrow High referred to Tasha, Tally, and Teresa as the Triple Ts. In middle school, they were legends. Now it’s my chance to join them.

  The fourth returning cheerleader was Monika Rutherford. She was friendlier than the other three, but far less popular. With her olive skin and astounding height of six feet, she stood out like a sore thumb next to the three blondes. She served as a perfect spotter in the back of the pyramid because of her general size and strength.

  If all four got spots on the team, then that only left two empty spots to be filled. Normally, I would have been optimistic about my chances of getting one of those spots, but again, there were factors making it nearly impossible. There was a junior girl named Ashleigh Westerfield, who’d been trying out for the squad every year since she was a freshman. This was the first year she actually had a shot of making it, and according to rumors, the coach was going to give her a sympathy vote and let her join the squad.

  That left the one open spot. It should be mine, right? Wrong. Brittani Barlow, the bitch of the century and Principal Barlow’s daughter, was a freshman this year too, and she was trying out for the squad. Regardless of what anyone else thought, I knew that politics did matter, and there was no way the coach was going to turn down the principal’s daughter.

  So, if the returning four got their spots back, Ashleigh got a sympathy vote, and Brittani took a spot because of her mother, then that left a total of zero spots for me. It was a sad reality and I should have been bummed, but I wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  I was hoping that, by some miracle, I could beat out the returning four, Ashleigh, or Brittani. And as though my odds of beating out the veterans weren’t bad enough, I also had to contend with several other freshmen girls who were going to show up for tryouts today. There was my best friend, Sydney Hargreaves, and my arch nemesis, Genevieve McDermott. And last, but not least, Genevieve’s catty best friend, Mariella Martin.

  Stepping down from the bus, I smoothed my skirt nervously, approaching a swarm of buzzing new freshman. Boys and girls were gathered in the courtyard of Harrow High, primly pressed and dressed to the nines. The building itself was a gray, one-story, flat-roofed rectangle that sat smack dab in the middle of town. Nothing special, really. But inside that boring blob of a building lay the key to my hopes and dreams, and even if it was childish, I secretly walked with my fingers crossed. My odds of making the team were slim to none, but I couldn’t help feeling a teeny tiny glimmer of hope.

  The nervous ball of anxiety in the pit of my belly made it look elephantine. Who knew high school would be this intimidating?

  Taking a deep breath, I made a beeline for the front door, keeping my head down low, with one foot in front of the other.

  “What’s up, Dakota?” a boy named Ricki shouted. I wasn’t popular—not by any means. But when you grow up in a town this small, everybody knows your name.

  “Hi.” I smiled at him and a few other girls I recognized.

  I pushed my way through the heavy glass doors and began the short hike to my first period of the day, Biology.

  Brrrrrrrring! There’s the bell! Showtime!

  I dove into a seat in the back, tossing my backpack under the chair. Although I tried to focus on the genial-looking, middle-aged teacher leaning against the desk up front, my gaze was already darting back and forth, eager to pinpoint a clock on the wall. Tryouts seemed so far away…

  Class had just begun, but the clock’s ticking heartbeat punched the air, resonating in my head rhythmically. Tick tock, it mocked me.

  Chapter Two

  After Biology, I had to endure two more boring classes—Pre-Algebra and American History. In all three of my classes thus far, there hadn’t been a single friend or close acquaintance, which really sucked. Even though my mind was fixated on cheerleading tryouts, I’d still been hoping for an interesting first day.

  It was time for lunch, and after that I had three more periods—Spanish, Phys Ed, and Study Hall. For now, I focused on finding the lunch room and my best friend, Sydney. As I trudged through flocks of freshmen and upperclassmen, I kept on the lookout for her. It didn’t take long to find her.

  Sydney was beautiful in her own right, with long, coal-black hair that hung to her waist, flawless skin, and crystal blue eyes. Even though we’d been best friends since grade school, her beauty still stunned me every time I saw her. She reminded me of one of those porcelain dolls that were lovely and creepy at the same time.

  When it came to cheerleading, Sydney was less practiced in dance and tumbling than me, but she learned routines easily and could win people over with her elegance and friendly disposition. The last thing I wanted to do was think of her as competition today but ultimately, that’s exactly what she was. I just hoped like hell we could both find some miraculous way to make the squad together…

  The thought of the two of us standing next to each other on the sidelines of Harrow’s basketball court was enough to make my heart fill with glee.

  Sydney was standing in the hallway in front of the lunchroom, looking around anxiously. Searching for me, I presumed. I struggled to push through a wall of seniors to reach her, finally catching her eye. She waved and smiled just as I felt a hard shove from behind. I plunged headlong, struggling to retain my balance, my new Keds skidding noisily across the linoleum floor.

  “Watch it, bitch!” came a nasally voice, and I instantly knew it was one of the Triple Ts, specifically the head T—Tasha. I recovered from the push and adjusted my bag, trying to ignore the flush of embarrassment dotting my cheeks.

  In middle school, I’d attended a few of the high school games so I knew what Tasha looked like. Unbelievably, she looked even prettier up close. She stood in front of me now, hands on her hips haughtily, with her clan standing as back up behind her. I wasn’t in the mood for this. I pushed her back with my shoulder, moving forward through the hallway.

  “See you at tryouts today,” I shouted over my shoulder, and I couldn’t believe the words as they were coming out of my mouth. Challenging Tasha Faraday was a mistake—anyone with half a brain knew that. She pretty much ruled the school. Tasha chuckled behind me, its echo following me down the hallway.

  “Don’t waste your time, sweetheart. You don’t have a chance in hell of making the squad. Right?” she said, riling up her surrounding comrades. I glanced back, recognizing T2 and T3, Tally and Teresa. I also noticed Monika standing behind them in the shadows. Tally and Teresa giggled at Tasha’s insult, but Monika glanced down at her shoes apologetically.

  By the time I reached Sydney, my blood was still boiling from the confrontation. Sydney was wearing a horrified expression on her face. “You didn’t,” she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Oh, screw Tasha. She doesn’t scare me.” I stuck out my chin defiantly. I reminded myself to keep my head up as we headed to the end of the lunch line.

  Sydney told me about her first three classes as we waited in line, trays in hand. I wasn’
t very hungry, and honestly, I was barely listening to her. All I could think about were Tasha’s words, and how I had to somehow prove the Triple Ts wrong.

  “Dakota, are you even listening?” Sydney nudged my shoulder playfully.

  “I’m sorry. I just have a lot on my mind,” I admitted guiltily.

  “Tryouts.” She nodded sympathetically. “I’m worried about them too.”

  Sydney probably was nervous for tryouts, but I suspected that her worries came nowhere near mine. I couldn’t seem to think of anything else.

  “There he is,” Sydney mumbled, rolling her eyes. I didn’t have to look. I already knew who she meant. It was Ronnie Becklar, my one-time boyfriend and the biggest heartbreaker of all time. He entered the lunchroom with a strut, dressed in skinny black jeans and a stupid faded t-shirt. He didn’t give me a passing glance, but that was no real surprise.

  Ronnie and I started dating in eighth grade. I should have known it was too good to be true because he was so popular, and I was so…well, unpopular. It started with him passing flirty notes in math class. He told me I was pretty and asked for my phone number. Even after we officially became boyfriend and girlfriend, I quickly realized that he liked to flirt with all of the girls, not just me. Toward the end of the school year, he became more distant.

  At first, he claimed he was breaking up with me because he wanted to focus on basketball. He’d excelled at sports in middle school, and just like with me and cheerleading, this was his time to shine as a varsity player at Harrow High. But ever since he told me we were breaking up, he’d pretty much acted like I didn’t exist.

  Ronnie crossed the lunchroom cheerfully, and as I followed his path, my stomach dropped. He took a seat next to his new girlfriend, who also happened to be my arch nemesis, Genevieve McDermott. Genevieve would be at tryouts today too, and I wanted to beat her out for a spot on the team for personal reasons, obviously. Namely, because although Ronnie claimed that he dumped me because he needed to focus on sports, I knew the real reason—he dumped me for Genevieve.