Page 37 of We’re All Going to Die Tonight!

I wish I was the kind of person who could be strong and fearless when everything goes to shit. Someone who could think things through in milliseconds and make the right decisions. But that’s never been me. I’ve always gone to pieces, and I hate it.

“Marlene?”

Avery pushes a cup of water into my hands. Even though Caulder told us that the telephone wires were ripped out, she keeps alternating between picking up the landline to listen for a tone and bringing me things to keep me busy. I think she hopes that she can fix at least one of our problems: the phone or me. So far, though, the phone remains broken.

The jury’s still out on me.

I take the water from Avery, sipping a little. My throat’s raw from sucking in air, and the cool liquid helps. Avery smiles at me before walking away, gnawing on a freshly bloody cuticle before shoving her hands in her sleeves. She heads into the living room and begins to pick up the clothes still on the floor from Emerson’s “prank,” piling them on the chair opposite Lucas. The whole time, her eyes keep flitting to him, as if he’ll suddenly sit up and say, “Surprise! I’m fine!”

No such luck.

Right now, it’s our job to keep an eye on Lucas while the others check the house. Essentially, we’ve been given the job for people who have zero actual survival skills.

Avery returns to the kitchen and picks up the phone again, but this time, she holds it out like she’s inspecting it, like if she stares at it long enough, she’ll be able to figure out exactly how to resurrect it. When she can’t make it work, she throws it down and returns to hovering near me, her arms crossed as her eyes dart around the room.

“If they don’t find anything, what will we do?” I ask.

Ever since I first joined the club, Avery’s always had the answers. She’s always been the one with our practice schedules, our itineraries. She did my orientation and took me through all the basics. She told me everything I could’ve ever needed to know about debate.

But this, obviously, isn’t that. Outside, in the rain, Mr. Jay’s body is already starting to rot in tiny, microscopic ways. It’s a crime scene. At some point—if we’re lucky enough to survive the night—we’ll be asked about him, about his death. And that’s not even accounting for the other teachers. I still refuse to believe they’re dead, too. After all, Lucas is over there right now, alive and breathing, so they might be, as well. My guess is they’re out there and in need of our help. Or maybe they found Mr. Jay’s body and ran.

One look at Avery tells me she’s running through the same roster of facts, thinking through every possible angle. She worries her lip, taking a seat on the other stool. Her foot jiggles, keeping her in constant motion.

“Caulder’s right,” she whispers. “The most important thing is that we stay calm. But I’m worried…The longer Lucas goes without medical attention, the lower the chance he survives this. And even Emerson…His injuries are minor, but they’ll need to be treated at some point. And…”

And Mr. Jay.

They’ll need to see him, too, if only to pronounce him dead.

“So you think we should leave?” I ask. “To go find help?”

She shakes her head. “No. I don’t. I mean, we can’t all leave. Not with Lucas here. And not with…Well, the attacker could be outside, couldn’t they?”

“So could the other teachers.”

She nods and looks at the window. It’s still pitch-black, the rain a steady thrum all around us. That, and the footsteps in the house. Caulder’s footsteps, and Emerson’s and Kaitlyn’s and Javi’s.

“Marlene,” she says quietly. “What’d you say to Javi in Spanish?”

I was wondering when she would ask me. She doesn’t ask the other question, but I hear it anyway: What did you want to say to him that you didn’t want the rest of us to hear? I hadn’t known Caulder spoke Spanish at first, but it didn’t matter. Really, the only one I was hiding my words from was Emerson.

I don’t trust him. I’ll never trust him, but especially not now.

“I basically just wanted him to calm down,” I say. “Leave Emerson alone. He’s trouble.”

“Javi’s trouble?”

I bite out a laugh. “No. Emerson.”

She doesn’t look convinced, even though I know she and Emerson have their own issues. And I get why she would assume I meant Javi. Even at Davis Prep, before I transferred, I heard about what Javi did to Warren Kane and saw the pictures on social media that circulated. I remember the purple skin, the stitches along his jaw, the swollen eye, which doctors apparently worried he wouldn’t be able to see out of. Some students whispered that Warren had had to drink all his food for months. There were other rumors that Javi shattered Warren’s kneecap so bad that there were bits of bone floating around in his cartilage afterward. He had to have surgery to fix it, and there was even a period of time when people thought he’d have his D1 scholarships pulled for football.

But right now, it’s not Javi I’m worried about. It’s Emerson. Avery should understand that. After all, he’s the one throwing accusations at her. As if she could kill Mr. Jay.

There are a lot of things Avery might be capable of, but I’m pretty sure murder isn’t one of them.

Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time this weekend I’ve been wrong about someone on this team.

“We can’t stay here,” Kaitlyn says, bursting into the kitchen. “We should never have come in the first place.”