Page 75 of We’re All Going to Die Tonight!

“The knife?” Caulder asks. “That he tried to stab you with.”

Marlene blinks. “I don’t…I don’t know. It all happened so fast.”

“I never had a knife!” Mr. McCullough says, his voice taking on a frantic, exasperated tone. “Why would I have left with a knife?”

Marlene’s face has paled.

“He must have taken the one Javi had,” she says, realization dawning. “The one from…from when I stabbed Emerson. Emerson must’ve dropped it.”

Caulder blinks between them before speaking. “You’re saying he picked up that knife…by chance?”

Marlene chokes on another sob, more tears. “I don’t know, okay? I am trying to help you, Caulder. I am trying to save you. Don’t you see that?”

Caulder winces like he’s been struck. I see the pain cross over his features, not completely erasing whatever unreadable emotion was there before, but coming close to it.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m just trying to sort this out.”

“Let’s all take a breath,” Avery says. “Let’s get everything on the table—”

“Yeah,” I say, tone cold. “Starting with where the fuck these two were and why he won’t tell us.”

There’s a groan from the couch, and we all whip around to see Ms. Dorman stirring. Mr. McCullough drops down next to her, putting his hand on her forehead. She winces, eyes not opening, but there’s more life in her than there was a few minutes ago.

“I also think we should all empty our pockets,” I continue, ignoring Dorman. “Make sure no one’s hiding pointy little secrets.”

“Fine,” Caulder says, immediately pulling a dead phone out of his pocket and setting it on the coffee table. Then he goes to the other and pulls out a slim black wallet that’s engraved with his initials. He pulls out the remaining front pockets, white flags showing their emptiness.

Avery goes next, pulling out her phone. Then me, and I’ve just got gum, my phone, and a hair tie. Then Marlene, who has nothing, not even her phone, which she says she dropped somewhere out in the woods.

“When I was being attacked,” she says pointedly, glaring in Mr. McCullough’s direction.

But Mr. McCullough isn’t listening. He’s stroking Ms. Dorman’s forehead, talking to her in a low voice. He seems oblivious to the rest of us. I notice her eyes twitch, that her lips part.

“Hey, asshole,” I call. “Empty your pockets.”

Mr. McCullough realizes I’m addressing him, and when he looks back at me, hatred has transformed his face. Good. The feeling’s mutual.

“We’re going to have to have a serious conversation about your behavior, Kaitlyn,” he says. “I’ll be speaking to your volleyball coach.”

“Try it,” I say. “Now empty your pockets.”

Mr. McCullough’s gaze stays pinned on Ms. Dorman as he stands. He digs into his pockets, pulling out a fat, battered leather wallet, his Coastal Canyon lanyard attached to a handful of keys, his phone, and—

“Shit,” he says as he drops a handful of plastic onto the table, the red blooming across his cheeks.

“Are those condoms?” I practically shout.

“Why do you have those?” Marlene asks, the disgust as evident in her words as it is in my thoughts. “That’s sick.”

“There’s nothing wrong with safe sex,” Mr. McCullough says defensively. “I am an adult.”

“Yeah,” I say, realization dawning. “But who were you planning on sleeping with on the school trip that you’re chaperoning? You know, with underage minors?”

Now, Mr. McCullough’s cheeks don’t just bloom with red. They explode, the color taking over all of his face. He starts to speak, coughs, and tries to speak again.

Because everyone realizes what I’m actually asking. And maybe I’m a bitch for asking, but he’s the one who planned a hookup during a fucking school trip.

“That’s not—that’s not what happened,” he says. “That wasn’t, no, of course not. You’re children. Never. I—”