Page 79 of We’re All Going to Die Tonight!

In school, I have always been sure of so many things. I was sure of which competitions we needed to enter as a debate team. I was sure of when tests were because I kept them color coded in my planner. I was sure of the grading breakdown of each of my classes. I was sure that, if I could just have a perfect debate season, I’d be able to get into any school I wanted and get away from our town. I’d be able to get away from the place that no longer feels like it belongs to me, away from the condo Mom and I moved into and the home I grew up in that has another family in it.

But now, I’m not sure of anything.

Our teachers are murderers, and all the things I thought mattered…just don’t.

And all night…who’s been watching out for me?

Caulder has.

Does he feel as broken by tonight as I do? It’s hard to tell. Even now, as he walks into the kitchen, there’s still a sturdiness to him despite the exhaustion. He looks like a soldier, resigned to battle. There’re literal bloodstains on his shirt and sticks and leaves tangled in his hair. There’s even a slash along his jaw that I bet will turn into a white scar after tonight. But he’s still here. He’s still watching over us.

Meanwhile, all the adrenaline seems to be slipping out of me, leaving me with nothing but the vestiges of fear and panic and grief. Only the loose threads here are keeping me sitting upright, the unknown answers buzzing through me, something I can’t tamp down or bury under everything else.

Where’s Lucas? Where’s Emerson? What happened to them? Mr. McCullough claimed not to know, and we don’t have a way to force him to tell us. I guess it’s a question for the police…whenever we’re able to call them.

But in the meantime, my brain knows there is a problem here. A problem that demands an answer. A puzzle, and I don’t have all the pieces.

I meet Caulder’s eyes as he stops beside Marlene’s barstool and examines the Pop-Tart. He looks from it to her and then to the Pop-Tart again.

“Are you going to eat that?”

She shakes her head, and he takes it and bites off nearly half of the Pop-Tart in one motion, crushing it between his teeth.

“Did you just eat her Pop-Tart?” Kaitlyn asks, appearing in the doorway.

“I wasn’t going to eat it,” Marlene says, but she’s still staring at the half of the Pop-Tart that remains on the bar.

Caulder doesn’t say anything. He just grabs the remaining Pop-Tart and takes another huge bite. I watch him chew, then shudder when thunder rumbles outside.

“Something’s not right,” I say. “Something isn’t making sense.”

“What part, Avery?” Kaitlyn asks, reaching over to snap off the edge of Caulder’s Pop-Tart and shove it into her mouth.

“We still don’t know where Lucas is,” I say. “And I’m still not convinced Mr. McCullough had a reason to kill anyone.”

“He attacked me,” Marlene points out, and I nod.

“I know,” I say. “And I’m not arguing that. But…Why would McCullough kill Jay? Or try to kill Lucas and Emerson?”

Kaitlyn shrugs. “Why do killers do anything? Jealousy? Anger?”

“So these were crimes of passion,” I reason. “Not planned?”

Marlene nods. “Maybe…maybe things just got out of control.”

Her voice is a soft squeak. She’s watching Caulder chew the Pop-Tart, and I wonder if I should get her another one.

“Something isn’t adding up,” I say. “I feel like we’re missing a key detail here.”

“Yeah,” Kaitlyn says, pulling a bag of Takis out of the snack bag and ripping it open. “Lucas. He’s missing. If he’s smart, he’s staying away from this creepy-ass house.”

“Kaitlyn,” Caulder warns. “Let’s not freak everyone out.”

“I’m just saying what we’re all thinking, okay? The fucking record player that keeps turning on. Maybe the house possessed Mr. McCullough—”

“Emerson’s missing, too,” Marlene points out. “He never came back.”

“Because you stabbed him, dumbass, and he clearly didn’t want to come back,” Kaitlyn says, sticking her tongue out at Marlene.