Preppy Little Liars

Chapter 4

Stephen pulled his car into Haverton’s parking lot around four. Most of the students were gone for the day so he didn’t feel the need to park in an inconspicuous location. We headed into our school and toward the front office to find Coach Powell.

Eddie Gencarelli, a kid in my desktop publishing class, stood behind the desk stuffing sheets of paper into blank envelopes.

“Hey, Eddie,” I said with a smile.

Eddie looked up from his office duties and waved when he saw me. “Hey, Meg. Stephen. What’s up guys?”

“We wanted to know if Coach Powell was still here or if she left for the day.”

Eddie put down a stuffed envelope and stared at the ceiling as if expecting the Coach to fall in. “Um…I think she’s still here.” His face lit up and he smiled back at us. “Yeah, now that I think about it, I didn’t see her leave and I think her car’s still parked out front.”

“What she drive?” Stephen asked.

“A blue pickup.”

I peered out into the parking lot and spotted the truck by the gym door.

“Yup, she’s still here,” I said to Stephen. “Thanks, Eddie.”

Eddie waved again, this time with an envelope in hand. “No problem, Meg.”

Stephen and I headed to the gym. Coach Powell was Haverton’s gym teacher as well as the equestrian coach and detention monitor. That’s probably why she was still at school that day—her punishment for students who wound up in detention was to make them climb a rope and hang there. If they fell or slid off, they’d have to do it again. And again. And again for the duration of the two hour session. Needless to say, our school didn’t have many detention getters besides the newbs who didn’t yet know that the Coach was kind of psycho.

As I suspected, Coach Powell was in the middle of barking instructions at a couple of underclassmen trouble- makers when we came in the room.

“Get your lazy tails up that rope!” Coach screamed at the terrified looking boys. One kid looked on the verge of tears. “I don’t care if your arm is broken, Taylor! You better sling that sucker over your shoulder and use your good arm to get up there or you’ll be back here tomorrow.”

“What?” I asked Stephen when I noticed his legs weren’t keeping up with mine. He seemed to be rooted in place near the front door.

His face was expressionless, but beads of sweat dotted his upper lip. “I had Coach Powell for gym last year. I’m still a little twitchy. Go without me.”

“Wimp,” I muttered and Stephen scowled. If I’m being honest, my palms were feeling a little sweaty too and I had a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that I should have been running in the opposite direction at this point, but I couldn’t. I had to know if there was any way for a non-Haverton student to get into our stable. And Coach Powell was the only person available to tell me.

I sidled up to her and tapped her shoulder. She turned to me and clenched her teeth. She clasped her hands so tight, her knuckles turned white. Coach Powell must have seen something in my face that told her I was two seconds from peeing myself, because her body relaxed.

“Aren’t you a little late for detention?” she asked. Her stance may have been more casual, but her clipped tone still conveyed a sense of threat.

“I’m not in detention, ma’am,” I said, hearing how much like my six-year-old self I sounded and hating it. I steeled myself and tried again, this time with more confidence. “I, well, me and my friend Stephen—”